The Sorcerer's Oath - Books 3-4

Chapter 11-1

Before they set out, the woodfolk gathered around the fire to discuss all that had happened and what they intended to do next. Up to this point, they had been driven by putting distance between themselves and the sorcerers in Jarand’s valley but now that Falling Rain was once more in their midst and they were on their way back over the mountain, they had no particular plan ahead of them.

“Let’s make this quick,” grumbled String, “We’ve already been here too long. It’s madness to be on these mountains so late in the season. The sooner we get over them and down the other side the happier I’ll be.”

“Yeah, true,” chimed in Bean. “Hail knows what we’re talking about. I love the mountains but you have to treat them with respect.”

Hail nodded curtly in agreement.

“Well, I suppose to some extent, the decision rests with Tarkyn since we said we’d help him to sort out his brothers,” said Waterstone.

Harkell couldn’t help blinking in surprise at this statement. However, he made no comment but just watched and learnt.

“So. We all heard Jarand yesterday saying he was planning to support Kosar by fighting lawlessness. Do we believe him?” asked Autumn Leaves.

“Not for a second,” said Tarkyn firmly. “Unless he’s had a complete personality change in the last two months, he will be planning to show up Kosar and undermine his rule.”

“Tarkyn! Such scepticism!” said Lapping Water, shaking her head.

Tarkyn gave a slight smile, “When it comes to sorcerer politics, I don’t trust anyone an inch.”

Danton threw Harkell a speaking glance.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t trust Jarand,” said Ancient Oak. “He’s the most offensive person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t think one necessarily implies the other,” pointed out Bean.

Ancient Oak shrugged, “He kept saying we were strange. How b****y rude!”

“And he said he’d never seen a sorcerer with green eyes… Well, I don’t know where he’s been. Look at Stormaway,” said Rainstorm disparagingly.

Suddenly there was an arrested silence. All heads turned to look at the old wizard. His face was expressionless but a certain stiffness betrayed his tension.

Danton spoke slowly, “Jarand is right. There are no sorcerers with green eyes. I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“But Jarand has seen Stormaway before, when I was there.” protested Falling Rain. “And Stormaway would have been around a lot as he was growing up,” He shook his head as he tried to remember, “Now I think about it, I don’t remember Stormaway’s eyes as green. Hmm. I’m not sure what colour they were… maybe brownish.”

“Stormaway can change his eye colour,” said Tarkyn slowly. He addressed the wizard, “So which is your true colour, Stormaway? I require an honest answer. Beyond that, you may keep your own counsel.”

“I have green eyes, my lord.”

Tarkyn frowned, “But didn’t you say that it takes you quite an effort to maintain a disguise? Surely you couldn’t have managed it for all the years you were at the palace?”

“I thought you said I could keep my own counsel.”

“I meant I wouldn’t command you to answer. I can still ask, though, and leave it up to you whether you answer.”

After a moment’s thought, Stormaway replied, “I will answer this much at least. A full disguise requires considerable effort. A simple eye colour change, especially to non-descript brown, is easy and becomes habit after a while.”

There was a strained silence.

Finally Rainstorm exploded with exasperation, “Stormaway, you can’t leave it there. Are you a woodman?”

“His hair is darker,” pointed out Tree Wind.

“So is Midnight’s,” said Harkell quietly.

“You’re half woodman, aren’t you?” exclaimed Rainstorm, “Like Midnight. And if he’s a wood sorcerer then you must be a wood wizard. No wonder your second name is Treemaster! Come on Stormaway. Tell us. We know anyway now. Tell us!”

“Oh for pity’s sake! Save me from badgering young men who don’t know when to mind their own business and let well alone,” muttered Stormaway. He pulled his cloak around himself and stared stonily into the fire.

“Are you embarrassed to be a woodman?” asked Lapping Water quietly, the hurt clear in her voice.

The wizard c****d his eye at her for a moment before replying, “No, Lapping Water. Within myself, I am quietly proud of my heritage, on both sides.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Waterstone. “All those years living amongst us. None of us has been outside the woods so we didn’t realise the significance of your green eyes.” He, too, sounded upset.

Stormaway straightened up and sighed. “I was protecting my father’s reputation. He betrayed your oath of secrecy and was forever haunted by it. He did not want to hurt his kindred by tarring them with the ignominy of his duplicity. Even though he is now dead, I have stayed true to his wishes through all these years.”

“But that has caused you to be isolated among us,” protested Waterstone.

Stormaway raised his hands then dropped them, “I would have been isolated anyway. My mother was a wizard and I do not think woodfolk were ready for the likes of Midnight back then. Even now, it has been controversial, to say the least.”

“But a lot of the reaction to Midnight was the effect of the curse, wasn’t it?” asked Melting Snow in her tinkling voice.

Waterstone cleared his throat, “It was, but I think Stormaway is probably right. Until Tarkyn arrived and we had a chance to get used to sorcerers, we wouldn’t have been very open to the concept of someone from mixed backgrounds,” he eyed the wizard, “especially if that person was the product of a betrayal of our woodfolk bond.”

Stormaway returned his gaze steadily but with a hint of defiance.

“But,” said Waterstone, relenting, “I hope I would never knowingly lay blame at the wrong door. Even you, Stormaway, as old and authoritative as you are, cannot be held accountable for your parents’ actions.”

Waterstone stood up, walked around the fire to sit beside the wizard and patted him on the knee, “Come on, my friend. Tell us your story. Your kindred, whoever they are, will have to cope with an old scandal. A family’s first responsibility is to its living members. All of us believe that.”

Stormaway, usually so remote and self-assured, took a long breath to steady himself and began to speak, “My mother’s name was Blueskies Herbgrower. She lived near the forest’s edge in the south east of the country. She lived alone, and was young and very beautiful when my father first saw her. He studied her for weeks from within the trees and gradually fell in love with her. Eventually, his feelings became too much for him and one evening, just as the first star appeared in the soft orange sky, my father appeared in her garden.” Stormaway harrumphed, “That may sound uncharacteristically poetic to you but that is how my mother described it to me. She was surprised but not frightened. She welcomed him into her garden and showed him the herbs she was growing, and talked to him about their particular uses. In return, he told her of the seasons of the forest, where to harvest the best fruits and how to brew elderberry wine. They came to love one another deeply and in time Blueskies bore him a child.

“My father never lived with my mother but he came regularly to see her until, during one particularly cold winter, she caught some illness and, between one of my father’s visits and the next, died. I was twelve. A passing tinker found me alone in the house and, despite my protests, bore me off to Tormadell. Knowing that my mother had been a wizard, he kindly but firmly found me an apprenticeship with the court wizard and set me up so that I would be cared for. But an apprentice has very little freedom to roam unsupervised and I could not find my way back to my mother’s house to wait for my father and tell him what had happened. Even if I had found my way back, he was unlikely to be there and I did not know where to find him.”

“That is such a romantic story,” sighed Lapping Water. “But so sad.”

“Did you ever see him again?” asked Ancient Oak.

Stormaway shook his head, “No. I nurtured a faint hope that I might when I first came to live among you but he had died many years before.”

“So who was your father?” asked Lapping Water quietly.

“I think I know,” said Summer Rain unexpectedly, directing a look of enquiry at the wizard.”

Stormaway nodded, “Yes, I think you do.” He gave her a slight smile, “His name was Autumn Storm. Autumn Leaves and Thunderstorm are his grandsons.”

Autumn Leaves and Thunderstorm looked across the fire at each other then, without a word, walked over to stand before Stormaway.

Waterstone also stood and placed his hand under Stormaway’s arm to direct him to stand up, “Come on, Stormaway. Having come this far, you must now go the rest of the way.”

The other woodfolk and sorcerers stood up in a circle around the fire, while Creaking Bough and the two little ones came to join Stormaway at the front.

When everyone was ready, Waterstone began their ritual, “All woodfolk must be a member of a family. Your blood relations must now be acknowledged.”

Auutmn Leaves and Thunderstorm glanced at each other, before Autumn Leaves stepped forward and spoke formally, “Stormaway Treemaster, I offer you membership of our family that you may share with us the joys and trials of kinship and that we may call upon each other’s strength in times of need. Do you accept?”

The usually phlegmatic Stormaway nodded, his eyes shining with tears, “I would be honoured to become a part of your family.”

Autumn Leaves grasped Stormaway’s arm near the elbow and as Stormaway returned his grasp, intoned, “We are of one blood. My kin are your kin. My ancestors are your ancestors. Creaking Bough, Thunder Storm and I welcome you as an uncle. Rain on Water and Trickling Stream welcome you as their great uncle.”

Stormaway, who had seen ceremonies such as this before, replied unerringly, “We are of one blood. My kin are your kin. My ancestors are your ancestors. I welcome Creaking Bough as my niece, and Thunder Storm and you as my nephews. I welcome Rain on Water and Trickling Stream as my grandnephews.”

As the cheering erupted, an almighty roar issued forth from the shadows at the rear of the cave. Barely missing a beat, Tarkyn flicked his wrist to send a bronze barrier down around the grumpy mountain lion, murmuring. “I’ll deal with him later.”

In true woodfolk fashion, everyone made sure that they patted Stormaway on the arm or shoulder and said some word of welcome.

When Summer Rain’s turn came, she said, “Your father was my mentor. When he saw my interest in herbs and healing, he taught me all he knew. We would gather herbs together and he showed me how to make tonics and ointments. It never occurred to me to wonder where his knowledge came from. I always assumed that it was just woodfolk knowledge being handed down through the generations.” She gave one of her rare warm smiles, “And now I find I have been working alongside his son. Our future work together will be laced with our shared knowledge of Autumn Storm.”