Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) (40 page)

That night Wolf held a feast in Wynn and Arabella’s honour. A large bonfire was set and wild hares and roe cooked slowly over it, the smell of the meat wafted around the camp, along with the smell of fragrant burning wood. Wolf’s tribe chatted between themselves, eating and sharing spiced wine. The children of the tribe were in the tents asleep, there were not many, not that Wynn had seen. She hoped the celebrations would not wake them.

    
She listened to the sound of the fire cracking, the wind blowing through the trees and light-hearted laughter. The sound warmed Wynn’s heart far more than the fire ever could. Now that they were all at such close quarters, Wynn took the chance to inspect Wolf’s clothes. She was used to dark, dull colours, as these were the easiest to make. All of Woodstone’s clothes were made in the dye baths in town using
a mix of three basic dyes, madder, weld and woad. Lord Oprend and his wife had clothes specially made, in brighter colours but even then Woodstone’s dye baths could never have provided anything like the clothes Wolf’s tribe wore.
Their clothes were dyed with madder root,
Buckthorn berries, logwood, woad and many other assortments of berries. It seemed that Wolf’s clothes were re-dyed until brightness and richness was achieved. Wynn felt very plain in her travelling clothes.

    
It was
Wolf’s body art however that intrigued Wynn the most. The cropped top and skirt hid some of Wolf’s tattoos but there were plenty more to see. Along Wolf’s cheekbones were three thin swirling black lines of ivy, starting from the bridge of her nose and ending beside her ear. On her forehead three circles, each above the last, lined the centre of the forehead. The ivy then began from below her ear, worked its way down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms – on her hands she wore thin fingerless gloves of deerskin, dyed black – but on her fingers more body art appeared in the shape of ivy. Then starting again from below her armpit, and sliding down her ribs and stopping at her hips, more of the black writhing pictures of ivy danced across her skin. Wynn guessed that the tattoos, like the ones on her face would be completely identical on each side of her body. This theme extended down the side of her thigh, swirling down and around her ankle and finally stopping at her toe, where a small flower finished the design.

    
Wolf looked up then, having sensed she was being watched and saw Wynn inspecting her tattoos. She smiled to herself, got up and walked over to her, squeezing in next to her.

    
“Excuse me for staring,” Wynn spluttered, fearing she had offended Wolf.

    
Wolf laughed, “I am flattered by your staring; my body art is something sacred to me. Each new branch of ivy represents an obstacle overcome in my life. The three circles on my forehead represent the sun, moon and earth. I respect nature and it respects me. The ivy is a family tradition; ivy can survive through the harshest of weathers and is poisonous.”

    
Wynn nodded eagerly, insatiably interested in the body art. She questioned Wolf on the process and it seemed each tattoo could take weeks to complete using an awl, a pointed tool for making holes in wood or leather and rubbing either blue clay found deep within the ground, or collecting herbs and using the dye it exuded. The piercing of the skin would allow the dye to sink deep into the skin and the picture would take form. Wynn looked at Wolf’s intricate tattoos and wondered at the whole process.

    
The men of the tribe’s tattoos were lines scored one above another, starting from the side of their hand, just below their little finger. These tattoos, Wolf explained showed a battle won. Many men had one arm completely covered with lines, though few had both.

    
Wynn was glad that in the spirit of celebration her failure earlier in the day had been forgotten and she inwardly sighed with relief. No matter how harsh Wolf seemed, Wynn knew instinctively it was not to be cruel. It was to teach and mould. Wolf was the most interesting person Wynn had ever met and she was drawn to her like no one else she had ever known. With Wolf distracted, talking to others of her tribe, Wynn took the opportunity to question the man she was sitting next to, on Wolf’s hair. She had never seen a young woman with hair as silver as Wolf’s and it did not look like she had prematurely aged. The tribesman that Wynn asked smiled at Wynn’s question.

    
“Ah, that is a tale that our tribe is proud of. Wolf’s father was chief of the tribe and had been for thirty summers, his wife, her mother, after having seven stillborn babies was told by the tribe’s midwife that she would never be able to have children and she gave up hope of ever having a child and continuing the line. She feared her husband would find another woman to continue the line, but he loved her fiercely and refused to do so. They lived happily for a while and it seems that Lady Fate smiled upon the woman, for she became pregnant once more. Throughout the pregnancy she prayed to the moon to let the baby live. On the night she was due the sky was clear and a full moon shone down on the camp. The birth was troubled, Wolf’s mother was ill with a fever and all feared mother and baby would die.

    
“The midwife worked tirelessly to bring down the fever and deliver the baby safely. When Wolf was born she was set in a makeshift cot by the mouth of the tent. By then the stars and moon were shining and their light fell like liquid down onto the newborn baby. Under this gaze the baby’s hair and eyes turned silver as though the moon and stars were blessing it. Many believe this tale, although some argue that because Wolf is the only one of our tribe with magic that it was this that changed her appearance. Either way one cannot argue that she stands out in all the best ways.”

    
Wynn nodded, a tale of blessing from the stars was a beautiful but farfetched tale, and yet she had never seen hair and eyes such as Wolf’s. It really did seem as though starlight had been captured in them. Wynn felt even more in awe of the tribe’s leader.

    
“What happened to her mother and father?” Wynn wondered, having seen none lead the tribe other than Wolf.

    
The man’s face changed in a flash, “They were killed in an attack by the half breed creatures many years ago. Wolf was thrust into leadership at the tender age of twelve and has ruled us fairly for almost ten years.”

    
Wynn nodded, awestruck at Wolf’s strength. Tradition was important here and instead of passing leadership of the tribe onto someone older and more experienced they had followed the bloodline and given complete control over to a twelve year old. It was strange to Wynn but who was she to contradict such a tribe? But why did the Hybrids hunt them?

    
“How long have Hybrid creatures been attacking you?” Wynn asked the man, watching his expression and sensing his emotions carefully, so as not to upset him further.

    
His answer was instantaneous, “Ten years.”

    
Wynn nodded and turned her head away to gaze into the fire. The timeline of attacks mattered to her, but she could not understand why. Ten years, which meant the first invasion of Hybrids, had happened seven years after That Night. It clicked into place then, seven years after That Night the Gypsy clans had been decimated, it seemed the Manti tribe had suffered the same fate. Was it magical heritage that had doomed them? Aerona had been thorough in her eradication of magic, or at least, that had been her plan. Remnants of the old time still lived in Arabella and Wolf.

    
The sound of a drum being beaten woke Wynn from her thoughts and as more joined in a steady rhythm was created. Women of the tribe suddenly stood and began to sway in time with the beat. Wolf began to clap, Wynn and Arabella beside her copied, each drawn to the slow steady sound of the drum.

    
Arabella exuded happiness and Wynn knew her Gypsy roots were being awoken by the dancing and the tribe. Wolf turned to her and nodded and Arabella stood up and joined in with the dance. Her bare feet stamped the soft earth and her hips and belly moved fluidly around. Wynn felt a burst of pride in her heart and could barely contain the happiness. Despite everything Arabella could still find happiness in dancing. The tribe was full of only one feeling, happiness, and Wynn found her eyes prickling with the emotion, magnified so many times for her, her face was fixed with a smile and she clapped all the harder.

    
Wolf turned to Wynn and motioned for her to dance but Wynn shook her head furiously, “I cannot dance, and the women who dance now are so beautiful.”

    
“Then you shall sing,” Wolf insisted and would not hear any arguments, “even if you cannot sing the flow of the beat and the beauty of our home should inspire you. We will not judge for tonight is about nothing but happiness and freedom.”

    
Wynn’s stomach knotted for Wolf did not know she could sing, sing so powerfully that fear was banished and the darkness was subdued. She stood shakily up and let the beat of the drums lull her and the sound of the men clapping envelop her. No song she had ever learnt fit in with the happy and respectful beat and so she sent her senses out and felt all the animals around them, the peacefulness of the forest, the never ending spirit of the land, and slowly a song formed in her heart. She took a breath and began.

“Sing for the morning,

Sing for the night,

Dance under the stars

Feel the touch of moonlight.

Earth ‘neath your bare feet

Arms open wide,

Feel the steady drum beat,

Dance all night.

Moon washing down me

Staining my glad soul

Stars humming gladly

In this moment I am whole

So dance to the drum beat

Dance all night

Darkness cannot move me

The light shines brightest from me

When the earth is ‘neath my feet.”

Wolf sat beside Wynn, gazing up at her, her mouth open in surprise. The drum beat had silenced and the dancers stood still. Even Arabella froze, for she had never heard Wynn sing and it had been such a beautiful song. Every single person of the tribe had been affected and touched in a way they had never experienced before by the beauty and peace of Wynn’s voice. It had trounced all self doubt, and lifted their spirits.

    
“You did not mention you could sing,” Wolf said quietly, too stunned still to do more than whisper. Wynn sat quickly down, her face reddening under the gaze of the tribe. The raging fire hid her from some of the tribe and she hung her head slightly in embarrassment.

    
“I did not think it important,” Wynn whispered back. Wolf suddenly laughed and clapped her on the back.

    
“You are really quite something!” She almost bellowed and the tribe began to clap in appreciation for the owner of the angelic voice. Wolf motioned to the drummers and the beat began again, and Wolf now stood and began to dance, all trouble gone from her serious expression. She held her hand out to Wynn and pulled her up into the twirling dance, and encouraged by their leader the rest of the tribe joined in. So they danced until dawn, twirling and leaping and moving their arms like snakes until the last embers of the great fire burnt out, till the face of the morning sun was visible over the horizon, until all the drummers could beat no more and the ground beneath them had flattened under the pressure of their soles

.

***

Wynn watched Arabella fight with the men and women of the tribe for the next few days, never offering or being invited to join in. She knew she should be offended but she could only muster relief that she did not need to embarrass herself again so publically. Arabella was wonderful to watch, she won all of the bouts and earned a formidable reputation, and it was easy for Wynn to forget herself when she stared at Arabella’s dancelike movements. Wynn watched Arabella’s skill grow too; she became quicker and more fluid under the watchful eye of the tribe. If Arabella was deadly before then Wynn was sure now she had become more animal than human, like a viper or panther; graceful and completely vicious.

    
How could she ever hope to match Arabella’s skill? Her limbs felt like a dead weight and she just could not force herself to attack with such determination. Fighting came naturally to Arabella but there was no doubt she had worked hard to achieve the amazing level of strength, speed and skill. Wynn could hardly envy her when it was not something she had been handed to her, years of hard work had moulded Arabella. Maybe it was why she was so respected; no one admired someone who did not work for their achievements. Yet Wynn was jealous of Arabella, not for her abilities but for the respect they had earned from the tribe. The tribe
had
treated Wynn with newfound admiration after the feast, but it was respect for her voice and not her abilities of the Foreseen. Not that she had expected praise for nothing, but still it rankled to see Arabella excel.

    
Sighing Wynn walked over to her pack in the corner of the tent, brushing aside the clothes given to her by Wolf and opened her pack. She ate some food, hungry out of boredom, it tasted like dust in her mouth and she washed it down with a swig from her water bottle. Once she had finished she continued to pull everything out of the pack until she found the Dagger of Night wrapped in her spare shirt. She unfolded it and set it on the ground, feeling suddenly anxious to touch it. She had wrapped it up in her shirt, afraid that Wolf would object to the strange weapon. Now as she stared at it she was glad it had remained hidden.

    
The Dagger of Night continued to swirl with darkness, made of shadows yet whole to the touch. A quick glance at the dagger would reveal it to be quite plain but as Wynn inspected it now the dagger’s deadly beauty was astonishing. The blade, though completely black shined in the light if it was tilted and that shine told the user that it was truly a blade and something to wield with caution. The swirling of the darkness, with light grey wisps through it reminded Wynn of smoke as it twisted and writhed in the air. She thought of the many times she had blown out a candle and watched the smoke drift off into the air, dancing its last dance, to be lost forever. That same writhing beauty was captured in the Dagger of Night.

    
It was mesmerising to watch; slowly Wynn picked up the Dagger of Night and held it firmly in her grasp. It felt light in her grip and she could imagine that made it far more deadly than a conventional dagger, for the wielder did not need to exert as much force for the blade to slice through the air and meet its target. She sat back onto her heels, simply holding it. But soon that feeling was not enough and she had the strangest and strongest desire to see what would happen if she sent her own magic into the dagger. Cautiously she sent her magic into the dagger and as it connected with the glaring energy of the weapon the tent in which she had been crouched instantly dissolved and was replaced with a world of darkness.

    
Wynn was not lost in the darkness for long before images began to flash before her eyes. A group of men and women, huddling together in a blacksmith’s, while the blacksmith himself hammered a golden object on an anvil, flickered consistently. Wynn was scared to move in case she interrupted the images. It was as though the dagger was relaying a memory, one of brilliant poignancy that needed to be seen, so she stood silently, trying desperately not to breathe as the image continued to play in front of her. The men and women of the memory suddenly began to chant and the words exploded against the darkness so that they echoed around Wynn. She listened but could not understand them; they spoke in the ancient language and Wynn knew then that what she saw was the making of the Dagger of Night; the men and women were Magus and Mages and they were infusing the dagger with magic.

    
As she watched she began to feel lighter and lighter. Dreamily she lifted her palm close to her face and saw her skin writhe and become black. Somewhere, deep inside herself she felt her heart leap into her mouth in fear. Here in this world of darkness she felt small and insignificant. She stood still, surrounded by the choking blackness for what felt like years, time meant nothing here, she was not
in
time, or out of it, time itself did not exist and so she could not trace its passing. But slowly – it felt slow to Wynn but it could have been a matter of seconds – she was slowly disappearing, becoming nothing more than a shadow. A long moment after she realised the world of the dagger was dangerous and she was disappearing, she found the will to think. Where is my magic, the store inside me that makes me formidable? She wondered. In this world Wynn was nothing and everything. She was changing, morphing until she was unsure of her name, her life. She felt the blackness begin to infuse with her skin, clawing its way deeper into her body. She tried weakly to refuse; to shield herself, but the dark continued slowly wrapping itself inside her. Where am I? Wynn thought slowly, her mind filled with the thick night, clouding her judgement. Who am I? And suddenly she managed to laugh, she had been asking herself that question since she was a child and now that she was here in the world of darkness and had lost her name and identity she asked herself again. I am a Magus, a sister, a daughter, a friend, nothing more and nothing less, Wynn thought determinedly and her skin began to writhe and regain its pale pink hue.

    
Once her skin and being had regained normality Wynn felt sure enough to look around the world once more. With her senses she could hear creatures padding their way around her, or flying above her head, their wings beating loudly in the eerie silence, all the creatures snarled menacingly at the new arrival, but did not approach her.

    
Wynn thought back to Medea, “
The Dagger of Night will give you the respect of those that dwell in the shadows; they will do your bidding.
” And Wynn understood, the creatures would never attack her whilst she wielded the dagger, these creatures locked inside this dark abyss were some of the formidable creatures Medea had spoken of. I will not truly understand myself until I have felt the good and evil within me and within this life, a voice said suddenly in her ear and she realised she was speaking to herself. She nodded at what the voice had said. I have felt the evil in this life, she thought sadly, but refused to recall the events of the past, she feared without understanding why, that to think such thoughts in this place would be dangerous. The evil in myself, she thought slowly, I am not evil, my actions maybe... but they were done with good intentions. Surely that was not what she had meant.

    
From far off she heard a small voice calling her back, Wynn realised she should reply but her voice was lost in the dark and she found speaking aloud was impossible.
 

    
“Wynn!” The voice shouted again.

    
Wynn listened carefully and followed the direction of the voice and suddenly fell back into her world. She dropped the dagger and hastily covered it up with her spare shirt and spun to look at the owner of the voice. Wolf stood at the entrance of the tent, her brow furrowed questioningly.

    
“What were you doing?” She asked. Wynn went to shrug, to brush off the question but something about Wolf inspired trust. She motioned for her to come closer and Wolf crouched beside Wynn.

    
“I cannot explain in words, for I do not entirely understand it myself, I hold with me a dagger, forged long ago, fused with the strongest of magic. I fear it as much as I fear Her and yet I feel I must wield it. Where I was... I was inside its world, if that is what it can be called. It is a place full of darkness; no light can pierce such black. I was lost, drawn by a force that I cannot understand, and wandering, I certainly felt no inclination to return here. Your voice welcomed me home.”

    
Wolf looked at her for a long time, studying her face; she leant back and sat down, crossing her legs. Wynn kept her gaze firmly on Wolf; she did not want to seem weak. Absence of fear was foolhardy, and she was not ashamed to admit that what lay ahead terrified her, but she wanted Wolf to know that she was not a coward, she would fight to the death if need be to free her friends from Aerona’s evil grasp. Wynn tried not to listen to Wolf’s thoughts, but they bombarded her mind and her emotions demanded to be felt. She was feeling so many different things at once that for a while Wynn could not figure out whether she was angry or sad. Slowly the emotions became coherent and Wolf’s thoughts were understandable, and Wynn found their close proximity unbearable.

    
“You are hard to read,” Wolf began and Wynn knew she spoke the truth, she had been feeling this from Wolf for the past few minutes, “I posses magic, and feel its burden as my tribe depends on me to protect them and yet it is meagre compared to what I sense in you, what any Mage or Magus with a flicker of magic can sense. I cannot understand you. One thing is clear however, I cannot doubt your intentions but you have a dark side, it is something that if I were wise I would fear and yet I do not. Why? I cannot say, your powers are at best unpredictable, you cannot fight but I would put all faith in you... may I see this dagger?”

    
Wynn smiled crookedly and unwrapped the Dagger of Night from her spare shirt and held it up to Wolf. Wolf held out her hand to touch it, then shrank back and merely inspected it. Wynn could see a range of emotions pass over her face and she watched the tattoos move as her face contorted. At first Wolf was confused and Wynn felt the confusion keenly, this was no earthly weapon, it was entirely made by the hand of man, and so Wolf did not understand it. Her weapons, daggers and bows and arrows were made in the forest with materials of nature. The blade from the iron they found, the wooden hilt from the trees and the bows and arrows from branches.

    
Then came awe, no one could deny that the Dagger of Night had a raw beauty, the darkest shade of black, forever swirling. Wynn was glad that Wolf admired it just as much as she had, for a while it seemed that only she could see its beauty, and respect its awesome power. Wolf was no fool; she was awed by the dagger, but not humbled by it, she knew that for all its magic, it still was just a weapon, one that could be cast aside as easily as breathing, and forgotten about. Wynn was not surprised then when Wolf asked: “You feel you need this weapon?”

    
Wynn thought about the question, knowing here at this moment she was not just answering Wolf, but her own doubts. Why
did
she need this unearthly weapon of shadows? Would a simple weapon of iron not do the same job? Taking a deep breath she answered, “I do not know exactly why I carry it. I wish I could answer you. A knowing deep inside me says that it is key to my journey. In some respects I feel powerless without it.” Wynn was surprised that she sounded sad, she had not realised how attached she was to the weapon.

    
Wolf did not miss Wynn’s evident sadness either and scoffed forcefully. Wynn did not have time to wonder at the reaction, or study Wolf’s emotions before Wolf was shouting at her.

    
“You!” Wolf gestured, “You are to defend me! You cannot even see past your faults to see how much you have accomplished. How can you say you are powerless? The day you are powerless marks the end of our life as we know it. This dagger,” her eyes snapped to it and back to Wynn, “It is nothing but a channel, have you not realised! Does it work as a dagger? Yes, but you do not want a simple dagger. You want something that will rip the dark creatures from their home and serve under you. You want something to magnify your magic, not the be all and end all of your powers! The moment you rely on this dagger, is the moment you will perish.”

    
A deep and uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Wolf’s clear voice and harshly spoken words rung around Wynn’s mind as though it was empty, bouncing from the walls until she felt as though her head would crack. Wynn did not bother to try and ignore Wolf’s emotions, as she would have done normally for anyone she met, and what filled her was a mixture of shock and anger. Shock from Wynn at what Wolf had said, so many depended on her and she was putting all of her trust on a dangerous weapon with an infamous history. Anger from Wolf that the girl heralded as the Foreseen was weak, ill experienced and frightened. Wynn shifted in her cross legged position and watched the floor; the dirt that the tent was placed on seemed far more interesting than anything in the world. She knew Wolf was right, she was weak and terrified, but that did not make her a bad person. Would Wolf be so brave, so confident if it was her destiny to defeat Aerona? Would she be so headstrong if she had had to suffer for so long, through so many different variations of pain? Wynn thought the questions forcefully, and felt a subtle softening in Wolf’s emotions.