The Fickle Winds of Autumn

Ellis tried to relax into the familiar shape of the chair, safe in the evening sanctuary of Aldwyn’s chambers. Its smooth, worn frame held him comfortably at the table as before, but the cheery crackle of the fire seemed distant and cold; it receded into a vague and distant past, as the goose-bumps crawled nervously along his arms.

Perhaps the stress and shock of the fight for the Quillon was now finally seeping out through his distraught memories into his skin?

Or perhaps the days of hard travel and damp coldness had taken their toll?

The unsettled seasons were changing - the grey autumn skies had already begun to look south for their winter home.

Certainly the journey had not been an easy experience - pursued at first by the Reever scouts, and then by a guilty friction of dissonance for the deaths they had caused.

But they had captured the Quillon successfully - Aldwyn should be able to use it and help the world - to save it from the witches.

But this victory did not seem to have pleased his old master - indeed, his actions had become even more peculiar and eccentric since they had fled the Reevers and the marshlands.

Perhaps the burden of the Quillon was beginning to take its toll on him? Or even a worsening of his star-taint, brought on by the exertions of the journey and the fight?Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

It was difficult to know these days - he had become so distant and withdrawn since their arrival at the Cathedral.

Perhaps his old memories of expulsion still wounded him?

Or the clandestine nature of the stones which built its sacred walls forced him to secrecy?

The previous closeness of their friendship seemed as nothing to him now.

Even Kira had been quiet on the way back. Through the bleak autumn daytime, her skin was pale and wan; and she kept rubbing her shoulder and hand when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But the fearful stillness of the sleepless nights had also brought dark, stalking worries about his own condition.

That strange ringing in his ears was still there - an unwanted companion since his head struck the ground in the fight with the Reevers. Probably it was a simple concussion - but it shouldn’t have lasted so long - and he was almost sure, as he lay helpless on the ground, counting the hollow heartbeats until his death, that the ringing buzz had called out his name, in a breathy, metallic tone.

That cold, eerie voice still haunted his wandering, fitful dreams - a voice that had distracted him from the brutal heat of the lava and the perilous reality of the fight.

He thought about mentioning it to Aldwyn on the journey back - but the deep fingers of fear had gripped him and bound him fast - perhaps this might be the sad beginnings of his own youthful star-taint?

Was this how it started - with strange voices in his head?

Besides, Aldwyn had more pressing matters, and needed all his energy to shield them at nights - there was no need to bother him with such a minor complaint - or such a tragic one.

And if Kira should hear them discussing it?

What would she think?

How would she react to such a weakness in him?

Would she still want to be with him - knowing he had such a terrible affliction?

Knowing his life would inevitably change and end?

The fraught worries shivered down his back; his skin alert to the possibility of some awful new reality.

Aldwyn took the Quillon from the depths of his robe and placed it carefully on the table.

Kira sat on the rug and rubbed her hands into the warmth of the fire.

Her hand strayed up to her elbow, then clutched at her shoulder.

“Aldwyn?” she said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since we got away from the Reevers.”

Aldwyn pulled a chair out from the table and turned it to face her and the glowing invitation of the hearth.

“Yes?” he replied.

The cold metal glint of the Quillon glared up at Ellis through the dancing candlelight. He blinked its harshness away and tried to focus instead on the back of his master’s head and the soft voice of Kira.

“It’s about my arm,” she said, “even after you healed my cuts and blisters - the arm I held the Quillon in - it still seems to throb and ache. Is that normal?”

Aldwyn shuffled his weight in the chair.

“The Quillon is truly a powerful artefact,” he said quietly, “but I don’t believe that your problems stem from its qualities.”

“Then what is it?” Kira asked.

“Well,” said Aldwyn, “do you remember the story I told you concerning the death of the old Patrex?”

“The one about the witch?” said Kira. “Yes, but what’s that got to do with my arm?”

“Well, all that I told you was true - but there was more to the tale - more that I was not ready to reveal to you at that time.”

The incessant, distracting ring grew louder - deep inside Ellis’s head. He squinted his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on Aldwyn’s words; his ears crackled and hummed.

There it was again - that distant whisper, calling to him from the depths of his dreams:

“Ell…is. Ell…is. Listen to me, Ellis.”

“Go on,” said Kira, “I’m listening.”

Aldwyn’s voice sunk to a low, cautious tone.

“It seems, as I told you, the Patrex had been seduced by a witch - but I did not mention that their union resulted in the birth of a child.

“Only I can help you, Ellis. You must listen to me.”

Ellis rubbed his fingers into the smooth grain of the table and fought to keep his concentration in the room with the others.

“Such a progeny ought never to have been brought into this world,” Aldwyn continued, “for it was an unnatural coupling, and the strain of bringing the infant into this world must have proved too great, even for a witch, so the unfortunate creature died during the birth - and because of the entanglement of their souls, this also precipitated the death of the Patrex.”

“See how he lied to you about his name and his abilities? He is a poly-born - but he never told you. He keeps it all secret from you, Ellis.”

Ellis rolled and cracked his neck and tugged at his hair and ears, but the voice refused to leave him and would not be quiet.

“The ancient scrolls foretold of this event, and warned that such a child could bring with it only Sorrow. The First Sorrow was for the child’s parents - for the bond which forged the child, was certain to condemn them both; but, most terrible of all, would be the Second Sorrow, when the child had attained its full powers, for this Sorrow would engulf the whole world.”

“He took you away from your family, Ellis; he has been against you from the start. He has been holding you back - to stop you from reaching your potential. He is jealous of your powers, of your youth - he wants to keep you as his servant, Ellis.”

Ellis’s legs twitched and convulsed involuntarily; he wrapped his feet around the frame of the chair to stop his boots tapping on ground, but the irresistible, dominating voice would not depart.

“So what happened to the child? Did it survive?” Kira asked. “And I still don’t see what this has to do with my arm.”

“The scrolls identified certain signs and symbols which would accompany this child: and one of the Church’s great elders, Father Martin, produced a tome which seemed to confirm their worst, most dreaded fears. I realised something was wrong when I first diagnosed the symptoms of the Patrex’s illness - but, as I have told you, Church infighting forced me out before I could finish my research and, deprived of the benefit of the Great Library here, I had to abandon my investigations.”

“He is going to take the girl away from you, Ellis. He wants you to be alone and unhappy. He will keep you for himself, to be his slave, to tend to him in his old age. He will never allow you to become a man, Ellis.”

Ellis dug his fingernails red into his palms; perhaps the pain would distract him from the voice. He gripped and twisted his hair, but the cold, sonorous voice burned between his ears and blocked the blurring confused world out.

“For the first few years, I kept my eyes out for signs of the child - I travelled frequently with my healing work and listened for any news that might reveal the infant’s whereabouts, but to no avail. At length, I began to hope that perhaps the child itself had not survived so unnatural a birth and that our world was not caught in a grave and perilous danger.

“You must not abandon the girl, Ellis. She relies on you; she needs you; she loves you. You must protect her.”

“But it seems that fate had not yet done with me, for just when I had begun to give up hope of ever finding the child - just when I had stopped looking - when I dared to believe that the child had died or must already have come of age but the danger of the Auguries remained unfulfilled or untrue - that was when a number of clues and symbols began to play across my ageing mind, tormenting and teasing me with half-filled memories and fears.”

“But when was this?” Kira asked. “I mean, you’ve been with me and Ellis all this time, and I certainly haven’t seen any signs or symbols or noticed anything unusual.”

“You must not abandon the girl, Ellis. You must protect her. Only you can do this. You are special, you are powerful, Ellis.”

“Well, that’s what has been troubling me ever since you first arrived at my cottage.”

“Me?” asked Kira. “What do you mean?”

The logs on the fire spat and jumped. The candles guttered and flickered in the evening draught, but flared and recovered their brightness.

“I fancied I had observed certain markings on your arms and legs the first time I healed you - but I could not be sure; and, I must confess, my bones are not the only things which are growing old these days, for recently my mind, too, has not been quite what it once was.”

Aldwyn paused and cleared his throat.

“But when I healed your leg again - in the cave behind the waterfall - those same symbols responded once again within you, but this time they had grown stronger and more prominent. The darkness of the tunnels proved most useful, for it meant my mind was not distracted by other things, and I was finally able to recall where I had seen those images before, and what they could mean.”

“Look at all the secrets he keeps from you, Ellis. The lies he has told you. He is stifling your power and growth, Ellis. You must not let him win. His lies must not succeed.”

The disjointed walls began to shorten and blur; they refused to focus or remain still; they would not connect properly with the rising, swaying floor.

But the voice - the voice remained a constant, a beacon, a purity of calmness.

He gripped the arms of the chair and chafed his thumbs deep into its wood; determined to hold the room still; determined to stop the world turning.

“Haemagiles are inevitably drawn to the deep energy of our magiks, and their actions, in attacking you, seemed to confirm my suspicions. But I needed to be sure - to have some definite proof that my deliberations were correct - so when I ran back into the cave, to pull you out of the guano, I was able to test my theory and managed to save you with a sudden violent discharge of all of the magik which had been generated and stored within you.”

“Wait!” Kira exclaimed. “You’re saying that my arm feels a bit funny because I’m that child - the one in your story - that I’m a witch!?”

“He will hurt the girl, Ellis. You must not abandon her. Only you can stop him, Ellis”

“Yes, precisely - and it seems that you are rapidly growing into your powers, for you released a bolt of energy into the chest of one of the Reevers in the room where the Quillon was kept. I sensed the sudden burst as your abilities twisted and writhed through the shielding spell I was preparing - indeed, the power and force of your magik shocked me and broke my concentration.”

“But I don’t want to be a witch!” said Kira. “They’re evil, horrid creatures! They tried to kill me! And I can’t wield magik! I can’t even remember the chanting harmonies to help the magikants!”

“Come to me, Ellis. Embrace your fate. You must trust me. You must obey me. Only I can help you, Ellis.”

“And I don’t want to engulf the world or destroy it! You can’t be right, you just can’t be! This is all a terrible mistake!”

“Please calm yourself, Kira.” said Aldwyn. “Magik is neither evil nor beneficent - only the intentions of those who wield it contain those values. And, as much as you do not wish it to be so, it does indeed seem that the time of the Second Sorrow, predicted by Father Martin, has now fallen upon us. That is why I required the Quillon - in the hope that the predictions of the scrolls can be averted, and we can all still be saved.”

“So what will you do?” Kira asked. “I mean, what must I do? How do I stop this? Say that you’ll help me, Aldwyn - promise that you will! Don’t let me become a witch!”

His buoyant legs seemed to stand.

He did not want to obey, but he knew the pain of the ringing whispering voice would not cease.

He clawed at his ears.

It was useless to resist.

The voice was part of him now, eternally, remorselessly.

“See how he watches her? See the lies he tells?”

“The shadow eclipse of the Long Moon will occur in four days - it is an auspicious time, when my abilities will be at their zenith. We must get to the Sacred Grove and there I hope to be able to focus my powers enough to purify you of the magik that could otherwise destroy our world.”

“And are you sure you can do that? Promise me I won’t become a witch!”

“The scrolls in the Library tell of a ceremony which might be able to cleanse you - or possibly cleanse the world of you - it is not exactly clear which.”

“What do you mean: ‘cleanse the world of me’?”

“I mean that there is a chance that you will not survive the ritual - I can offer no guarantees - but for the sake of the world, we must at least try - and we must try before you come into your full powers, for by that point, even my magik, assisted by the power of the Quillon and the harmonies of the Grove, will not be sufficient to protect the world from whatever it is that you will unleash upon us, however unintentionally.”

“Now! Do it now, Ellis! This is your chance! Save the girl, Ellis! Only you can help her!”

His vision danced and dimmed; the room swam and twisted its focus.

The only clear and bright thing he could see was the sound of the voice, ringing raw, intense through his tortured head.

A man’s sharp, howling cry woke him.

Kira screamed; her shocked eyes bulged up at him; white, appalled.

A cold, shining smoothness burned in his palm.

His vision strayed down to his trembling fingers; the Quillon gleamed in the unforgiving candlelight, lodged in a gaping wound through Aldwyn’s back.

He jerked his terrified hand away as the bright burning embers raged and swirled out from the fatal laceration; the charred ashes spread and devoured the distraught frame of his crumbling master.

Aldwyn’s decaying head turned sharply to face him.

His eyes pleaded with questions his mouth could no longer speak.

The life in them dimmed and fled.

The Quillon rattled to the floor amidst a smouldering pile of ashes and memories.