The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (13 page)

Karryl’s eyes widened, relief evident on his pale, drawn face.”Thank you Kimi.’’ He grinned. “I think I shall be a long time repaying you for everything.”

The Ingali prince shook his head, his face unreadable as he stood back. “Such is not required. Please to continue.”

When he had finished relating what he was certain was the full story, Karryl leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The others exchanged glances, then fell to watching him, each one weighing the possible consequences of his adventure.

After some minutes, Mordas broke the heavy silence. “I think we have done all we can for now.” With her hand on Symon’s shoulder, she took him aside, her voice barely above a murmur. “Keep him warm and rested for a few days. We’ll see what the week’s end brings.”

They turned to find Karryl gazing despondently at them. “I heard what you said, and I don’t want to be stuck in this bed for days and days. It’s…it’s my birthday next week and... well...”

He made a vague gesture with his hand before wriggling himself upright, his mouth curving in a wistful smile. “We used to have a right old do when it was someone’s birthday.” He forced a grin. “Me and Legs, we had the same day, or so he said. Only he was a year younger than me.”

His eyelids screwed up tight as the memories came flooding back, and a small teardrop escaped to roll down his pale cheeks. Overwhelmed by a combination of memories, regrets and relief, he turned his face and buried it in the pillow, his chest heaving as he tried to stifle the sobs threatening to erupt from his throat.

Symon placed a hand firmly on Karryl’s shoulder. “Listen to me. It’s up to you whether or not you can be up and about for your birthday. You’re a strong lad with a good heart, so if you don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, there’s no reason why not. Oh. And by the way; your birthday is this week. Two days time in fact.”

Turning his head away from the pillow, Karryl sniffed, swiped his hand across his eyes and looked hard at the little magician. “What! How long have I been here then? What day is it?”

Symon told him. Looking somewhat bemused, Karryl stared at the door for a few moments, then slapping his hands down flat on the bedcovers announced resolutely “I need a pee.”

Quite unperturbed, Symon stood up. “Well, do you want to use the night-stand or would you rather try and get downstairs to the privy?”

Karryl rejected the night-stand out of hand, and there was a flurry of activity as Mordas found a robe for him and he was helped out of bed. Symon knelt down and groped about under the bed, eventually coming up with a pair of slippers. With the robe wrapped snugly around him, Karryl pushed his feet into the slippers. With Symon on one side and Mordas on the other, he was helped to his feet. Symon accompanied him to the bottom of the stairs, then afterwards followed him back as he pulled himself up by the round wooden stair-rail, one tread at a time.

While they were gone, Mordas had remade Karryl’s bed. As Symon helped a now shivering Karryl back into the warm, she was busy in the living room placing teacups and a pot of tea on the table.

She smiled at Karryl. “Do you think you would like to sit by the fire for a while, rather than going back to bed?”

Karryl nodded, and only lightly supported by Symon, headed for the comfort of the armchair and the glowing log fire. As he eased himself into the chair his eyes strayed to the windowseat. “Hello Puss!”

All turned to look as the grey cat stood up, gave a long, languorous stretch, then jumped down and ambled sedately over to Karryl. Purring loudly, she proceeded to rub her face round his ankles.

As the boy reached down to fondle the cat’s large tufted ears, Symon crossed to the table and began pouring tea. “I probably won’t be here when you get up in the morning, but Mordas will be dropping in and I’ll get back as quickly as I can.”

Karryl nodded and winced.

Mordas handed him a cup of tea. “Does your head still hurt?”

Karryl’s hand went automatically to the small cut on the side of his forehead, and he gingerly fingered the bump beneath it. “It’s not so bad. I feel better being out of bed, but I’m beginning to feel tired again now.”

The grey cat stopped her fussing round his ankles and sprang lightly onto the arm of his chair. Stretching forward she sniffed delicately at his face. As if satisfied with what she had discovered she jumped back down to the floor, and with her fluffy tail held upright like a banner, strode off into Karryl’s room. There was no sign of her when Karryl returned to bed, and he naturally assumed she had wandered out again without him noticing. His sleep that night was restorative and dreamless.

The following morning, bright winter sunshine gleaming through his window encouraged Karryl to clamber out of bed and dress warmly. He wanted to be outside in the fresh air. Remembering Symon had said he wouldn’t be there, Karryl wandered into the kitchen to find something for his breakfast. A few minutes later he was sitting by the fire, munching his way through a thick slice of bread spread generously with butter and honey. He had just finished it when the doorlatch clicked. Mordas hurried in, frosty air wafting like mischievous sprites from her clothes.

Dropping her large embroidered bag on the table, she leaned forward and looked into the boy’s face. “Well! Good morning Karryl. You’re obviously feeling better.”

Karryl brushed crumbs from his tunic. “Yes I am, thank you.” He frowned. “D’you think Master Symon would mind if I went outside for a bit? You know, just a little stroll round the tower or something.”

The physician-mage gave him a warm smile. “I think it’s an excellent idea, if you’re feeling up to it. But just to be on the safe side, I’ll come with you.”

Choosing to ignore the lack of enthusiasm evident in Karryl’s expression, Mordas turned and moved towards the door. Halfway across the room, she was stopped by the clatter of the latch. The door swung open and Symon bustled in, closely followed by a small, soberly dressed middle-aged woman. A heavily built man of about the same age hovered behind, uncomfortable in what were obviously his best clothes.

Pausing just long enough to give Mordas a secretive little smile, Symon turned to the couple. “Come in, come in. You’re very welcome.”

He stood back from the door as the woman eased hesitantly past him, her gaze travelling beyond Mordas to Karryl, who had stood up and was now staring at her.

The boy took a step forward, his voice catching in his throat as he spoke. “Aunt Vana?”

The woman’s hand went to her mouth as she choked back a sob. “It really is you!”

Her eyes shining with moisture, she turned to the man standing uncertainly in the open doorway. “Come in Harrel and close the door. Look! It’s Karryl”

Struggling to control the emotions threatening to sweep over her, the woman crossed the room to stand in front of her stunned nephew.

She looked up into his face. “Well, haven’t you grown.” She gave a self-conscious little giggle. “I wouldn’t have recognised you in the street.”

Things went a bit downhill for the next few minutes. Vana flopped into Symon’s chair and burst into tears. Uncertain what to do in such an unexpected situation, Karryl looked helplessly at Symon for a long moment. Then he too began to blub.

Indicating one of the dining chairs, Symon gave Harrel a knowing smile. “Take a seat while I go and make some tea. No doubt she’ll tell Karryl who you are in a minute or two.”

With a nod to Mordas, Symon scurried into his little kitchen, leaving the smiling physician-mage to temporarily host the emotionally charged occasion.

He returned with the loaded tea tray, just as Vana, smiling bravely, her eyes red-rimmed, had led Karryl to the table and was making introductions. “Karryl, this is your new uncle, Harrel.” She looked fondly at the burly man. “We were wed two years ago.”

A little red-eyed but quickly recovering from the sudden shock to his system, Karryl grinned as he stuck out his hand. Harrel gripped it in his own broad, work-man’s hand.

His voice was deep and strong. “Pleased to meet you, young ‘un.” It was his turn to grin. “I must admit, you aren’t quite what I was expecting. Your aunt’s told me a few things, but…well…a lot of water under the bridge since then, eh?”

Noticing Symon wince at Harrel’s innocent blunder, Karryl kept the grin fixed firmly on his face. “Oh. Yes. I think aunt Vana will find I’m a bit different now.”

Relief at her nephew’s apparently complete recovery evident on her face, Vana plied him and Symon with questions. There were one or two rare moments when Symon’s economy with the truth, mainly concerning the life Karryl had now, and also his future, gave the boy cause to ponder. Details of the accident, which now seemed to be receding into the mists of Karryl’s memory, were skilfully glossed over by the little magician.

Her hints about more tea falling on the apparently deaf ears of a smiling and some-what absent-minded Symon, Vana decided it was time to leave.

Giving Harrel’s elbow a nudge, she turned to Symon. “Will Karryl be able to come to us this weekend for his birthday?”

Reluctantly, Harrel rose from his chair and stepped forward. His hand on Karryl’s shoulder, the burly man looked intently at the little magician. “There won’t be any problem with transport if you don’t think he should walk. I can fetch him in the dray, or I’ll walk up for him if he wants to come on foot.”

He gave Vana a sidelong glance before fixing his gaze somewhere over Symon’s shoulder. “Of course, if he’d done as he was told, and not gone wandering off, none of this would have happened.”

Symon folded his slender hands and tucked them under his chin, looking at the floor for a moment or two as if deep in thought. His eyes twinkled as he lifted his head and spread his hands wide. “Nevertheless, some good may yet come of it. Now, providing the weather holds and we’re not completely snowed in, I can see no reason why he shouldn’t spend his birthday at your home. As to his mode of transport, that is entirely his decision.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow at the widely grinning boy.

A glint of excitement in his dark eyes, Karryl looked up at his uncle. “I think I’d like to ride with Uncle Harrel if you don’t mind. I would feel safer and if I do start to feel unwell, sitting in the dray would be better than being out in the street, wouldn’t it?”

Once everything was arranged and agreed, Karryl walked with Symon, Mordas and his new found family to the edge of the parade ground. A squad of soldiers, their breath swirling in white clouds in the crisp air, were shovelling snow under the watchful eye of Sergeant Vintar. Seeing the little party making their way along the newly cleared footpath, he quickly detailed a corporal then marched briskly over. After being introduced, Vintar walked along with them, making polite conversation until they reached the gate.

Her eyes glistening, Vana turned, took Vintar’s large strong hand in her small slender one and squeezed it. “We are so indebted to you and your men. If ever there is anything we can do in return, please mention it to Master Symon. He knows where we live and will get a message to us.”

Harrel nodded vigorously in agreement and reached out to shake the sergeant’s hand. “That’s right. I dread to think what the outcome might have been if you hadn’t got there when you did.”

Unaccustomed to receiving such effusive gratitude, Vintar squared his shoulders in an attempt to disguise a sudden upwelling of emotion. “All in the line of duty sir, ma’am.” His expression softening he jerked a thumb towards the shovelling squad. “I’d better be getting back before they start throwing snowballs. Good day to you.”

After throwing up a snappy salute he turned and marched back across the half- cleared ground, prompting a couple of less enthusiastic soldiers who had stopped to watch, to hastily bend once more to their task. The sentry on duty moved forward to open the gate and Vana stepped carefully through onto the trampled snow of the pavement.

She turned to Karryl.”Don’t forget, Harrel will be here to collect you after he’s done his work for the brewery.”

Nodding at Harrel, Karryl gave his aunt a cheery smile. “I’ll be here.”

He turned to look at Symon who inclined his head in confirmation, and they watched, stamping their feet to fend against the raw chill, until Harrel and Vana were out of sight.

Symon gestured back towards the tower. “Shall we continue with our walk, or have you had enough of this exceedingly fresh air?”

Karryl looked about him. The glassy light of a pale winter sun had transformed the snow-covered scene into a vista of sparkling purity, and he wanted to be part of it. It felt good to be alive, and he suddenly had an overwhelming desire to see the garden, although he knew that there would be little or nothing growing.

“What a good idea!” Symon chortled when Karryl suggested it. “It is quite sheltered so we may be lucky and find one or two apples or perhaps a carrot or two.”

The frozen gravel of the footpath crunched beneath their feet as they made their way back towards the tower, magician and apprentice relishing the brightness and refreshing freedom that such a day often brings. They pointed out shapes in the snow, fashioned by the breeze into fantastical sculptures, seemingly beyond the bounds of human creativity and imagination. Familiar shrubs were now miniature galleries of filigree and diamonds, roofed over with an insulating dome of glistening pearlescence. Beneath the trees the woodland walk to the garden was protected from the heaviest falls, reflected light shining through the leafless branches and turning the sheltered pathway into a faerie world of sparkling mystery. Rounding a bend in the woodland path, they stopped and gazed in wonder at the short row of sturdy holly trees that Karryl had inadvertently conjured in the early autumn. Each glossy dark green leaf seemed to vie with its neighbour for brilliance. Even so, they could not compete with, but only provide a shining complement to, the glowing splendour displayed by the abundant clusters of gleaming scarlet berries.

After many minutes of wordless contemplation, Karryl murmured “It’s such a pity to remove them.”

Inclining his head, Symon regarded his young protégé. “We don’t have to you know. If you still want to go into the garden we can go in from the other side.”

Karryl’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “You never said there was an ‘other side’!”

Symon chuckled. Beckoning him to follow, he led the way further along the snow sprinkled pathway, and around a large stand of dark foliaged conifers. This area was rather more open, and the tips of the lowest branches, weighed down by domes and plates of pristine snowfall, had brushed blue shadowed grooves in the layer beneath. Behind, and slightly to the left of the trees, stood a tall hedge of copper beech, its desiccated russet leaves clinging tenaciously to densely clustered twigs and tangled branches. The conifers had afforded the hedge a modicum of shelter, and the complex pattern of tiny delicate footprints in the thin covering of snow at its foot yielded tell-tale evidence of foraging birds and small rodents. Symon instantly provided Karryl with an impromptu lesson in the recognition of wild-life footprints and the two proceeded side by side, bent almost double as they examined the lines of tiny marks.

Reaching the end of the hedge, Symon straightened up, rubbed his knees vigorously then shook snow off the hem of his brown woollen robe. “Would you like to remove the spell of concealment, bearing in mind that one row of holly trees is probably sufficient for our seasonal needs?”

Karryl gave him a side-long glance and frowned. “It is the hedge?”

Symon gave a brief nod, and prudently took a pace backward as Karryl began the spell. To the magician’s great surprise and satisfaction, the spell was uttered and pronounced perfectly. The beech hedge melted away with barely a shimmer.

Symon stepped round the end of the tool-shed and into the garden. “Have you been practicing?”

Karryl shook his head and thrust his chilled hands into the pockets of his coat. “No. I haven’t tried it at all since the holly trees, but I could still remember it quite clearly. And I did think about what you said about the request to the spirit of natural things.”

Symon patted his palms together. “Good, good. We’ll make a magician of you yet.”

Karryl grinned, blissfully unaware of how profound a prophecy this was to turn out to be.

They pottered about in the rather desolate looking garden for half an hour. At the base of a gnarled old tree, Karryl found half a dozen small red apples, barely concealed by a covering of soft powdery snow. Gathering them up, he took them over to Symon. The magician was using a short stick to swish a rather more heavy covering off some sprout tops, their bare stems poking up forlornly at one end of the vegetable patch.

Hearing Karryl crunch up beside him he pointed at the sprout plants with his stick. “We can use these if you’ll fetch me a knife from the shed.” He turned round and saw the apples. “Ah! And those too!” He took one and rubbed it gently round between his palms before giving it an appreciative sniff. “They may be a tad soft but they’ll be lovely and sweet.”

They foraged a little longer. Although the open ground was under a fairly deep covering of snow, the soil beneath remained workable, and they came away from the secluded garden with a worthwhile haul of carrots, parsnips and sprout tops, carried, of necessity, in an old iron-hooped wooden bucket.

Karryl stuffed the apples into his pockets. Deftly casting the spell of concealment, he watched with undisguised pleasure as the hedge materialised before them. Beginning to feel decidedly chilled, magician and apprentice hurried back to the warmth of Symon’s tower. After removing their coats, Karryl livened the fire while Symon disappeared into his tiny kitchen to brew tea, and prepare lunch and a casserole for their evening meal.