The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress (2 page)

Ahead the market opened up onto a small square. Rays of sunlight shone down on a central fountain, scattered by the spray. Some vendors had stalls here selling simple food, and the aroma wafted towards Katherine as she approached.

Slightly away from the other stalls, a young woman had set up a stand selling flowers. A smiling man walked away as Katherine approached. In his hands he held a bunch of beautiful summerglens, their delicate petals drawing the eye to the rainbow of colours. Amidst such turmoil in her mind, the arrangements of flowers displayed at the girl’s market stall were suddenly captivating, and Katherine couldn't look away. Some bold bunches stood as tall as a boy, while others were tiny and looked terribly fragile.

Katherine felt her back itch — he would be watching, she had no doubt of that. It sickened her that such an evil man would be sitting by, watching the girl’s every move.

Ella’s face lit up when she saw Katherine, and the noblewoman felt her own spirits rise in sympathy.

"Hello, Ella," Katherine smiled down at the young woman.

"My Lady," Ella touched her fingers to her lips and then her forehead, but her eyes were sparkling.

"Could I… could I buy a single nightbloom?"

"Of course. Is there one in particular? Are you sure you wouldn’t like one of these beautiful…" Ella said.

"No, no. Just a nightbloom — any. Please, quickly, Ella," Katherine said.

"Of course, My Lady," Ella handed Katherine a flower, her expression puzzled.

Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when the flower was in her hand. There, it was done.

She handed Ella a gold coin.

"No, Lady Katherine, it’s too much," Ella said.

"Please, Ella. Just take it. Please, I insist."

Ella hesitated, evidently torn between disagreeing with the noblewoman and her desire to take only what was fair. "I’ll buy something for my uncle," she promised, putting the coin into a pocket in her tunic.

Lady Katherine smiled. "How is he? And your brother?"

"They’re both well. They still think I’m mad, but Uncle Brandon generally lets me do what I like. He’s more interested in Miro, anyway. I’ve started to sell gift cards too, have you seen?"

Katherine nodded. "They’re beautiful."

"I think I’m really going to do it. In two years I’ll have enough money to sit the entrance examinations at the Academy."

"I’m so proud, Ella."

Some men in dark clothing entered the square, and for a moment Katherine’s heart stopped, but these were labourers, they weren’t her husband’s men.

Ella looked at her with concern.

"Lady Katherine, is something wrong?"

"Yes… No…" Katherine struggled to pull herself together. She was conscious of eyes watching her. She had accomplished her goal, she had to remind herself.

"Ella, I… I’m not going to be able to see you for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"I’m sorry, Ella. You don’t know how sorry I am."

A huge hand clapped onto Katherine’s shoulder, holding her in a grip of iron. Katherine turned to once again face Tessolar’s personal guard. He wasn’t pleased.

"I… I have to go now. Trust in yourself. You will do well."

As the young woman looked on with an expression of confusion, the guards led Katherine away.

1

In the beginning, the world was empty. There were trees and plains of grass. Birds flew through the sky. The oceans teemed with fish. But the world was empty. And then the Evermen came.

— The Evermen Cycles, 1-1

F
ERGUS
the ferryman had always been told that one day his curiosity would get him into trouble.

His wife was someone who "knew how to mind her own business". She told Fergus he ought to keep his opinions to himself, and, more importantly, keep his questions locked up in his head.

He’d never seen the harm — being a ferryman could get tedious at times, and his customers always seemed to respond well to his questioning. At times Fergus felt he knew more about the happenings of Sarostar than did the High Lord himself. It was amazing how sometimes all it took was a few questions to get the most guarded tongue wagging. A few words of praise or an insightful remark and it didn’t matter who he was talking to — from soldiers to farmers, priests to court officials, they all opened up in the end. Why should Fergus change the way he was? Especially when he had the tips to show for it.

The wife simply tut-tutted and shook her head.

~

T
HE
second Evensday of spring began well. The ice had thawed, and the people of Sarostar were again travelling the river. It had been a cruel winter, and the children had grown tired of root vegetables and old apples.

Fergus plied his trade from one side of the Sarsen to the other, his breath steaming in the chill air. He knew all of the best places to find a customer and quickly picked up three young women in green woollen dresses. There were a growing number of new students at the Academy, and for many it was faster to take a boat across the river then to cross at one of Sarostar’s nine bridges.

Fergus had one eye on the river while the other regarded the girls. The students seemed so young, yet he knew they had learned more in their short lives than Fergus would learn in whatever time the Skylord gave him. They seemed eager to talk, but some of the things they spoke about made no sense to him. Apparently they were very lucky to be studying at the Academy of Enchanters.

Each student gave him two copper cendeens, and by midmorning Fergus was pleased with the amount of gilden jingling in his purse. People who had gone to the Poloplats market early then began to return home, and Fergus was suddenly so busy that he had to put his talk to the side while he navigated the river’s hazards — mainly other ferry boats, for the Sarsen was a gentle mistress.

The wind picked up in the afternoon, and Fergus put his back into the oars and pushed hard against it, spying an older man waving at him. The man thanked him profusely as he settled into the boat. It seemed the other ferrymen had neglected him, upriver as he was. Fergus felt a momentary surge of pride, and not for the first time he thanked the Lord of the Sky that he was a ferryman.

The day passed swiftly, and almost before he knew it, Fergus found himself wiping his brow as he dropped off his last customer. He sighed, but it was a pleasant sigh — his purse was half full, and his family would be pleased when he was able to return home the next day with a boat full of fresh food.

Pushing off, he felt the river breeze blow gently on his cheek and heard the gurgle of the water as it splashed against the sides of the boat. The setting sun was silhouetted against the graceful arches of the Winebridge in the distance. Further still, the Crystal Palace began its evening display, cycling through a multitude of colours — emerald, turquoise, crimson and gold.

This was Fergus’s favourite time of day, when the world seemed to take a short rest; a time for reflection on the day’s achievements and preparation for a night with family and friends.

Fergus was a clever ferryman, and unlike many of his fellows, his small house was located downriver rather than upriver. This meant that at the end of the day he could make his way by steerage only, gently nudging the boat to the left or the right as the current took him along. Tired as he always was, he could enjoy a pipe and watch the sun as it sank below the horizon.

He leaned back against the gunwale and took an igniter from a trouser pocket. Its runes were a little faded but it was Fergus’s most treasured possession, worth an entire month’s gilden. From another pocket he withdrew a wooden pipe and a pouch of redleaf. He tapped some of the hairy leaf into the bowl of the pipe and then carefully put the pouch away. Fergus named the activation rune, and the symbols etched into the igniter suddenly lit up with power; he felt the heat radiating from its tip. Touching the igniter to the bowl of the pipe, Fergus inhaled, and then exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke.

The river widened, and the boat’s stately progress slowed, but Fergus decided against hurrying. He’d had a good day, and he deserved this quiet time. He watched the banks of the river change from cultivated land to wilderness. Tree-covered hills rose on both sides and birds cawed as they flitted from one branch to another. Fergus sighed with contentment and, stretching out on the boat, he began to dream.

It was still light enough to see, but even so he wouldn’t have noticed the length of cloth twisted amongst the reeds of the riverbank except for the colour — deep orange. Fergus thought it a strange colour to be seeing with the greens and browns. Still, it was just some cloth that had made its way downriver, why should he investigate?

He drew on his pipe and blew out a trail of smoke. It wasn’t just a piece of orange cloth, he could see that now. The cloth was wrapped around something. Fergus looked up at the sky; there certainly wasn’t much light left in the day; the sun was a red ball on the horizon and slanted rays reflected from the river in a golden shimmer. However his curiosity was nagging him like an old woman, and if he wanted to find out what it was, he needed to do it now.

Finally it was the fact that he was upstream of the object that won the argument. It took only a light sweep of the oars to get him steering in the right direction.

Fergus let the river take him closer. He would wait until he was nearly on top of the object before he tried to take a proper look. If it was something worth salvaging — perhaps some goods had slipped off a trading barge — he wanted to know for certain.

The ferry boat bumped gently into the riverbank. The boat was flat-bottomed, and as sure-footed as Fergus was he had no difficulty walking to the front.

Fergus leaned out. The orange material was just out of reach. Whatever the cloth was wrapped around, it was submerged beneath the reeds. He stretched and stretched, one hand holding to the gunwale and the other clutching in vain at the material. He was so close, barely a hands breadth. He took the igniter from his pocket and tried again. With the extra length provided by its long stem he could nearly touch the cloth.

He almost lost his balance and regained his footing, his breath heaving. He tried again. Finally he caught hold of it with the end of the igniter, pulling the cloth close enough to grasp with his fingertips. What in the Skylord’s name was it?

He could see now that the cloth was silk — expensive and unaffected by the water. Fergus tried pulling on the orange material but it was caught, weighed down by whatever it covered. He took it in a firm grip and leaned back, careless of how his balance was affected. With a sucking sound the cloth moved, tearing from the reeds the thing from below.

Fergus cried out and fell back into the boat. His eyes went wide with shock, and the igniter fell out of his fingers, landing in the river with a plop. He clutched the sides of the boat with both hands, his fingers painfully gripping the wood, as if to wake him up from a horrible dream.

The body was that of a woman, middle-aged and beautiful. She was clothed in the most expensive of garments and wore dainty little bedroom slippers on her feet. There was no colour in her skin, and her hands were wrinkled from the water. She could have been asleep except for her eyes. She had stared at Fergus with a far off look that spoke of terrible pain.

Fergus’s chest heaved; his breath came ragged. His mind whirled while he tried to decide what to do. He knew what he was supposed to do, but the thought filled him with fear.

He knew who the woman was. Lord of the Sky — everyone knew who she was.

He cursed his curiosity. What should he do?

~

M
ORNING
dawned over Sarostar, grand capital of Altura.

The city rested snugly in a low valley, surrounded on all sides by green hills. The River Sarsen entered the valley through a gap between the hills, passing untamed wilds. It wound its way through the city’s heart before exiting the great basin at the other side. The river felt the light first and carried it sedately in, a golden saddle on its green back.

The sun rose ponderously at first, its light touching each of Sarostar’s nine bridges in turn. It lit the Crystal Palace, instantly diffused with a sparkle. The markets of the Poloplats woke and shook off the night’s chill. The wealthier districts of the Woltenplats basked in its glory, while the outlying farms and hamlets soaked it up with joy. It touched on the lawns and buildings of the Academy of Enchanters, and for an instant the Green Tower was silhouetted against the sky.

The farmers always woke first, then the market vendors and craftsmen, and finally the lords and wealthy merchants. And so the city came alive from its rim to its heart —the outlying areas were a flurry of activity long before any movement was spied at the Crystal Palace.

A lone figure walked on the Tenbridge, tallest of the nine bridges. She was a young woman, and she carried a basket of flowers in her arms.

A passer by would have assumed she was older than she was — it was something about the depths in her green eyes. But if she smiled, then they would have seen her youth. She was slight of build and clad in a simple tunic, such as a farmer’s daughter might wear. She wore her pale blonde hair long.

However at this early hour there were few passers by and Ella had the entire bridge to herself. She shivered in the crisp morning air and looked forward to summer.

The basket was uncomfortable in her arms and she shifted it to her other hip. She had a hard day ahead of her and she quickened her pace when she saw the length of the shadows cast by the buildings.

Before long Ella reached the waking markets of the Poloplats. Vendors were drinking coffee and speaking quietly — something about early mornings always made them speak in softened tones. She knew how loud they could be though, calling their wares when the market opened in earnest.

A few men and women nodded to Ella as she walked past with her basket of flowers, wondering where she would set up today. She had been coming to the market for so long that it was as familiar to her as the house she lived in, yet it never stayed the same from one day to another.