Thorn Boy and Other Dreams of Dark Desire (28 page)

Some moments
later, Willow followed. ‘Come to the Occasion at Skylander,’ he
said to Brackeny.

‘
No, for
one thing I have nothing suitable to wear.’ He indicated his ragged
clothes and bare feet with a scornful gesture.

‘
That
doesn’t matter. Come as you are. It is important.’

‘
And
make a fool of myself? No. Anyway, I’ll not be welcome, fine
clothes or not. You know nothing about me.’

‘
Don’t
be bitter, Brackeny,’ Charlaise said. ‘He’ll be there, Master
Willow. Have no fear.’

‘
What?’
Brackeny blustered.

Charlaise
smiled at Willow. ‘Go in peace, sir. I promise he’ll be there.’

Brackeny and
Charlaise parted on rather bitter terms, or at least on Brackeny’s
part. ‘With your magic, you will make a fool of me!’ he said
angrily, but half his anger was deep and heartfelt sadness.

‘
With my
magic, I have made a lover of you - a loved one. You must trust
me.’

‘
What?
When you lie so much? Are you really related to me,
Charlaise?’

‘
Yes,’
she replied calmly. ‘I am your cousin once removed, as I told you.
Your father sent me.’

Brackeny was
momentarily silenced by this, but still unsure whether or not to
believe her. ‘What else have you made of me, Charlaise?’ he asked
in a low, troubled voice.

‘
I have
given you your true self,’ she answered.

Brackeny went
back to the castle.

At Emiraldra,
the first servant who caught sight of him called, ‘Hey Tatters,
clean the yard, you lazy numskull!’

Totally out of
character, Brackeny walked up to him and floored him with a single
blow. ‘I am Brackeny,’ he said. ‘Brackeny. Don’t forget it.’ Then
he cleaned the yard.

That night, in
the small mirror in his room, Brackeny examined his body for
outward changes. What was I doing? He wondered. Was it just
Charlaise’s music?

He ran his
hand down his lean, hard chest, his skinny flank. It brought an
echo of gentler, more tender caresses that made his loins ache. He
thought of Willow with a sad and wistful sigh. He thought of the
slim body, the gentle mouth, the sensitive eyes that had smiled for
him alone. He felt that all of it was beyond him, because he was
only a servant. Out of reach; a bright star visible beyond the
prison bars. At best, all he could be was a man like Willow’s
whore; something to be kept hidden away, something to be ashamed
of. He could not tell Mussy what had happened, but he knew that
from now on he would no longer answer to the name of Tatters. He
had gained an obscure kind of self-respect. He had made a statement
against those who despised him.

Unknown to
Brackeny, that evening Mussy tried once more to change Lord
Thaldocred’s mind. She was incensed enough to say, ‘You can’t go on
living in the past, my lord. Brackeny is living, here and now. He
is Shilalee’s flesh, her blood. By denying him, you deny not only
yourself, but Shilalee as well.’

Thaldocred
thought about this. Then he could not help but think of Shilalee on
the bed upstairs, writhing, legs spread, screaming like a
slaughtered hog. He thought of her blood, her death that had been
without dignity of any kind. He shook his head. ‘I am sorry. It may
be that you are right and I am wrong, but I am getting too old for
change. If I die wrong, then I die wrong. Please don’t mention this
matter to me again. Now go.’

She did
so.

The following
day, Thaldocred rode away from Emiraldra towards Skylander. He took
with him an armed escort of three men. The servants commented on
his good mood. He had ordered that they hold a celebration of their
own that evening. Now, a huge bonfire was being built in the yard.
For once, nobody went out of their way to be unpleasant to
Brackeny. Still feeling confused and dazed, he decided to go and
find Charlaise. He was not sure whether she meant him ill or good,
but she was still the only person he could talk to about this
matter.

He found her
in he place he had first seen her, sitting on the grey stone,
playing her flute. She smiled when she saw him. ‘Today, we go to
Skylander,’ she said.

‘
Oh,
Charlaise!’ Brackeny cried, horrified, thrilled, full of dismal
hope. ‘Why?’

‘
To
watch all the grand ladies and gentlemen arriving at the gate of
the castle, of course. Aren’t you inquisitive about which lovely
girl will be chosen as the Bride?’

‘
Not
really. Are you sure that is the only reason we’re going?’
Brackeny’s question was scornful, but in his chest, his heart began
to pound. Though he knew it would be wise never to see the man he
knew as Willow again, he also knew that he would not be able to
resist trying to.

‘
That is
all,’ Charlaise sang, and swinging her long, brown hair, she sprang
from the rock and began to dance towards the road. Brackeny
followed. Half of him knew he shouldn’t but he still went. Behind
them, the geese called mournfully, although they did not leave the
stone.

‘
Are you
really my kin?’ Brackeny asked as they walked.

‘
I am,’
she answered. ‘You were named for your father, you know. Though he
had to leave here, Brackeny did not forget you. He knew Shilalee
was with child. He knew when you born and how you grew. He cares
for you very much.’

‘
If that
is so, why doesn’t he come and take me away?’ Brackeny asked. ‘Why
does he let me stay in Emiraldra with people who dislike
me?’

‘
It is
not your destiny to be a traveller,’ Charlaise said,
gravely.

‘
You
have not answered me. What is my destiny? To be a fool, an outcast?
To be offered love serves merely to illustrate the shortcomings of
my existence.’

‘
What
will be will be,’ Charlaise declared enigmatically. ‘Come now,
Brackeny, lift your knees. We shall dance for fifty
paces.’

By the time
they reached the town, evening had come. Skylander was lit by a
thousand lamps and everywhere was music and activity. Charlaise led
the way to the gates of the castle, shouting lewd replies to those
who called out her in the markets. She greeted strange people with
slanting eyes and gaudy, beribboned clothes. Brackeny followed
meekly. He scanned every face, looking for Willow. At the gates, a
guard stepped out in front of them. ‘Hey, what do you two think
you’re doing?’ he demanded roughly, barring their way with his
pike.

In reply,
Charlaise merely lifted her flute to her lips and played a quick,
merry tune. The guard’s face went strangely blank; he stepped
back.

Charlaise went
first into the castle. ‘Where are we going?’ Brackeny asked, but
his voice was slurred. He felt drowsy; everything around him looked
indistinct. Charlaise was playing one of her most powerful musics.
Brackeny followed her without question, blindly. They came at last
to a great hall, approached through a black colonnade.The hall was
filled with light and sound, and many richly-dressed people, who
were all twittering and preening and drinking wine. Dozens of young
ladies simpered together, looking coyly towards the three thrones
at the end of the hall. There the Duke Orvember sat with his wife
and eldest son. Perhaps he was already surveying the livestock that
had gathered for his inspection. One to be the Bride.

Charlaise knew
that by the end of the evening, once more wine had flowed and the
sense of competition had hotted up, the simpering would turn to
sneers, the demure conversation to slander. ‘Shallow creatures!’
she announced, and took her flute from her lips.

Until that
moment, both she and Brackeny had been rendered invisible to other
people; it was the magic of the flute, but the instant the music
stopped, both of them materialised out of thin air, slowly, like a
gossamer veil falling. There was a sudden hush around them, then a
wave of gasps, followed by a wave of subdued laughter. Everyone
gawped in surprise. Was this a joke? Glancing towards the Duke,
some were not sure whether to laugh out loud or not. In the middle
of the room, stood two unlikely figures. One a slim, boyish girl,
dressed in man’s clothing, and the other a tatty ragamuffin, with
bare feet and holes in his pants. Both of them appeared in need of
a good wash and brush-up. Perhaps they were entertainers.

Coming out of
a daze, Brackeny blinked and looked around himself. In shock and
horror, he realised where he was. He felt trapped. On all sides,
hostile faces were closing in. He could feel their eyes boring into
him, into the very core of his soul. Brackeny looked at Charlaise
in despair.She had betrayed him. Was she pleased at his misery? She
must hate him as much as all the others. She was mad. His father
could not possibly have sent her to Emiraldra. In that moment, he
was filled with anger at the world, at his estate, at the looks the
people gave him, how they judged him for his appearance. They were
all ugly, in spite of their fine clothes and perfumes. He pulled
himself straight. ‘Take a good look!’ he said loudly, in a clear
voice. ‘For I am as rich on the inside as you are on the outside
and I might add as poverty-stricken without as you are within.’

Sparing not a
glance for Charlaise, without even looking for the one he knew as
Willow, Brackeny made to shoulder his way from the crowd.

‘
Wait!’

Brackeny
froze.

‘
Would
you leave these people after delivering to them only half the
lesson?’

Brackeny
turned and there was Willow, but this was a man who was dressed in
black and silver, who wore a silver crownlet upon his green-gold
hair, and who had the emblem of the Orvembers emblazoned across his
tunic. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said.

‘
It was
not my doing,’ Brackeny replied stiffly, not really surprised to
discover Willow’s true identity. He could not resist stealing a
glance at Charlaise. She stared at the floor, smiling in a
secretive fashion.

‘
Won’t
you join me, sir?’ the Duke’s eldest son asked with a
bow.

Brackeny
looked at the faces that were hungry with curiosity around him. He
nodded. ‘I would be honoured.’

The Duke’s son
led him to the great, carved thrones at the end of the Hall.
Brackeny saw Duke Orvember staring at them with an expression
comprising dread and apprehension. His wife, a contained creature,
merely kept one eyebrow raised permanently in surprise.

The Duke’s son
faced the crowd. ‘I am Persilian, eldest son of this house, and I
would speak.’ He looked to his father for permission. Orvember
raised a cautious hand, but his eyes were pleading for constraint
on his son’s part.

Persilian took
Brackeny’s hand in his own and another ripple coursed around the
hall. ‘For two years,’ he began, ‘I have been travelling the land,
learning, I hope, a little about life. It was on my mind to find
myself a wife during these travels, but of all the ladies I met,
there was not one who did not look at the world through a narrow
window. There was physical beauty to be found, oh yes, and I am not
ashamed to admit that in many cases I took advantage of the
undisguised offers of fulfilment that were made to me. But beauty
of the soul, ah, that is a rare thing, and I was not lucky to come
across it once, in either man or woman. As you know, my father
called me home. He spoke of celebrations, of events, of taking
matters from my hands.“I shall find you someone to love,
Persilian,” he said and that as far as he was concerned was that.
Coming home, I lost my way in the fields beyond Emiraldra and it
was there, virtually on my own doorstep, that I found the soul with
whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I have found true beauty
and I do not have the slightest intention of forsaking it.’

And then, in
full view of everybody, he took Brackeny in his arms and kissed
him. The stunned silence that followed seemed unbreakable. Brackeny
could see Duke Orvember, sitting with his head in his hands,
staring, mortified through his spread fingers at Persilian. Beside
him, his wife stared at the floor, her hand over her mouth and
Brackeny had the clear impression that she was trying hard not to
laugh. Eventually, the Duke managed to find his voice.

‘
You
speak bravely, my son,’ he said, ‘but one thing I feel compelled to
mention. Where do you intend to find heirs? One would suppose that
a union between two males could only be without issue?’

His dry tone
produced the ghost of a titter around the hall.

‘
You are
right, father,’ Persilian agreed. ‘We have two courses of action.
One is that Brackeny and myself leave Skylander without further
embarrassment to yourself, and seek a position in the court of King
Ashalan, who himself has a male consort. In view of our
predicament, I feel sure we would be made welcome. The other is
that you accept whom I have chosen. You have other sons after all.
I will make one of my nephews my heir.’

Duke Orvember
made an impatient, harried sound. ‘All right!’ he said hurriedly.
He was clearly not oblivious of the light in which he would appear
to King Ashalan should Persilian carry out his threat. ‘One thing I
shall say in order to dissuade you from this course, Persilian, and
I am bound by honour to say it, though it may sting your ears and
those of this good company a little.’ He looked at Brackeny
steadily. ‘To be the consort of the Duke of this Duchy is a less
than simple task. It cannot be compared with life in the fields or
upon the road. It requires the skills of a person who is born to
the role. You, boy, are clearly not of that ilk. I am unconvinced
you could cope with such a station, or indeed that you would enjoy
it. Now, while love blooms with its freshest petals, such things as
duty, routine and order are easy to overlook, and rightly so. But
once the first blooms have been shed and the firm fruit must grow,
then what once was once looked upon as endearing ingenuousness may
become an irritating lack of education, a fault. What was once
intriguing and new may become an embarrassment. In the court of a
king, or indeed a mere Duke, you will be at best a novelty, at
worst a fool.’