IV
Yern felt such gratitude, he was moved close to tears – but no further, for to shed a single tear of joy would tear apart the still gaping, still bleeding wound of Yenka and Yofana’s loss. Fate had at long last shown him her smiling face, taking pity on him and his poor orphaned son, though only after displaying her grimmest countenance.
When he had run after Yonfi, and seen the red-clad riders with their long white manes and luminous skin, he knew at once that they were Seers – and yet instead of succumbing to the fright the spectacle of such fabled creatures should inspire, he felt a profound warmth fill his heart, as if a voice had whispered in his mind, Don’t fear. Even more astounding, though, was the fact that the Seers appeared almost timid, their heads and eyes lowered as if it were they who felt in awe of him and his son.
“We are Gallan and Raddia of Lurien,” the man said, in a voice like soft music. “Greetings to you and your – progeny. Know that you have an extremely gifted son.”
Now it was Yern’s turn to bow his head and mutter thanks, but in the meantime Yonfi had decided to introduce himself to the horse, standing on his toes before its head and rubbing the animal’s muzzle, thus earning copious tongue-lapping which sent him into a frenzy of giggles. “Papa!” he shouted, wiping his face. “Can I ride the horsey?”
“Excuse me,” said a cold voice, and turning around Yern saw a man in black, the same one who had declared himself High Servant. “Who are you? State your names and purpose at once! And also why you’re not kneeling before me as you should.”
So Yern, who knew a thing or two about prideful Spirit Servants and felt hugely grateful that they hadn’t been ambushed and killed by the Scavengers, went down on his knees, kissed the muddy hem of the man’s cape, and said their names, adding that they were on their way to the Castle. “Pray forgive us for intruding on you and your exalted company,” he said finally, “but if your lordship, too, is heading to the Castle, could we accompany you for the rest of the journey if it’s not too great an imposition?”
The High Servant frowned at this for a moment, and then consented in not too generous a tone, on condition that he and the Oracles wouldn’t have to share the horse or their provisions with them. Then something seemed to cross his mind. “Kobold, you said? Are you by any chance a relation of a youth by the name of Yodren Kobold?”
Yern sprang to his feet, and it took all of his restraint not to grab the pompous fool by his robes and shake all knowledge out of him. “Yes! I’m his father!” he said, his voice suddenly faltering with fear, for what if the man’s impassivity meant that Yodren was dead? “He’s – he’s my firstborn. A Scribe. Your lordship knows of him?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. He serves at the pleasure of Queen Firalda, may she live and prosper.” It sounded as though he found the service he spoke of distasteful.
Yet nothing could lessen Yern’s enthusiasm, his breathtaking bliss at hearing that his beloved son was alive – and attendant to the Queen at that! “Did you hear that, Yonfi?” he said, turning around. “Your brother – ”
But Yonfi was asleep, his head resting on the horse’s neck, while the female Seer (Raddia, a name as pretty as her alabaster face), cradled his body gently in her arms, her eyes peacefully closed. It was a scene of such immense tranquillity and beauty, that even the High Servant didn’t object to it. Yern’s heart swelled with love.
Then the woman turned towards him and opened her pale, blind-seeming eyes. And this time he knew the voice in his mind belonged to her.
Yodren, she said. The Queen believes him to be someone called Royen the Eternal.
A little before the first moonrise, while they were crossing a wilderness near the foot of Mount Copper, the drowsy company came upon an abandoned horse cart that had been spared the destructive rage of the Scavengers. But when Yern suggested that they attach it to the mare so the Seers and Yonfi could lie down for a spell while he and the High Servant take their place on the horse, Veig Treth (an oddly disturbing name) wouldn’t hear of it. “She’s run-down enough as it is,” he said, “and even if the Oracles agreed to dismount, which I would never allow since they are glorious guests in our poor excuse of a world, you had better recall your station before proposing that you and I ride together.”
Yet once more his authority was thwarted, for suddenly the mare, as though indignant at her being called frail, rose on her hindlegs, let out a powerful neigh, and backed up to the cart, beating her hind hooves on the ground and clearly demanding that she be tied to it. While Yern connected the straps, the Seers climbed down, Raddia still holding the sleeping Yonfi in her arms, and lay across the cart, pushing their bodies close so that Yonfi would be cushioned instead of lying on the bare wooden planks, and covering him up to the chin with their red robes. Looking at them, Yern was once again overwhelmed by a feeling of thankfulness; his poor son might have lost his family, but now he was given a new one, strange to behold but nonetheless brimming with tenderness.
Seated on the horse behind the High Servant, whose silence was as gloomy as the blackness of his cape, Yern tried to resist the lull of the mare’s slow trot in order to make some sense out of what the Seers had revealed to him, first openly – Know that you have an extremely gifted son, Gallan had said – and then secretly, about Yodren being Royen the Eternal. It was the latter Yern couldn’t wrap his head around, no matter how proud the mere thought made him. Of course Yodren was gifted, or else he wouldn’t have become a Scribe of the Order of Divinators, who could read the prophecies of the ancients. But to think that he, a humble Farmer, had fathered the hero of so many legends – legends which Yern, like most Feeres, had always thought the product of imaginations seeking comfort in the myth of an immortal hero born to the same lowliness as the imaginers’ – sent shivers down his spine. However, even if it did defy belief, he was presently in the company of two equally unbelieavble creatures, who not only had appeared as the army of the Scavengers drew near (on the same year the Shy Death had struck, raising the fear of the Seventh Moon), but also knew of his son. After all this, was it really so impossible that his son was the fabulous Royen?
But even if it were true, Yern couldn’t bear to think of Yodren, the flesh of his flesh, fighting the Scavengers single-handedly, immortal warrior or not. It was he who should thrust himself into the battle before allowing those pieces of filth to lay a finger on either of his sons – whom, being a loving father, he often found hard to not think of as tiny defenceless babes still smelling of their poor mother’s milk.
(And there was one last consideration, although it was so laden with the despair of wild hope, he shied from articulating it even in the privacy of his mind. For according to the folk tales, amongst his formidable powers, the undying Royen could also raise the dead. Thus, if Yodren possessed the same magical, Spirit-given gift, maybe he could climb into that burrow and – But no, he mustn’t hope. Nothing good could ever come out of that smoking hole. It is the living who need my love and protection, he told himself).
Suddenly, a strong acrid smell roused Yern from his musings, and looking up in the pale blue moonlight of dawn, he saw, to his horror, a great pillar of smoke rising in the sky.
The Seers had awakened at once, and shielding Yonfi’s face with their sleeves from the bitterness that was rapidly filling the air, they looked intently at the mare, who broke into a frenzied gallop through the last stretch of the Minelands.
Yern could barely hold on to the running horse, for the sight had drained him of what little strength he had left. Any moment now he expected to see the Castle wrapped in flames, and the horrible smell of burning flesh descend upon them like death.
Not Yodren too, he pleaded with the silent Spirits. Let me burn, but spare my boy!
However, when the walls of the Castle emerged in the distance – sooner than he thought, for the black mare was dashing forth so swiftly they might as well be flying – Yern could discern no tongues of fire rising from
the battlements, and so, along with everyone else (the High Servant, the Seers and even Yonfi, secure in Gallan’s embrace with a look on his boyish face that wavered between terror and excitement) he turned his head to the right and saw the origin of the thickening, choking smoke.
The crescent of forest surrounding the Castle was on fire, the tall trees alight like towering candles. The Scavengers were trying to smoke the Castle-dwellers out, then to unleash their final assault. Yern closed his eyes and prayed. Not my sons. I beg of You. And then, blinking through the tears of his soot-stung eyes, he saw Yodren.
His heart knew it was his boy even before the face of the purple-robed figure became visible – just as it had throbbed with pain when he’d seen the smoke rise from the burrow, it now throbbed with rapture. “Yodren!” he called. “YODREN!”
But before the man who stood alone outside the Castle’s gates turned at the sound of Yern’s call, a smaller figure, moving so fast it looked like a blur to their teary eyes, shot past the horse with incredible speed, shrieking Yodren’s name as well.
By the time they reached them, the Seers removing their gloves as they jumped from the cart, Veig Treth unsheathing a sword that looked as though it would have trouble cutting through water, and Yern nearly falling off the horse, Yodren had raised his little brother high in his arms and was spinning him round and round, his grown man’s laughter as blissful as Yonfi’s ecstatic screams. They all stood and watched them in silence for a while; even their own father didn’t want to spoil this moment, which both his cherished sons had been dreaming of and craving for so long.
Yet finally he was unable to fight the raw surge of love; collapsing on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and began to sob, and suddenly the boys were kneeling next to him, hugging and soothing their father and crying tears of regret and joy with him. However Yern knew he must let go, become once more the strong one, for the agonizing thought that the boys’ mother and sister would never again feel their loving touch and hungry kisses was too unbearable, and too tempting to divulge while they wept together as if they shared one single heart.
And it was high time he regained control of his emotions, because as soon as they stood up Yodren asked the question that Yern both dreaded and anticipated.
Luckily, Yonfi was still under the spell of his big brother’s presence, prancing around him and trying to climb on his back and squeaking like mad, and so Yern managed to answer his son’s question merely by biting his lip and bowing his head and shutting his eyes – a silent display of grief Yodren picked up at once, stepping back and clutching his heart, as though in a desperate attempt to keep it whole.
Suddenly, a man began to yell, “Let me in! I brought the bloody Seers! Open the gates this instant, or suffer the wrath of the King and the Spirits!” And turning around, they saw the High Servant banging at the Castle’s tall wooden doors, which weren’t just shut but further shielded by an external gate of thick and latticed iron bars.
It was then that Yern became aware of the dreadful fact that, for some reason, his son had been expelled from the Castle. “What is the matter?” he asked in a low voice.
Yodren approached and whispered, “The Prince died, and the Queen went mad. And somehow she got it in her head that I am Royen the Eternal, which I am positively not, because if anyone can be said – ”
“Papa? Where is Mama and Yofana?”
Father and son turned toward Yonfi, with instant foced smiles.
“Why, they’re inside!” Yern said, “Isn’t that so, Yodren?”
“They most certainly are! By the King’s orders, all women and child – and girls will remain protected in the Castle, while us men stay and fight the enemy!”
The last part was enough to send Yonfi into the throes of fresh exuberance, allowing them to resume their talk, which had been joined by Veig Treth.
“Kobold! What is the meaning of this?” he barked at Yodren, gesturing at the barred gates. “I demand to be let in! I have fulfilled my task and must speak to the King at once!” Then the obvious dawned on him. “Why did they lock you outside?”
“Sadly, the King wasn’t convinced that I am Royen – ”
“No one but that crazy sow does! But how is this my concern? Answer me!”
Yern was itching to knock the odious man to the ground if only to shut him up, but at the same time he was very proud to see his son wasn’t in the least daunted.
“Well, as King Fazen put it, if I really am Royen the Eternal, then I should have no trouble defeating the Scavengers’ army with my bare hands – to which he added that, in the event I should find myself in a bind, I could count on your lordship to summon the Spirits’ power to our aid. In other words, he’ve been left out for dead.”
It was almost thrilling to see the fury drain from the High Servant’s face to be replaced by the petrified pallor of panic. Without another word, he turned around and ran to the Castle gates once more, beating at the doors and hopelessly trying to climb the rails, all the while screeching to be let in. And when he realized the futility of his efforts, he bolted for the horse, grabbing her reins and cursing her and struggling to mount.
But the old mare had no more sympathy for the cowardly fool than anyone else did, and when her pulling back and neighing anrgily at him had no effect on his frantic grabbing and swearing, she rose on her hind legs, and before he could extricate himself from the reins and back away, she let her front right hoof fall with all its force on his skull, shattering it like a pomegranate. And once Veig Treth fell down and lay dead, for good measure, she trampled on what was left of his head.
The three Kobolds were staring at the horror with wide-open eyes – even Yonfi, though Yern had tried in vain to shield him from the gory sight – when suddenly a gust of wind swept through them, clearing the air from the smoke.
Then they all heard together the voice of the Seers. They’re upon us.
And so they were, emerging from the flaming forest as if made of smoke and fire themselves: the sons and daughters of the Vanished Kingdoms, and Velius their Lord.
If Yonfi was almost entirely unafraid as he stood there, gazing at the seemingly endless army of the Scavengers as it deployed and filled the view of the burning forest, it was because Mistress Raddia stood beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him in that voice that felt like Mama’s kisses when she tucked him in at night.
Of course he had known the strange pale lady was a sorceress the moment he’d seen her on the horse, when she had turned her head towards him without quite looking at him and said, Greetings, little one. I am Raddia. Be not afraid of me – all the while keeping her smiling lips closed. That had been the beginning of their fast friendship.
Because it appeared that Mistress Raddia could also read his thoughts and what he meant to say, so that although they rode in silence they were in fact talking in this delightful, magical way. Master Gallan, her brother, was a sorcerer as well, and he and Yonfi had exchanged greetings but little else, for he seemed too preoccupied with the man in the black cape – a very bad man, according to Mistress Raddia – and, moreover, Yonfi had been missing Mama and Yofana so terribly, he relished the peaceful voice and gentle touch of the Seer’s dainty hands, enclosed in wondrous gloves that changed colour when she took them off and smelled like fresh milk. Feeling cherished and safe, Yonfi had been dozing on and off in the cradle formed by Mistress Raddia’s arms and the horse’s swaying trot, and often upon waking he thought the person holding him was Mama; and since the Seers were said to know everything, he had asked after his mother and sister, for despite his father’s assurances Yonfi was worried about them.
They are in a place where no one and nothing can harm them, Mistress Raddia had replied, and when Yonfi asked if she meant the Castle she said perhaps, adding that if worse came to worst, she would know they were in trouble and would at once transport them to her and Master Gallan’s world, where peace and happiness reigned eternal.
r /> Could you do a magic trick for me? Yonfi had asked next, and at that very moment a white-winged butterfly alighted on the mare’s black mane. And granting his request, Mistress Raddia had removed her gloves, and untangling a blade of dry grass from his hair, she held it in her palm, while with the forefinger of her other hand she touched the snowy wings of the butterfly – and to his utter amazement, the lifeless grass had turned into a bright red butterfly, which flew away with the white one while Yonfi cheered and clapped his hands. If she could do that, why, she could do anything!
Then, after they had woken in the cart, as the horse pulled them slowly across the Minelands, Mistress Raddia had asked him about Royen the Eternal, and Yonfi had duly answered by reciting part of a poem that all children of Feerien knew by heart:
Born of man and Spirit,
With wits as quick as breath,
This hero who shall save us
Knows neither fear nor death.
“And I know who Royen is!” he had exclaimed, forgetting in his excitement that he had but to think of the words and the Seers would hear him. So – after making them promise they wouldn’t tell Papa – he told them about their neighbour Master Gaddel, and how he had snuck in his home, and how he thought the old man was dead, but then when he touched him he had sprung to life and chased him out.
He stirred when you touched him? Mistress Raddia asked. And not before?
No! But he looked dead, and his house was filled with cobwebs as if no one lived there! And Royen the Eternal can’t die, see? Not even of the Shy Death, so it must be Master Gaddel!
That is why he shines so bright, Master Gallan told his sister.
But his father mustn’t know about any of this – we promised, remember?
And then they saw the fire, and the horse started running like the wind, and then Yodren appeared, wiping away every other thought from Yonfi’s mind – such was his overwhelming joy at finally meeting this longed-for brother, a man every bit as nice and handsome as Yonfi had imagined him, whose embrace filled his heart to bursting.
It was a little sad when Papa and Yodren began to cry, because they made Yonfi cry too, and so when he asked about Mama and Yofana and saw how they both tried to hide their sadness, he knew they weren’t in the Castle but in the marvellous world of the Seers, where everyone was happy. It was terriby hard not to share this knowledge with them, but Mistress Raddia had told him he must keep it secret, for Lurien – the magical world – was so big, that if his father and brother went there before the time was right, they might get lost and have trouble finding his mother and sister.
But now everyone (except for the mean old man in black, who had got what was coming to him) was looking at the Scavengers and their imposing leader.
At first Yonfi could hardly believe that the creature sitting upon the horse – the strangest horse he’d ever seen, made of wood but also of men tied together to form its legs – was a single man, for he was so huge it looked as though he had eaten ten men and bloated up as their bodies pushed and fought for room inside his mountain of a belly.
And when he spoke, his voice sounded indeed like a dozen thundering voices.
“WHAT IS THIS SORRY SIGHT?” he bellowed. “IS YOUR FALSE KING SO COWARDLY THAT HE LEFT YOU TO FIGHT IN HIS STEAD?”
Oh, if only they had Master Gaddel on their side! Yonfi thought. Then this fat disgusting man and his filthy warriors would think twice before offending them so!
Master Gallan and Mistress Raddia had been standing protectively before him, and now Yonfi heard them speak as one. Leave, they told the beastly foe, And no one has to die. There are forces at work here you don’t want to challenge.
However this seemed to amuse rather than scare him, for he exploded in a laughter so loud that, joined by the laughter of his army, it made the ground shake.
“YOU’RE NOT COWARDS, I’LL GIVE YOU THAT!” he roared. “BUT IF YOU THINK YOU STAND A CHANCE BEFORE VELIUS THE VAST AND THE LEGION OF THE VANISHED KINGDOMS, YOU ARE MAD AS THAT BASTARD FAZEN IS YELLOW! NOW OFF TO THE HOLE WHENCE YOU CRAWLED OUT, AND YOUR LIVES SHALL BE SPARED!”
Then Yonfi heard Papa shout, “No, Yodren, stop!” and turning to his left he saw his big brother stride to the corpse of the bad man and take his tarnished sword. Then he stepped forward, and brandishing the sword he called out, “Begone from my sight, or you and your grimy carcass-eaters shall know the wrath of Royen the Eternal!”
But he’s not – ! Yonfi thought, but Mistress Raddia told him to hush, and she and Master Gallan drew closer together to shield him while they took off their gloves.
“YOU?” Velius said. “YOU ARE ROYEN? A PATHETIC SCRIBE WITH A BREAD KNIFE? WELL, THEN THIS WON’T HURT A BIT.”
And with an unsuspected quickness, the monstrous man produced a long sharp spear and cast it as if it were a splinter; and so fast did it fly and find its target, that for a moment Yonfi, struggling to part the Seers and see, thought it had shot above the Castle and disappeared. But then he heard his father howl, “No! Nooo!!!” and saw Yodren take a couple of shaky steps and then collapse, the spear sticking out of his heart.
And then, at the sight of his brother’s dead body, something happened to Yonfi which he could neither explain nor control. It was as if some madness that had been lying in wait deep inside him, in that dark place where love and sorrow and everything that was himself resided, all of a sudden exploded, gushing out of him as uncontainably as the fire consuming the forest. Remotely, another Yonfi he no longer was felt the Seers and his father trying to hold him back, their hands clutching him and their desperate voices begging him to stop, be still – but they were too weak, or he too strong to be stopped, dragging all three of them along and finally breaking free.
With a savage cry of hatred, of a loathing so powerful it felt as though his skin was on fire, Yonfi charged at Velius, bent on avenging Yodren’s death if it meant taking the lives of everyone at sight. But suddenly something arrested his furious dash, and he realized he was running on air – for some unseen Scavenger had pierced the back of his shirt with his sword, and was now raising the blade up to deliver him to the fat beast.
Yonfi’s scalp screamed with sudden pain; Velius had grabbed him by the hair, and was holding him at arm’s length, laughing at the frantic swipes of his tiny fists and at the rabid snarling and kicking, his foul breath adding insult to injury.
“YOU’RE ONE FEISTY MORSEL!” he chuckled, and opened his mouth in a taunting show of hunger, smacking his lips and drooling, his big violet tongue as long as a dog’s – till Yonfi surprised him, grabbing the tip of his tongue and pulling hard.
It was an act of panic meant to delay the inevitable, and Yonfi didn’t even think he’d used such great force, and yet the next thing he knew he was catapulted backwards, flew in an arc and hit the ground painfully with his skinny bottom.
What did just happen? he wondered in a daze, but as the dust he’d raised cleared, he felt his right hand grasping something thick and slithery – and looking down he saw that he was holding Velius’s tongue, to which were attached his gullet, his lungs, and his huge, still faintly-beating heart. Then from somewhere close Yonfi heard the sound of wood creaking and splintering, and then came a great thud that raised even more dust. And through the settling cloud he saw the astounding result of his single pull.
Velius the Vast lay vastly dead upon the wreckage of his horse, while his bearers groaned and struggled in vain to prevent his immense weight from crushing the life out of them. However, before long they too went still, and the entirety of the Scavengers’ army, after taking a single look at their eviscerated warlord, retreated a few steps, their former confident cheering replaced at once by the speechlessness of dread.
All the while, Mistress Raddia and Papa had been yelling at him to come back, and Master Gallan, standing a little behind him, was trying to bend his will and make him obey his magic – but Yonfi gave heed to none of them, instead walking over to his brother’s body. Yodre
n’s beautiful green eyes were wide open, gazing horrified at the abrupt nothing of death, his parted lips lay frozen at the moment his soul had left him, and on his chest a pool of dark blood lay still around the handle of the spear.
By now Yonfi was wailing, and though he knew there was nothing he could do, he nonetheless grabbed the spear, drew it out and cast it away with a grunt of rage. His brother, whom he’d dreamt of meeting all his life, had known him for less than an hour. He sobbed and sobbed, and thus his bleary eyes failed to notice the miracle: for every tear he shed, falling into the blood sizzled and hissed like drops of molten gold hitting water, making the wound on Yodren’s chest shrink till it vanished altogether.