The Exile and the Sorcerer (22 page)

*

Over the following days Tevi learnt a lot about mules. She also learnt that although adversity often brings people closer together, this was not necessarily the case. Harrick cursed the weather, the muleteers cursed the mules, Rorg cursed his grandmothers, and Lerwill fell into a sulk and cursed everyone. It was mainly due to Tevi that they found their way across the moor and back onto the trail. Thereafter, the route got worse as it passed through the heart of the mountains.

The muleteers, Jansk and Orpin, were a couple barely out of their teens whose relationship fluctuated between vicious argument and passionate reconciliation. Orpin had the same wiry build and stubbornness as his mules. Jansk was a solid young woman with a short temper. Neither appeared overly endowed with brains. Throughout the early part of the journey, the pair quarrelled incessantly. For some reason, both chose to confide in Tevi. She heard more intimate details about their relationship than she had any wish to know and soon ran out of sympathy for the tales of jealousy, selfishness, and spite, but neither muleteer picked up on hints that she did not want to listen.

As far as she could judge, Tevi spent her twentieth birthday carrying the cargo over a rock fall while Jansk and Orpin took the mules around a detour judged too dangerous for the animals when laden. The voices of the muleteers were audible long after they had disappeared from sight.

“Why are you wearing that old hat again?”

“It keeps my ears warm.”

“It makes you look stupid.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause Lonny gave it to me.”

“I didn’t know who gave it to you.”

“Yes, you did. You were there.”

To Tevi’s relief, the voices faded, leaving her to work in peace—apart from the unhelpful advice from Harrick, Rorg’s sarcastic interjections, and Lerwill’s muttering. That night, she crawled into her bedding cold and exhausted. Her fingers were chafed, and a wrenched ankle was throbbing.

Jansk crept over. “Do you know what he said to me?” Her voice was a whine.

Tevi peered from under her blanket. Tears were in Jansk’s eyes. Knowing the woman, they were more likely due to frustration than grief.

“Who?” A silly question, Tevi realised, even as she spoke.

“Orpin. The dog sucker.”

Tevi had heard Jansk use the phrase on several occasions. She had not tried to find out its derivation, though several possibilities occurred to her. From Jansk’s tone, it was not a term of endearment.

Go away. I can’t be bothered
. The words were on Tevi’s lips, but instead she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I told you...Orpin.”

“What’s he done?”

“He won’t let us name our first child after my father. He said Pa’s an evil old toad.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“Not yet. But after all my Pa’s done for us...can you believe it?”

Tevi buried her head under the blanket. She could not believe any of it.

By the next night, the mule drivers had got over their quarrel. Ignoring the rest of the team, they sat by the fire, staring into each other’s eyes. Kisses grew ever more passionate, and hands disappeared under the layers of clothing, accompanied by giggles. Tevi found the display acutely embarrassing. On the islands, people used the cover of darkness and did not make love brazenly in the firelight. She tried to distract herself by talking to Lerwill, but his eyes were glazed and his speech slurred. What words she could distinguish carried little sense. Harrick gestured for her to leave the guide. She slid across to where the traders were sitting.

“What’s wrong with Lerwill?”

“Opium,” Harrick whispered.

“He’s an addict?” Tevi had heard of the drug during her travels with Verron and Marith—even seen users sprawled blank-eyed outside taverns and brothels—but had never made the connection with the guide’s erratic behaviour.

“Sort of. He promised not to take any on the journey, but he can’t seem to function without it. I let him have a little to see if it helps.”

“Bloody stupid idea to try this route without a decent guide,” Rorg muttered.

“It’s all due to your grandmothers’ stories,” Harrick snapped back.

“I told you not to believe the senile old liars.”

“And it was your fault we were late getting to Treviston.”

“Oh, not that one again!”

The two traders swung into their bitterest argument to date. Both were soon trying to get Tevi to side with them.

“Tevi, can you believe the crap we’re hearing?”

“He’s the one talking out of his arse, isn’t he, Tevi?”

Tevi had no intention of being drawn in. With an excuse, she left the fireside and went to where the ponies were hobbled. Her own mount snorted in the darkness and nuzzled against her. She hugged the pony’s neck, burying her face in the mane. “You and me. We’re the only sane ones here,” Tevi whispered, although she wondered if confiding in an animal might prejudice her own case.

The next day, the trail rounded a sheer-sided mountain before dropping into a thickly wooded valley. They were now on the eastern side of Whitfell Spur, and the air was noticeably warmer. That night, they camped under pine trees. For the first time since entering the mountains, firewood was not in short supply.

The trail continued its steady descent for another two days. On the morning of the sixteenth day after leaving Treviston, they reached the head of a wide valley. Fields, roads and villages were spread out below. The party made their way eagerly down the hillside, encouraged by the thought of a dry bed and food other than trail rations.

At midday, they passed beneath the remains of an old castle perched on a spur of rock. Heavy ramparts linked two towers, one tall, one short. All were built of dark grey granite and dotted with black arrow slits. Tevi looked up.

She turned to Rorg. “Who lives in the castle?”

“Nobody, as far as I know.”

“Why is it here?”

“It goes back to when this was the main route over the Spur. A small garrison was stationed here. Since the new pass was built, this valley has become a backwater, and the soldiers have gone. They now patrol the new pass.”

“The castle seems in good shape.”

“Perhaps the locals are keeping up the maintenance, just in case.”

The road took them on through the bare winter farmlands until, with enormous relief, the party entered the largest village, a mile and a half below the castle. The difficult part was over. Three days’ easy travel would get them to Rizen. Harrick was as keen as anyone to rest and arranged accommodation with the local reeve, a thin middle-aged woman who led the handful of surprised villagers that came out to greet them.

*

The villagers used their arrival as an excuse for an impromptu party. Visitors from outside were cause for excitement, especially during the winter isolation. Everyone from miles around squeezed into the hall in the centre of the village. However, their curiosity was confined to the local area, and the main interest was Harrick, Rorg, and their news from Rizen. Once it was learnt that Tevi came from “far distant lands” she was ignored, apart from the customary band of children entranced by her mercenary tattoos.

A barrel of beer was opened, and someone played a fiddle, although the space was too cramped for dancing. From what Tevi could see, the hall doubled as a hay barn and shearing shed. It would also be their accommodation that night. Tevi lifted her eyes to the rafters and smiled. The thought of sleeping on dry hay with a roof over her head was bliss.

As the evening progressed, the children were sent to bed, and the crowd began to disperse. The reeve, Sergo, was one of the few villagers with any interest in the wider world. She had just engaged Tevi in talk about Lyremouth when the door opened and a grim-faced man stepped in. He made straight for the reeve, who stopped mid-sentence at the sight of the newcomer’s face.

“You’ve found more victims?” Sergo sounded frightened.

“Two sheep. Up by the north falls.” The man jerked his head.

“Spring’s on the way. It won’t stay around much longer, surely?”

“So you say, but I reckon it depends on who called it here, and why.” The man crossed his arms on his chest belligerently while a circle of villagers formed. Voices in the rest of the barn were muted.

“Nobody has called it.” Sergo’s tone did not match her confident words. “It’s just that the bad winter has forced the thing down the Spur from the high Barrodens.”

“Or her, up at the castle, has called on another pet.”

Sergo looked at him in dismay.

In the resulting silence, Tevi asked, “What’s been called here?”

“A basilisk.” The man snapped the answer.

“What’s a basilisk?”

“A monster from the wildlands. It’s got this third eye in the centre of its forehead. It locks eyes with its prey and drains the life out. Turns the body to stone and the eyes become like jewels.”

“Has it killed anyone?”

“Not yet. So far, it’s just taken a dozen sheep,” Sergo said weakly.

“But it’s going to get someone soon. Mark my words, we’ve got to do something.” The man glared at the reeve.

“Nobody here can deal with it. You need magic. But it will go soon. I know it will.” Yet Sergo sounded as if she did not truly believe her own words.

“Can’t you call in a sorcerer to help you?” Tevi asked, remembering the one in Treviston. After the journey she’d had, Tevi would happily have directed a hundred basilisks in the woman’s direction.

“There’s one too many in these parts as it is,” someone in the crowd muttered.

“Most likely her behind it,” a second voice added.

Others agreed.

The angry man faced Tevi. “We’ve got a Coven sorcerer, black amulet and everything. We never used to have one. We got by with a simple witch, a healer who could turn her hand to a bit of rain calling. Nothing much happens around here; we don’t need anyone fancy. But when old Colly died, we got a sorcerer sent here. If I could, I’d slit her throat.” His face twisted in hatred. “She’s evil, and I tell you, the basilisk is her doing.” The last sentence was spat at the reeve. Then the man spun on his heel and stalked towards the door.

Sergo called after the departing figure. “The Coven know what they’re doing. They wouldn’t send her here if she was corrupt or dangerous.”

“If you believed that, you’d go and ask her to help.” The man tossed the words over his shoulder and left.

Nobody else challenged the reeve’s assertion to her face, but there was plenty of muttering. A short while later, Tevi found herself seated on a rickety bench next to a plump elderly woman who was noisily sipping a mug of beer.

“What’s so bad about the sorcerer?” Tevi asked to open the conversation.

The woman glanced around the room, then whispered theatrically, “She’s up to no good.” The woman nodded to reinforce her words. “When she arrived, she wouldn’t stay in the village. We offered her Colly’s old house, but she moved up to the castle. Said if we wanted her help, we could go up there. But I won’t. Not after what happened to Gerry’s daughter. It’s a mercy everyone’s been so healthy, hardly as much as a cold since last summer, ‘cause there’s no one who’d go up to the castle if they were sick. Gerry was the one who came in just now with the news about the sheep. The sorcerer’s put charms up on the hilltops. I dread to think what they’re for. Gerry’s been hunting them down. He reckons he’s destroyed about five, but how many more are there? And what are they for? That’s what I want to know. That sorcerer’s up to mischief. Gives me the creeps.”

“Perhaps she just wanted space to practice her magic. The charms might be totally harmless.”

The woman grunted sceptically. “She’s hiding something. She’s got a room she won’t let anyone in—she talks to evil spirits in there. We know, because Dorin went up to help out at first, but he wouldn’t stay. He wasn’t too clear in his wits to start with, but he’s been worse since he came back. And you should hear the stories he has to tell.” In her enthusiasm, the woman’s voice had risen. “Then Shiral went to work up there. Now, she was a bright girl. But something happened. After a month, the sorcerer brought her back. The girl was out cold for three days, and when she woke up, she just screamed for hours on end. Her parents say she still has nightmares, and we’ve never got a clear story out of her. She was frightened senseless. Now the sorcerer has ‘
things’
running loose at the castle. Sergo says they’re bears, but I’ve never seen bears act like that. And there’s other creatures. She has a magpie that talks to her. It spies on folk.”

The woman stopped and glanced fearfully over her shoulder as if expecting to see the malevolent bird behind her. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But Gerry’s daughter was the worst. The girl had cut her leg, and it was turning bad. When he saw there was nothing for it, Gerry took her to the castle. The sorcerer took the child and sent him away—forced him out of the castle. The next day, she brought the child back down.” The speaker glanced fearfully in the direction of the castle, then leant forward. “The girl was dead.”

“But if she’s a Coven sorcerer hasn’t she sworn an oath to protect people?”

“Oaths can get broken. Anyway, I don’t reckon that it is the real sorcerer. I reckon that it is some fiend that has taken her shape and is just pretending to be her. The Coven don’t go round killing children ‘cause they want them to grow up so they can pay taxes.” The elderly woman nodded at her own, inescapable logic.