River Heart

Chapter Three - Hidden Island

It had sounded so exciting. A messenger had arrived across the causeway with news that a well on the border land of Staven and Ipito had been poisoned. The symptoms in the near by village started with a fever and then a rash, the sufferers were laid on in their beds as their veins darkened beneath their skin. The poison had claimed the lives of ten children and elders and the messenger had come, to fall upon his knees and beg help from the Myst. His pleas had echoed through the stone chamber and fifthteen council members had exchanged looks. Lyris could remember watching from the shadows behind Morgalin. Her tutor’s long hair was threaded with more silver each day, but she remained straight-backed on her wooden chair. A walking cane rested against a table that circled most of the room. The Myst were equally spaced around the table as they considered the plight of such a distant place. Lyris knew them all by name and speciality, even if she wasn’t sure of all of their faces. Some preferred to sit in the shadows, despite the rare bright day outside the walls.

The messenger was escorted out to be fed and given somewhere to rest. He’d interrupted, what had otherwise been, a very long and boring administrative meeting. Stood behind Morgalin, Lyris’s biggest fear had been falling asleep, and trying not to catch the eye of her friend, Lein who stood behind her own tutor, just across the table. Then the doors had flown open with a tremendous crash and the man had fallen in, knees cracking on the floor and her mouth had fallen open with shock. He’d been desperate, exhausted and starving. Clothes in torn rags and greasy black hair plastered to his forehead. Filthy hands wrung together as he peered, wide-eyed at the assembly. The great and powerful mages that lived on their secretive Isle. He’d never stopped moving, trembling as he bent to press his forehead to the floor. It wasn’t necessary, none of his deference was demanded.

Morgalin had tried to stop him, standing up, before the meeting’s Chair, Deman had gestured for her to sit. Deman was younger, far younger than Morgalin and Lyris had recognised her tutors silent displeasure. Still she was grateful that for once, she had not caused it. Deman however, was in charge of the meeting and Morgalin and swept her skirts out and settled, prettier than a butterfly sitting on a rose. Deman, bald head catching the light nodded his thanks and looked relieved that his authority hadn’t been challenged.

With the messenger dismissed Morgalin was first to speak, ‘we’ll need to obtain a sample of the water.’

‘Agreed,’ Deman was quick to nod again. It seemed to he wanted to return to Morgalin’s good books.

‘An expedition to the border lands will take weeks,’ a voice from the shadows seemed to roll around the room like a wave.

There was a hiss of protestation, Morgalin and Deman exchanged a look that Lyris was certain no one else saw. Their love affair was still new and it usually took the council a few years to work these things out. How many years had she, Lyris been summoned to the meetings? Usually, like today they were boring to the point of tears. The monotony broken only by the task of acting as scribe; a duty shared between all students. Today, Deman’s student was scribbling furiously, quill scratching into the parchment as fast as he could manage. Lyris could see that the underside of his hand was smudged and he’d managed to smear black across the bridge of his nose. The high skitch of the feather rattled around the walls.

‘If we don’t investigate, we’ll have no answers,’ Deman gave a reasonable response to which the shadows scoffed.

‘It’s a sickness in the water, it will pass.’

‘More than likely,’ Morgalin agreed and Lyris felt her heart sink. So much for excitement. ‘But it remains worthy of investigation.’

There was consensus before Deman lifted his hand and called for quiet. ‘We require someone to go forth,’ he looked to Morgalin once more, ‘My lady, this your area of expertise?’

Lyris wondered if she was the only one who read the regret in his features and resisted the urge to roll her eyes, just in case he could see her. She gripped her hands tight behind her back and focused her gaze on the back of Morgalin’s neatly pinned locks as they tumbled like sea spray to the nape of her neck. She was certain he would regret losing his bed-partner for the turning of a moon.

‘With the solstice approaching, I’m afraid I cannot,’ there was a smile in her voice.

A smile which lifted the hairs on Lyris’s neck because it was suspicious. Deeply suspicious.

‘Who would you send?’ A new voice rose from the other side of the table, someone that Lyris couldn’t see beyond the Morgalin’s chair but thought that she recognised.

‘I’m sure that many of us have projects nearing a delicate stage,’ Morgalin continued in a voice of softened honey.

More suspicious by the second. Where was Lyris’s tutor? The one she feared and loved?

‘Summon back a roaming Spirit?’ the voice came again. This time there was no mistaking Tristin, a Myst who specialised in everything that would burn or could burn. Lyris wondered if his eyebrows had grown back after his last experiment. His natural calling was the paradox of Morgalin’s and his temperament far warmer. Lyris held back a smile, no wonder he was eager to call back a graduated student, a Spirit, to inspect a water supply.

‘Our closest Spirit is more than a moon away,’ Deman added and lent back on his chair, fingers drumming on the desk, ‘who would you suggest?’

All eyes turned to Morgalin as she stood. Before Lyris could either move or squeak her mentor turned and gestured towards her, stood there in the shadows as she was supposed to do.

‘Lyris,’ the woman summoned her with a note of warning.

Lyris had learnt to obey her tutor, to listen to her instructions and to watch her every move. Stepping forward and into the light was the last thing she wanted to do, but her legs betrayed her and she was propelled forward.

‘Lyris Bakersa is of age to complete her guidance here,’ Morgalin rested a steadying hand on her shoulder, even though she had to reach to do so. Lyris had long forgotten the day that she’d outgrown her tutor, and most of the other students. She stood now, nearly a head taller than all of them. Still, she quaked in her boots and summer skirts and forced herself to look up at the council members, meeting the eyes of the men and women she could see and staring hopefully into the seats that were hidden in shadow.

‘With the council’s agreement, I will set this as Lyris’s quest?’ Morgalin barely paused before rewarding the gathered party with an expansive smile. ‘Lovely, thank you for your swift agreement. I’ll see that Lyris is on her way before sunrise.’

The hand tightened on her arm, but before her brilliant tutor could steal her from the spotlight, Deman lifted his fingers once more.

‘Lyris Bakersa,’ he summoned her and Morgalin was forced to release her grip.

One foot in front of the other, Lyris reminded herself. Her legs felt stiff, as though she’d forgotten how to walk, her knees refusing to bend as she made her way around the table to the circle’s break. Nearly twenty pairs of eyes rested on her and she struggled to breathe at the same time as remember the lessons she’d leant. Shoulders down, head up and stride forward as though she knew what she was doing. The messenger had been afraid and perhaps the young woman had caught his fear. This was the day that all students strived towards, the day they were set a final task to complete. It should be an exciting challenge, a thrill. Yet all she felt was sudden dread as she advanced, the colour draining from her cheeks.

‘Morgalin has set your quest,’ Deman studied her, dark eyes intent beneath dark bushy brows. He wore his beard clipped short and moulded the edges of his square features. His eyes though, were softened by crow’s feet and his mouth with laughter. ‘Journey to the border of Staven and Ipito and collect a sample of their well water then return it to us.’

‘It’s too simple a quest,’ the shadow scoffed.

Lyris cringed, on any other day she would agree. This was her quest though and it sounded daunting enough.

‘It’s a long journey to the border,’ Tristan turned to scowl at the speaker, ‘when did you last leave the island Crow? The lands grow more dangerous with every step we take from the shore,’

Lyris wanted the ground to swallow her whole and stared at the carving above Deman’s head. A twist of wind in an empty sky. Behind Morgalin’s chair was a cascade of water.

‘Is this a true test of a skill to raise a Spirit?’ Crow persisted.

There was a screech as Morgalin pushed her chair over the smooth flag stones, scratching the surface as tucked it beneath the table and folded her arms on the top.

‘What would you suggest?’ She sounded almost bored and Lyris could have hugged her in that moment.

‘A time limit, otherwise Bakersa could be gone till mid-winter,’

There was a collective groan before Deman shrugged and lifted a hand towards Morgalin to silence her lone protestation.

‘Be back before Summer Solstice, Lyris,’ he lent forward to meet her reluctant gaze and for a reason the young woman would never remember later, she nodded her ascent.

‘I accept my quest,’ speaking the words lifted a weight. The task was set, there was no more waiting to see what Morgalin would choose. For failure or freak success, the quest had been given. For the first time since her mentor had summoned her forward, Lyris felt a renewed spark of excitement. Travel to the border lands, collect a water sample, return before midsummer; how hard could it be?

****

She knew now that the answer was, harder than expected. A light touch landed on her shoulder and she jumped.

‘Did you fall asleep?’ Her companion peered at her. His cheeks and chin were rough with stubble, resting on his folded arms.

Lyris was quick to shake her head. Another slow breath drawn, ‘I was sent to collect a sample from the well in the village here, just under the mountains,’ she explained and twisted to face him, kneeling as she moved. ‘It’s my quest, as an Initiate-’

‘You’re asked to perform a final test before becoming a Spirit,’ he interrupted.

Shocked, she forgot to be angry. His nervous response hadn’t been a surprise. Everyone she’d met since setting out had shifted in the same way, as though expecting her to rain fire down on their heads. As if the Myst would ever be that reckless, as if Spirit’s were known for wreaking havoc. Somehow, she’d forgotten how difficult life could be, beyond the Hidden Island for someone with a Gift. She’d stopped being surprised at ignorance and so his knowledge left her speechless. At least for a moment.

‘Who are you?’ She wondered.

A broad hand was pushed through silky hair before he shrugged, ‘you can call me Arn.’

‘Do you have another name?’

Some of the tension eased as he smiled, and shook his head, ‘just Arn.’

She tested the word on her tongue, somehow it suited him. The young woman drew up her own knees and hugged them. A branch rustled overhead, swaying in the gentle rise of wind.

‘You’re not afraid of me,’ she realised and watched him consider his answer. His hand dropped to the back of his neck and his gaze lifted, over her head.

‘Not exactly, the men in the cave – they knew what you are?’

Lyris nodded, the forgotten abrasions on her wrists renewed their vigour and she touched her fingertips to the damaged skin. What she wouldn’t trade for a bottle of clean water, or wide spring to bathe them in. Who knew what had been lying in the bottom of that filthy pit? Whenever she tried to think about it, she wished that she hadn’t. It was a question that maybe she didn’t want answered, ever. It had smelt bad enough, whatever it was.

‘Is that why they took you?’

She nodded again, her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth, as though words couldn’t form on it anymore.

There was a pause and she was grateful. The sounds of the forest at night creeping back beneath the willow. A mouse scuttled across beneath the dipping fronds, only to vanish when Arn spoke again.

‘I’m not afraid, but I’d be stupid if I didn’t have a healthy respect for the power you can access,’ he spoke slow, voice barely moving through the darkness.

‘Did you see them at the village?’ Lyris couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d been witness to.

Arn shook his head, ‘I was down on the river,’ he admitted, ‘I saw these two men carrying a – well, must have been you along the edge of the ridge.’ The man pushed his fingers through his hair once more, ‘I figured that if you weren’t dead then you might need some help,’ he grimaced, ‘I’ve never imagined anything good comes from being carried into a cave at sunset.’

‘I don’t know,’ she found herself searching for humour, despite the heavy thudding of her heart once more. So close, she’d been so close to a painful end. Shivers worked across her shoulders and down her spine, ‘maybe a weird party,’ the words were forced along with her smile but she reached out, touching her hand to Arn’s in the dark. He laughed.

‘Thank you,’ she meant every breath of it.

‘Ah,’ he lent back once more, ‘rescuing damsels in distress is my speciality.’ He caught her fingers in his, pulling her hand forward before he bent and brushed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, ‘I’m pleased to have met you, Lyris Bakersa.’

It had been a day fresh out of a nightmare, and after a long and disappointing journey from the Hidden Island and the home she loved best; so Lyris couldn’t understand the heat that raced across her palm and cheeks.

‘That’s very formal,’ there was less air beneath the tree then there had been before.

Arn let her reclaim her fingers and wrapped his arms around his chest, leaning back against the willow-trunk. The tendrils of silver leaves caught in the pale gold of his hair. He shrugged, and closed his eyes, still smiling. ‘You’re a member of the Hidden Island,’ he reminded her, ‘I’d rather be formal than risk the wrath of a dis-respected mage.’