Thornbear (Book 1) (29 page)

“Oh!” he said, stunned. The broken sword was no longer broken. He put his other hand on the hilt, moving the six foot great sword carefully through the air in front of him. “It looks amazing.”

Matthew smiled, “Damn right it does. Now repeat after me, ‘
klardit
’.”

“Clar-what?”

“Klardit,” repeated the wizard. “It will help if you imagine it the way that it used to be when you say it.”

“This is the way it used to be.”

“I mean when it was broken.”

“Oh,” said Gram. “Klardit.” Nothing happened.

“You have to do both at the same time. It’s like calling it. Picture the old Thorn, say the word, and imagine a tiny bit of aythar flowing from yourself into the hilt.”

“You should have told me all that to begin with.”

“A very—grumpy—old—man,” observed Matthew. “Just do it.”

Gram did and to his surprise the sword blurred, flowing in his hands. A moment later he held what appeared to be the broken sword, as it had been before Matthew remade it. “Wow.”

“Now you can store it on the wall and your mother will never know we did anything to it,” said Matthew proudly.

“About that,” began Gram, “Mother actually gave me the sword. I don’t need to hide it from her anymore.”

“Well, shit-damn!” said Matthew. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do you know how much time I wasted making this form? It’s not as easy as it looks!”

“It was just the other day.”

Matthew took a deep breath, “I guess it wouldn’t have mattered then. Still, I spent a lot of time on that.”

“It’s kind of nice, though,” said Gram trying to mollify him. “Sort of like a tribute to the past.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Matthew. “Put it back for me.”

Gram concentrated and the sword vanished.

“No, I meant on the table.”

“You really need to work on your communication,” groused Gram. He called the sword back and placed it on the work surface. He noted that when it returned it was in the form he had sent it away in. “Is it finished now?”

Matthew gave him an enigmatic smile, “Not by far. Make sure you don’t try to call it again until I give you the go ahead.”

“I won’t.”

“So what did you want to talk about? Is it something to do with—her?”

Gram shook his head before pulling the large ruby out of his pocket. He held it up for the young wizard’s inspection.

“What’s…?” Matthew paused, glancing up at Gram with wide eyes. “Is that—what I think it is?”

“It’s from that day, the World Road Gate…” The day his father had been crushed alive. “I think it’s his heart.”

“They never found it when they went back to collect the remains,” said Matthew in a hushed tone.

“I picked it up, before anyone noticed.” He briefly explained his experiences with it as well as Cyhan’s observations.

“It doesn’t look magical,” said Matthew. “Otherwise someone would have noticed back then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let me examine it for a minute.” The young wizard took it from his hand and held it, closing his eyes and focusing his attention, while Gram held his breath. He frowned. “There’s something here, but it’s very faint.”

“Could his spirit be in there?”

“No,” said Matthew immediately, but then he retracted his statement. “I mean, I don’t know. I doubt it. A living person, even a normal one, possesses a far greater amount of aythar than this stone does. It’s barely showing anything above what one would expect for a bit of inanimate rock.”

“But there’s something?”

Matthew gave his friend a sad look. “I’m sorry. It’s probably just some sort of leftover energy from before he died.” He held the stone out to Gram.

As Gram reached for it Matthew’s eyes widened.

“What was that?” said the wizard.

“What?”

“Hand it back.”

Gram did and Matthew looked at it once more. “Maybe I imagined it. Here.” As soon as Gram’s hand touched the stone Matthew exclaimed again, “There!” He took it from Gram once more and then handed it back. “Every time you touch it there’s a flare, like a tiny spark.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Try thinking of your father, or whatever it was that made it feel warm before your fight this morning,” suggested Matthew.

Gram closed his eyes and imagined his father again, trying to recapture the feeling he had had the night before. The stone warmed in his hand and Matthew hissed through his teeth.

“It’s glowing! Damn, look at that!”

Gram opened his eyes but they showed him nothing unusual. “It looks the same.”

“No, it’s brilliant, the aythar is streaming out of it. How is it doing that?” said his friend.

“It just feels warm to me,” said Gram.

“That’s because your body is absorbing the aythar. It’s like you have a bond with… Oh!” Matthew stopped, thinking furiously. “That’s his aystrylin, or what’s left of it!”

“His what? It was his heart, if that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“No, well yes, that’s one way to put it, but it wasn’t literally his physical heart. When he transformed his wellspring, the center of his being, his life, became the ruby. It’s kind of like a heart, but it’s more important than just some bit of flesh pumping blood.”

Gram looked at him, “And…?”

“The earth bond is still there,” finished Matthew. “But that doesn’t make sense. Normally when someone is transformed they become part of the earth, the bond ceases to exist. Then again, your dad was a stoic. That’s why he kept changing back, according to my father anyway.” He was talking to himself now, trying to understand what he was seeing.

He looked at Gram. “That’s his aystrylin, but it wouldn’t be absorbed. It remained separate, and the earth-bond your father took is still attached to it.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re holding a source of power, if we can just figure out how to use it,” said his friend.

Chapter 27

Gram left the stone with Matthew after some debate, and when he returned, he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost forgot about Moira’s request.

A small bear outside of his family’s apartments reminded him. “She’s still waiting for you,” said Grace.

He hadn’t even noticed her standing there. “Oh!”

Scooping up the bear, he headed down the hall and turned the corner. The guard outside the outer door to the Illeniel living area nodded at him as he passed. Past that was the antechamber, followed by another door.

The second door was the true entrance to the Count’s home. If he opened it himself, it would lead him into an empty, but carefully furnished family apartment. Built into the frame was a cleverly concealed magical gate enchantment. The magic was only active while the door was closed and intact. When opened by a stranger, it silently shut off, leaving a perfectly normal entrance into a normal apartment.

When it was opened by the right people, however—primarily the members of the Illeniel family—the portal stayed active, and the doorway led to a hidden cottage deep in the Elentir Mountains. The purpose of having it remain active while closed was so that servants and others could knock on the door and be heard by the family.

Gram knocked.

Moira answered immediately, looking anxious and slightly annoyed. “What took so long?”

“We had a lot to talk about.”

She stepped out into the antechamber, closing the door behind her. I found something. She held out a carefully folded envelope. It was marked with an ornate ‘A’ stamped onto a red wax seal.

“What’s this?” he asked her.

“Turn it over.”

On the back, written in a careful and ornate hand, was his name.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was in a box on her dressing table. I searched the room right after you ran off the other day but I didn’t get a chance to give it to you until today.” She seemed ready to explode with pent up energy.

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know! It had your name on it!” she barked. “Are you going to open it?”

She was obviously dying of curiosity but Gram couldn’t help but be impressed with her resolve. Not many would have resisted the urge to look at the letter. Especially a wizard who could very likely replace the seal with him being none the wiser.

He didn’t suspect her of such a thing, though. She was dying to find out what it said and he knew her better anyway. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to let me see what it says?” she asked.

“Let me read it first.” Turning away he broke the seal, and with trembling fingers he withdrew a small sheet of parchment. Only a few short words were written inside.

A letter waits at the shepherd’s cottage.

He stared at it, a faint hope blooming in his chest.

Moira’s voice came over his shoulder, “Which shepherd?”

Gram frowned at her, “You didn’t even wait for me to say it was alright.”

“I’m sorry! She was my friend too! Which cottage? Do you know where she means?”

“No idea,” he lied.

She told him as much, “Don’t give me that! You do know!”

“It’s personal,” he told her.

“I’ll just follow you then,” she warned him.

Gram realized he had tensed, and he blew out a great lungful of air. “Listen, Moira, this is something she didn’t want anyone else to read. Otherwise she wouldn’t have made this note so cryptic. She knew there was a good chance someone else would read it first.”

“It isn’t that cryptic,” the young woman shot back. “There aren’t
that
many shepherds in the vicinity.”

“Please Moira,” he said sincerely. “I doubt I could fool you. Please just let me get the letter and keep it private. If it isn’t too embarrassing, I might share it, but I can’t promise.”

“I’m not
that
insensitive,” she protested. “I didn’t open
this
letter after all.”

“Thank you.”

She pursed her lips. “What if there’s something dangerous in the letter? Will you tell someone then, or go charging off on your own again?”

“Trust me to use my own judgment,” he told her.

“Only if you promise to tell me if you decide to go off chasing her again,” she said, crossing her arms.

Grace was standing near and she nodded, adding her agreement.

“Fine,” he said. “I promise not to leave without talking to you first. Is that good enough?”

Moira hugged him.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“To make me feel better,” she told him.

***

Fifteen minutes later he was riding across the darkened fields outside of Washbrook. Fortunately the moon had finally decided to make an appearance, though it was still only a quarter of its full size. It provided enough light to make finding his way relatively easy once his eyes had adjusted.

He found shepherd McDermott’s home without incident and he knocked on the door as politely as he could, given the fact that it was the middle of the night.

“Alan, it’s me, Gram Thornbear!” he called, guessing that the shepherd might be understandably reluctant to answer the door at such an hour. “Please open up!”

After a minute a reply came from inside, “Hold on! Give me a second.” The shepherd’s voice sounded thick and sleepy. A light appeared through the cracks in the door and then it opened. Alan stood with a small tin lamp in hand.

“I apologize for coming at such an hour,” said Gram.

“She didn’t tell me you’d be bangin’ on the door in the wee hours of the mornin’,” said the shepherd.

The man obviously hadn’t been in to town, or he’d have heard the news already. “She vanished, day before yesterday,” explained Gram.

“I thought she was jus’ leavin’ a secret lover’s letter,” replied the other man. “Here, give me a minute.” He went back inside before returning a moment later. “This is it.”

“Thank you,” Gram told him gratefully. Like the previous letter, this one was sealed with red wax. Breaking it open he tried to read, but the moonlight was insufficient. “Can I borrow your lamp for a minute?”

“Sure’n that’s fine,” said Alan, handing him the small lamp.

Holding the letter in one hand and the lamp in the other, Gram stepped away and started to read. A presence nearby made him pause. The shepherd was staring over his shoulder. Gram stared at the man, raising one brow in a silent question.

“Don’ mind me, sir. I can’t read,” said the shepherd.

“Then why try to look over my shoulder?”

“Jus’ curious. An’ I’ve always thought letters were a bit mysterious,” said the old man. “She’s got a fine hand don’t she, sir.”

Gram was struck with a simultaneous feeling of kinship and irritation. Part of him wanted the comfort of someone friendly close by, and part of him wanted to rebuke the shepherd. The strong smell of sheep and sweat made his decision for him. “I’d prefer it if you gave me some privacy,” he said mildly.

“Ah that’s fine then,” said the shepherd, moving a short step away.

Gram added several steps of his own before studying the letter in his hand:

Dear Gram,

This is my farewell. I write those words first, so that you will not think that hope lies further on in this letter. I have hurt you enough already with false hope. We will never meet again.

I am sure by now that you have discovered that much of what you thought about me was a lie. I cannot apologize for my deception, for it was deliberate and purposeful. I spoke with the intent to deceive, from beginning to end. For that I deserve no forgiveness; though I believe my actions were done in service to a just cause—I would not expect you to agree.

The only consolation I can offer you is this: In hurting you, I have hurt myself. The only truth of our time together, is that I fell well and truly in love with you; something I never intended to happen. You were my finest mistake. Your love, and the strength of your unwavering trust, tore asunder the gates guarding my heart. I have never felt such a thing before, nor do I expect to again.