The Pale-Eyed Mage E-Book

Jennifer Ealey

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Sheldrake is a mage. Maud is a shapeshifter. When their son is born, he is completely pale with nearly white eyes: the legacy of a fearsome great-grandmother.

Jayhan grows into a cheery, accident-prone eight-year-old, unhappily aware of his heritage. Soon, a dark-eyed orphan enters his life; rescued from a brutal master to become their stableboy, Sasha's past and present are shrouded in secrets.

The only legacy Sasha has of the past is an obsidian amulet. As secrets of the young stableboy's past slowly come to light, they're all thrown into a world of danger.

With ancient prophecies coming to bear and deadly enemies at all sides, can they uncover the secrets of the dark amulet.. and survive?

Leseprobe

THE PALE-EYED MAGE

THE DARK AMULET BOOK I

JENNIFER EALEY

CONTENTS

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part II

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part III

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part IV

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Part V

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Part VI

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Part VII

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Jennifer Ealey

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Wendy Ealey

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

PARTI

1

Sheldrake was a mage. His wife, Maud, was a shape-changer. They lived in a large, thatched cottage, grandly named Batian House, surrounded by an idyllic cottage garden, situated less idyllically, on the main road out of Highkington, the capital of Carrador. Behind the cottage lay stables and a working farmyard that opened onto paddocks stretching to distant bushland. All day long and most of the night, carts, carriages, horses and pedestrians passed within fifty yards of Sheldrake and Maud’s front door. After a festival, the sounds of wheels, hooves and feet would be compounded by voices raised in song, chatter and argument.

For years, Sheldrake and Maud Batian had considered growing a hedge to deaden the noise, but firstly they were proud of their garden and liked to give passers-by the chance to admire it and secondly, they watched with interest the parade of life that passed along the road. They would often sit out in their front garden and wave to people they knew. Sometimes one or the other of them would lean on the front gate and exchange words with people, friends and strangers alike, as they passed, not letting on for a moment that their interest was as professional as it was friendly.

But not tonight.

On this cold, dark, rainy night, no one was travelling past their front gate and so did not hear the screams that issued from the idyllic cottage. Maud was giving birth.

Tall and spare, Sheldrake generally tried, often unsuccessfully, to appear phlegmatic. Right now, he paced the corridor outside, firmly banished from the bedchamber by his wife and their head groom, Beth, who was assisting with the delivery. Clive, their butler, trod heavily up the stairs, bearing a crystal decanter filled with a particularly fine whisky and one glass on a fine silver tray.

Sheldrake frowned in irritation at the tray. “Clive, you can’t expect me to drink alone. I need moral support. Go back and get a glass for yourself.”

Clive placed the tray on a small inlaid table, then grinned as he withdrew a second glass from his pocket, with a slight flourish. “One must be prepared for all eventualities, sir.”

Sheldrake gave a snort of laughter. “Good man.” He ran his hand over his immaculately neat black hair. “This is the most harrowing experience of my life. I had no idea Maud had such a loud voice…or would have to endure such pain.”

Just as he was taking a filled glass from the tray, another scream rent the air, making his hand shake so much he nearly dropped it. Clive’s big hand came down on his shoulder. “Easy does it, sir. She’ll be all right. My Beth’s in there looking after her and she’s birthed hundreds.”

“But Maud is not a horse.”

“That’s right, sir. Not at the moment,” said Clive in a calm, comfortable voice. He gave a reminiscent smile, “Eh, but she’s a fine galloper when she is, though. Isn’t she, sir?”

Sheldrake gave a reluctant smile. “Yes she is. But she is her true human form now, just as she must be, to give birth, and I don’t know that Beth has as much experience with people.”

“Don’t you worry, sir. Animals are all much the same. It will be fine,” Clive said, just as he would to any child, dog, or horse in distress.

On the other side of the door, Maud lay on a heavily carved four-poster double bed, her long, dark brown hair in a tangled halo across the pillows, her teeth clenched as another wave of pain began its crescendo. As the contraction reached its peak, Maud opened her mouth and howled.

“That’s it, pet. One last push. The baby’s coming.” A thin, dried up woman in her fifties knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, the head of the baby already in her hands. She wasn’t a healer, at least not primarily, but she’d brought hundreds of foals, lambs and calves into the world and she had known for months that this baby would be a boy. “That’s it,” she said, as the baby gushed forth into the world. “You’ve done it. Good girl.”

For long moments, tense silence filled the room before healthy little lungs bellowed in distress at the sudden change in circumstances. Both women smiled, tears of relief in their eyes. Beth tied and cut the umbilical cord, then gently wiped the child over with a soft damp cloth before wrapping him in a warm blanket and handing him to his waiting mother. Once Beth had tidied away the afterbirth and straightened the bed covers, she opened the door and beckoned Sheldrake to enter.

“Come and meet your new son, sir.”

Sheldrake nearly catapulted into the room in his eagerness to see his wife and new child. Clive was close behind him, relieved despite his calming words. Sheldrake sat on the edge of the bed and together, he and Maud looked fondly down at the bright pink, scrunched up face of their first born, marvelling at the little nose and mouth and the perfect tiny fingers.

Then the child opened his eyes.

Sheldrake froze. Maud gasped in horror.

“What is it?” asked Clive urgently.

“His eyes,” breathed Maud. “They’re white.”

Sheldrake frowned and leaned closer. After a close inspection, he shook his head. “No. They are not white. The pupils are black and the irises are a very pale lavender… hmm… but they look white.”

“Can he see?” demanded Clive.

Beth intervened. “A new baby’s vision is blurry anyway. He can’t focus or track yet. So you probably won’t be able to tell for a few weeks. He will be trying to focus on you, Maud, but if he turns his head to you, he could be just following your voice or the sound of your movement at the moment.” She shrugged. “Most babies have bluey coloured eyes at birth and then often the colour changes. So maybe his will, too.”

Even as they watched, the seemingly white eyes darkened to a faint lavender as the light reacted with the melanin in his irises, but they were still unnaturally pale.

Beth shrugged. “A small change often happens the first time the light hits their eyes, but you won’t know his final eye colour for months yet.”

Maud gave a strained smile. “Never mind. I will love him anyway. He is perfect in every other way.”

But Sheldrake knew what she feared. “Don’t worry, my love. The merit of a person is not determined by his eye colour. My grandmother’s morals would have been just as bad, had she had blue or brown eyes.”

“But the power, Sheldrake.”

Sheldrake grimaced. “Yes, dear. Madison was powerful, but I do not know that any direct link was made between her eye colour and her particular powers. Besides, we too are powerful. So I think we can assume that our son will inherit at least some degree of magical ability, don’t you? It would be stranger if he did not.”

“But will he be able to manage it? Will he use it justly?”

“That will be up to us to determine, don’t you think?” Sheldrake looked at Beth and Clive, before adding, “All of us.”

2

During the following two years, Jayhan grew into an unremarkable toddler. Everything about him was normal, except for his eyes. He was a dear pudgy little boy, with a shock of blond hair that would darken to auburn by the time he was five.

Everyone, when they saw his eyes for the first time, drew back in consternation. Most adults tried to cover their reactions, partly out of kindness and partly out of courtesy. But many children, especially those in the village jealous of his privileged position, would stare unashamedly and whisper ostentatiously behind raised hands to their friends.

On the day after his eighth birthday, as Jayhan was trotting down the street holding his father’s hand, a jeering voice called out “Spooky!”

Even before Sheldrake could turn around, the children had fled. The mage frowned ferociously around the empty streets but could see no one to berate.

Worse still, his reaction encouraged the jeerers. The voices continued their taunts from the cover of the side streets.

“Spooooky!”

“Ooh. Ghoul eyes!”

“Crow’s eyes. Hey, your mother’s a crow.”

“He’s a ghoul. He’s a ghoul!”

“Back from the dead.”

Jayhan didn’t understand what they were saying but he knew why. When they arrived home, just as his father was thinking Jayhan hadn’t noticed, the boy asked, “What’s a ghoul? What is back from the dead? I thought when people died, they stayed lying down.”

Sheldrake was discomforted by his questions and tried to fob him off. “They do, Jayhan, they do. Just ignore those stupid children. They don’t know what they are talking about.”

“They hate my eyes, don’t they, Dad?”

Sheldrake huffed. “Nothing wrong with your eyes. You can see out of them, can’t you? What more do you want?” After a moment, he said dismissively. “Ignorant people annoy me.”

Jayhan glanced up at him but could tell he wouldn’t get any more out of him. That didn’t mean he would let the subject drop though, just that he would have to look for other avenues to find out.

Remembering the comment about crow’s eyes, Jayhan took himself out into the garden and set himself up to play with a pair of wooden horses and a tiny carved carriage under a camellia tree where he was hidden behind a large lavender bush.

He watched a pair of blue wrens flit from branch to branch then onto the lawn for a while before flitting back into the bushes and disappearing. A black bird came and went, then two pairs of red-rumped parrots swooped in and pecked their way across the lawn before something startled them and they flew off in a flash of colour. For a while the lawn remained empty and Jayhan became so absorbed in his game that he nearly missed the crow when it landed in the middle of the lawn looking for bugs.

Jayhan studied its eyes. Their irises were bright white.

Jayhan sat back on his heels and thought about it. He had never particularly noticed the colour of crows’ eyes before, but now that he had, he thought they were very interesting; different from other birds. Then he pondered the remark that his mother was a crow. He watched the glossy black, intelligent bird working its way across the lawn and decided that would be no bad thing. He knew his mother shape-shifted and could become a crow, if she wanted to, but that her true form was human. On the other hand, he doubted that the boys in the village knew that. More than that, he could tell they had been trying to upset him. He decided he would seek out Beth and talk to her.

He found her in the tack room in the stable, sitting on a stool next to a brazier, polishing a worn bridle that was nearing the end of its days. She looked up and smiled as he entered, no longer even noticing his pale lavender eyes.

“What have you been up to, young one? You have muddy knees again.”

Jayhan grinned, knowing she didn’t care. “Watching a crow. It has even paler eyes than mine. Bright white they are.”

She looked at him a moment then said, “They must be beautiful then.”

He put his head on one side and thought about it. “They look very bright because crows are so black. I like bright things.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dirt, “But Beth, the boys in the village called me Crow’s Eyes and said my mum was a crow. I don’t really mind either of those things but I think they were trying to be mean. And they called me spooky and ghoul and said I was back from the dead.” He grimaced in memory. “What’s a ghoul anyway? And I never died. So how can I be back? And anyway you can’t come back from being dead… can you?”

“Jayhan, Jayhan, settle down. Too many questions.” She put down the bridle with one hand while she held up the other to forestall his protest. “Give me time. No, you can’t come back from the dead.” She ticked her answers off on her finger as she talked. “A ghoul is make-believe evil spirit that digs up dead humans and eats them.” Beth gave a brief laugh as Jayhan screwed up his face in distaste. “Yes, lucky they’re make-believe, isn’t it? And being spooky means…”

“I know what spooky is… and creepy,” cut in the small boy. “I’ve often heard people say it when they thought I wasn’t listening.”

Beth looked stricken. “Oh Jayhan.” She held her arms wide in invitation and Jayhan walked straight in and hopped up onto her knee. She hugged him to her and rocked him gently back and forth.

For a minute or two he let his head rest against her shoulder, mostly because Beth needed him to. Then he sat up abruptly and chortled. “I don’t care if people get creeped out by my eyes. They’re just being silly. Eyes can’t hurt you no matter what colour they are.” For a moment he looked uncertain. “Can they?”

Beth shook her head. “No young one, they can’t.” He felt her ribs tighten slightly as though she were about to say something more but she let her breath out and remained silent.

“But…?”

She gave a lop-sided smile. “You know me too well. But… some eye colours are owned by particular people or types of people.”

“Oh.” He glanced up at her, then looked down. “So am I a particular type of person that gives people the creeps?”

Beth laughed. “No. You are a particular type of person who distracts me from my work.” She lifted him off her knee. “Now off you go and entertain yourself for a while.”

Jayhan obliged but he had heard a forced note in her laugh and knew that she had dodged talking to him about it. One more line of enquiry closed.

Jayhan gave up asking and no one noticed when he started to avoid looking at people or that his sunny smile had dimmed a little. And when his father invited him to accompany him to the village, Jayhan found excuses not to go.

After the fifth invitation was avoided, Sheldrake scowled at his son. “Your studies can wait. Don’t you like to do things with me? Perhaps I should get someone else to tutor you in magic.”

Jayhan’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, dad. I love being with you. It’s just….”

“It’s just what?”

“I don’t really like the village.”

“The village has a lovely little shop with lovely little treats.”

Jayhan produced a smile. “It has chocolate frogs, doesn’t it?”

Sheldrake ruffled his hair. “Yes it does. So let’s go.”

As they walked through the village, Jayhan kept his eyes cast down until his father reproved him and told him to hold his head up. So when the village kids jeered at him he glared back defiantly, and the intense gaze of his pale eyes cowed them more than any rebuke his father could make.

3

During his lessons the next afternoon, as Jayhan dragged his way through a tedious page of arithmetic - his tutor was not a gifted educator - he thought about crows’ eyes and the village children’s taunts turning to fear. He pondered their reactions, surprised that just looking at them had turned the tables. He was just wondering whether they would have reacted in the same way if his father had not been there, when he was taken to task for having added every pair of numbers when he should have been subtracting.

He was brought abruptly back to the present by Eloquin demanding, “So, are you clear now on what you have to do?”

Guessing and hoping it was what she had said at start of the harangue, Jayhan nodded. “Yes Ma’am,” and began the page of arithmetic all over again, this time subtracting. He was up to the fifth question when suddenly the image of a well-dressed middle aged woman swam into his mind; a woman with eyes like his. Where had that come from?

As he struggled his way down the column of subtraction problems, the woman’s face stayed in his mind. Perhaps he seen her portrait somewhere? Maybe. But where?

“Jayhan, if you want time to play before dinner, you must finish these questions and get every one of them correct.” Eloquin was an attractive, dark-haired young woman who had been forced into the post of tutor as a consequence of her dissolute father gambling away the family fortune. She just wanted her young charge to complete his work in time for her to walk into the village to meet her sister, who was now working as a seamstress, and a rather interesting young man, who apparently worked somewhere in the city. She sighed in exasperation. “Jayhan, are you listening to me?”

The boy gave his head a little shake and let the image of the pale-eyed woman drift away as he applied himself to earning some play time.

He woke the next morning to the sound of honeyeaters squabbling in a bush outside his window. The sky was still grey, and colour had not yet crept across the lawn. Flowers and shrubs were shades of grey. Instead of bouncing out of bed in his usual fashion, Jayhan lay back and concentrated on remembering where he had seen that portrait. He let his mind wander the corridors of the house, around the entrance hall, into his parents’ bedroom and, when none of these walls yielded the portrait, he changed tack and began to think of cupboards, spare rooms and the attic. He was just ruing his poor memory and from there, letting his thoughts drift to his difficulty in learning spells from his father when, with a jolt, he remembered where he had seen the portrait. It was in his father’s workshop, the site of so many disastrous efforts by Jayhan to spellcast.

He had spent so many frustrating hours in Sheldrake’s workshop, trying to master even the simplest of spells. Spellcasting did not come easily to Jayhan. He forgot the words or the gestures or some aspect of the spell that could cause problems. Just a week ago, he had levitated himself with a flourish, only to rise sharply upwards and hit his head on a beam. In the shock of the unexpected pain, he had lost control of the spell, sending him crashing to the floor. Sheldrake had not been pleased.

Jayhan waited until he had seen his father leave the house and walk through the front gate towards the village. Then he wandered casually across the back lawn, past the stables checking that Beth was not looking in his direction, and then along the paved path that led to his father’s workshop. Even though the workshop contained many valuable artifacts, books and potentially dangerous chemicals, the door was not locked. A magical ward warned Sheldrake if family members, including Beth and Clive, entered his hallowed ground and immobilised non-family members before they could. Happily oblivious to this, Jayhan lifted the latch and pushed open the wooden door. Once inside, he meticulously closed the door behind him. Ignoring the temptations offered him by fascinating potions, vast arrays of tools and the marvellous scaled model of Carrador that dominated one side of the room, he walked to the back, right-hand corner.

There, partly concealed by a workbench, hung a large oil portrait, dulled by dust, cobwebs and neglect. Jayhan climbed up onto his father’s stool and from there onto the work bench. Sweeping aside tools, nails, screws and bits of wood shavings, he knelt on the dirty wooden benchtop and studied the painting.

The woman in the portrait was standing in front of the side entrance to the stables Jayhan had so recently passed, holding the reins of a beautiful chestnut gelding. The cottage’s front garden, in the full bloom of early summer, was visible in one half of the background. The woman wore a stiffly tailored green riding habit, her black hair swept up under a perky, impractical riding hat. Her straight black eyebrows gave her a stern expression that was lightened by a slight lift at the corner of her mouth. But it was her eyes that held Jayhan’s attention. At first glance, they appeared to be stark white but when Jayhan leaned in closer and brushed a cobweb out of the way, he could see that they were actually, like his, a very pale lavender.

But who was she? Had she been teased by children in the village too? Maybe the lady in the portrait wasn’t a real person, but a picture of one of these make-believe ghouls that ate dead people.

Na, he thought, if someone was going to paint something scary like a ghoul, they wouldn’t put pretty flowers in the background. Anyway, she doesn’t look one bit scary.

Actually, to other people, she did, but Jayhan had lived with his eye colour all his life and thought it looked perfectly normal.

A thought struck him and he peered down the small gap between the portrait and the workbench, trying to see whether there was a name plate at the bottom of the painting, as there were on the portraits that hung on walls in the house. He spotted a small golden rectangle, which he felt sure was the name tag he was looking for. He leant further down the crack trying to see. Suddenly his left hand slipped on something slimy that had been left on the bench and he plummeted head first into the gap. Then his trousers got caught on a nail sticking out of the benchtop and he was left dangling upside down, unhelpfully facing away from the painting.

It was at this unfortunate moment that the door was flung open and Sheldrake stormed in. He had worked himself up into a lather of outrage, liberally laced with fear for his son’s safety.

“What are you doing in my shed?” he roared, fully intending to give his errant son a reprimand he would never forget. Then he saw the legs sticking up from the back of his workbench and stopped short. “What on earth are you doing?”

Jayhan’s heart lurched as he heard his father’s roar, knowing full well he shouldn’t be in the shed on his own. He knew his father could be stern but not deliberately unkind and as Jayhan was a plucky little lad, he said from his upside down position, “Hello Dad. Sorry Dad. I’m a bit stuck. Could you help me please?”

With amusement fast dissipating Sheldrake’s anger, he managed to say sternly, “I should leave you hanging there as punishment for coming into my workshop when I have expressly forbidden you to enter on your own.”

“Please don’t, Dad. I’m starting to feel sick.”

Sheldrake shook his head in fond exasperation. “You, young man, are a rapscallion of the first order.” He leaned over the bench, grabbed two handfuls of Jayhan’s trousers and pulled. This succeeded in detaching the trousers from the nail that had caught them but, from where he was standing, Sheldrake found it was impossible to lift Jayhan high enough to get him clear of the back of the workbench. “Right. I am going to have to lower you down, then you’ll have to crawl out from there. Be careful of those boxes. Don’t knock anything over on your way out.”

Once this operation had been completed, Jayhan stood before his father and dusted himself off.

“And just what were you doing in my shed?”

“Nothing, Dad.” When Sheldrake looked sceptical, he shrugged. “I just came to look at that picture.” Jayhan pointed. “See? She has eyes like mine… Do you think the village kids teased her too? Did they say she was a ghoul too? I don’t reckon she was. She doesn’t look like she eats dead people, do you think?”

“Who told you what a ghoul is?”

“I asked Beth.”

“Hmph.” Sheldrake looked into the cheerfully determined little face, as he realised that his son had sought his own answers when his father had dodged them. “You have an enquiring nature which is an asset in a mage… but no more sneaking into my shed. Understood?”

Jayhan beamed. “Yes sir.”

Sheldrake turned to lean his elbows on his workbench to study the portrait and Jayhan copied him, although it meant his elbows were above shoulder height.

“That lady there is my grandmother, your great grandmother. Her name was Madison… and now you mention it, yes, I expect she was teased, though I must say I hadn’t thought of that before… Perhaps that was one of the reasons she…” He looked sharply at Jayhan and stopped what he was saying. “Jayhan, we have all been teased by village children. They are envious of our lovely house, our well-cut clothes, our money and our status. Their parents are polite and respectful towards us as a general rule but the children, especially those who live on the streets beyond their parents’ control, can be openly resentful and unkind.”

“Really? You got teased too. What did they say?”

Sheldrake gave a short laugh. “I was a skinny little kid. They called me String, Slim, Stick, Scrawny, Pole… things like that. I disliked it intensely. I wanted to be big and strong and bulky.” He looked down at himself. “But I never got any broader. I’m still as skinny as a rake.” He gave a slow smile. “But I am strong now, though I mightn’t look it.”

Jayhan smiled at him. “Of course you’re strong. You’re my dad.”

At that, Sheldrake actually put an arm around him and gave him a squeeze.

Jayhan thought about all the times people had recoiled from his eyes and knew the children’s envy wasn’t the only reason. “You know it’s not just the kids in the village. Everyone hate my eyes, except maybe you and Beth and Clive. What’s so spooky about them? Do dead people have white eyes? Is that what’s wrong?”

“Your eyes are pale lavender, not that anyone notices. So were Madison’s,” replied Sheldrake. “And no, dead people’s eyes stay the colour they were in life, Jayhan, just the cornea goes a bit cloudy after a couple of days.”

“Hmph. Then why, Dad? I know you know.”

Sheldrake heaved a sigh. “Ah Jayhan. Sometimes you are too inquisitive for your own good. I want you to be older before I tell you.” Seeing Jayhan’s face tighten, he held up a warning hand. “I will give you a compromise. I will tell you this much: People fear you because they feared your great grandmother.”

“But that not fair. I’m not her,” Jayhan protested hotly.

“Life is not fair, Jayhan.”

“Humph.” The boy looked down and scuffed his shoe back and forth along the ground, watching it drag a groove in the dirt floor. After a minute, he looked up and, rather to Sheldrake’s surprise, smiled. “I guess that’s true. It’s not fair that we have a better house than the people in the village, is it?”

Having a sense of entitlement,Sheldrake was tempted to take issue but decided not to. “That is what the villagers think and why they take delight in teasing us.”

“So why was Great Grandma so scary?”

“I won’t tell you that. Instead, I will give you several books which contain information about her. Only you may read them. Do not ask Beth or Clive or your mother to help you. Discuss their contents with me, as you need to.”

“But Dad. I’m only just learning to read. I can’t read big books.”

Sheldrake gave a triumphant, mischievous smile. “Exactly. So now you have a reason to work hard at your reading.”

4

The pile of books in the corner of Jayhan’s room inspired him to study hard for a good fortnight. But at the end of that time, he opened one of the heavy leather bound tomes and found that he could read it no better than he had the day his father gave them to him. Disgruntled, he complained to his tutor, Eloquin, but she merely counselled him to have patience and study harder. Since he had given it his level best for the last fortnight, he knew he couldn’t study harder. In fact, he was so peeved she hadn’t appreciated his efforts that he decided it wasn’t worth the bother. He dragged the pile of books into the back recess of his wardrobe, deciding to banish them from his mind and find other ways to learn about his great grandma.

After stowing the books, Jayhan stomped dispiritedly down the hallway and into the library where the ever-patient Eloquin was waiting to instil him the wonders of reading. With equal patience, he endured her uninspiring rendition of a dreary little story about a boy walking his dog. While Eloquin attempted to emulate a doggy bark, Jayhan heard the sounds of a large cart drawing up outside. Bryson, the carter, had arrived with their week’s supplies of vegetables, meats, sacks of grain and kegs of ale.

Jayhan was manfully training his attention on the fascination of the dog wagging its tail, when a loud crash sent him running to the window to see what was happening.

Outside in the driveway, a horse was rearing between the shafts of a cart laden high. The horse’s eyes rolled in fear as a large black cat stood stiff-legged in front of it, back arched and hissing her displeasure. The horse’s owner was nowhere in sight, presumably inside the house with his first load for the kitchen.

Jayhan saw Beth arrive from the stables at a dead run, kicking her ferocious cat out of the way and lunging to grab hold of the horse’s bridle. But the cat was not so easily dismissed. It spat and dug its claws into her boot as she kicked, unbalancing her.

Suddenly Beth was falling beneath slashing hooves. As Jayhan held his breath in horror, a small scrawny figure, dressed in tattered leggings and jerkin, catapulted himself at Beth, thrusting her out of the way just as the horse’s hooves descended. The boy rolled lithely onto his feet, leapt up to catch hold of the reins and vaulted onto the back of the plunging horse. Grabbing the horse’s mane with one hand, the boy leaned forward, crooning softly to the horse and stroking its neck in long, sure strokes. For a moment, the horse’s ears flattened and its hindquarters bunched. Then, as the crooning voice penetrated its panic, the horse snorted, tossed its head, and came to a standstill, quivering with fright. As the firm stroking and gentle voice continued, the quivering gradually subsided.

Ignoring the protests of his tutor, Jayhan rushed out of the school room and down the stairs. He catapulted from the front door just in time to see the boy slide off the great horse’s back and walk over to Beth, who was still sitting on the gravel. The boy held out a hand to help her up.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was just waiting for the horse to calm before making any movement in front of him. I’m quite capable of standing up in my own.” Fright and irritation made Beth’s voice harsher than she intended. She stood up and brushed gravel off her scraped hands.

The boy dropped his head. “Sorry, Ma’am. And sorry about Hoofer.”

Suddenly, a great burly man pushed past Jayhan and strode over to the boy, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and dragging him away from Beth before bringing his other arm around in an arc, to hit him hard across the back of his head. The boy went sprawling.

“Sasha,” he roared. “What do you think you’re doing, talking to the patrons? You get back up on that cart and hand me down that sack of potatoes.”

The boy pulled himself to his hand and knees, shaking his head in an effort to clear it. As he struggled to stand up, the big man strode towards him, hand raised, ready to hit him again.

“That’s enough, Bryson,” cracked a harsh voice.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned belligerently.

Dwarfed by him, Beth stood hands on hip, glaring up at him. “That child just saved my life. But even if he hadn’t, you have no reason to use him so roughly.”

Bryson towered over her, glaring but constrained by his need to sell his goods. “He’s mine. I’ll do what I like with him.”

“If you keep hitting your son around the head like that, his wits will be addled before he is full grown.”

The man spat to the side. “He’s not my son. No whelp of mine would be so small and scrawny by the age of eight. Sasha’s a foundling, and I am looking after him out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Cheap labour, more like.”

Bryson shrugged. “The boy must earn his keep.”

While they talked, Sasha had climbed nimbly up the wheel spokes, onto the top rim of the wheel and from there, onto the tray of the cart where he stood holding a corner of the sack of potatoes, waiting for his master to be ready to catch it. The side of his dark face was grazed from being hurled onto the gravel and a trickle of blood was drying, unheeded, on his cheek. He watched warily, knowing his master would be even angrier after Beth’s intervention.

“Then he can earn it with me,” said Beth firmly. “I need a new stable lad and this one has a way with horses I have rarely seen.”

The burly man spluttered. “You can’t just go taking my lad away from me. I’ve spent months training him up; teaching him how to drive the horse, how to pack up the merchandise and keep the cart in good order. There’s a lot in it, you know. Not as easy as you might think, carting merchandise.”

“How much?” asked Beth baldly.

Just as the carter opened his mouth to reply, Beth held up her hand. “Whatever you were going to say, halve it. It will save us both a lot of time.”

The carter shook his head despondently. “You’re a hard woman, Beth. But since my own lad’s nearly ready to join me, I won’t have to hire someone until I train up a new lad, so ten silver florins should cover it.”

“Six,” returned Beth promptly

“Nine.”

“Seven and the deal is struck.”

“Done,” said Bryson, spitting on his hand and holding it out to Beth, who grasped it. “I’ll be glad to see the last of him,” he added spitefully.

A piping voice interrupted them from the top of the cart. “Now, hang on a minute. I’m no slave to be bartered around. I may be a foundling but I’m a free foundling. I’ve been working day and night for this bloke. Where’s my money?”

“You don’t get none, you halfwit reject,” snarled Bryson.

“I’m not a halfwit and I’m not…” Sasha’s voice died away.

“Huh. You see. You are a bloody reject. Just be glad you’ve had food and a place to sleep. Now finish unloading that cart.”

Sasha, his face tight with resentment, directed his anger into the strength he needed to push the sack of potatoes off the cart into his master’s waiting arms. Without another word, he waited sullenly for Bryson to deliver the potatoes inside then handed down each item as required. He avoided Bryson’s gaze, and everyone else’s. When the cart was empty, he pulled the ropes onto the cart and rolled them into neat coils at the front of the tray.

Jayhan watched the boy standing in front of the coils of rope, arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face, and suddenly realised Sasha was frightened. No one had told him when he would come to work for Beth and if he went back with Bryson, he was facing another beating, Jayhan guessed. If Sasha stayed now, he was entering a new, uncertain world and although Beth had stood up for him, she had been tetchy to him and aggressive with Bryson and had not stayed to watch the end of the unpacking.

Jayhan walked quickly to the stables and called, “Beth. Bryson’s leaving. Are you keeping the boy now?”

He found Beth with her head under her bed. “Tell them to wait. I will be out there in a minute.”

Jayhan frowned and peered under the bed next to her. “What are you doing?”

“I need another shilling. It rolled under the bed here and I can’t find it.” She pushed him back. “Now go and tell Bryson to wait.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “Beth, I have two florins saved up. It’s in my room upstairs. Do you want them? I don’t want that boy to go home with Bryson. He’s going to beat him again, isn’t he?”

Beth pulled head out from under the bed. Cobwebs clung to the front of her hair and she used the back of her hand to wipe them away. “Oh Jayhan. You’re a dear. Thanks. Just a loan, mind. I’ll get it back to you. Now go and tell them to wait, then run inside and bring the money to me here. Got that?”

Jayhan nodded, pleased to have his offer accepted. He walked quickly to the front of the house and saw Bryson already sitting on the seat of his wagon, ready to leave. “Excuse me Bryson. Beth says, asks, could you wait a minute please. She will be out shortly.”

“She’d better be quick. I’ve got to get back to the store house before dark,” Bryson grumbled.

“She will be,” said Jayhan as he shot into the house and up the stairs. He dodged past Eloquin and into his bedroom, pushing the door shut behind him with a little too much vigour. He opened the cupboard under his bedside table and took out a cloth drawstring bag full of colourful rocks that he had collected. At the bottom of the bag was another small cavity held shut by another drawstring.

Jayhan emptied the little rocks onto his bed then felt around for the small loop of the drawstring and from there, inserted a finger into the little hole that expanded to reveal the cavity beneath. His fingers closed around the silver florins.

With the florins clutched in one hand, Jayhan threw the door open, ducked past Eloquin who was just about to knock on his door. He muttered an apology over his shoulder as he sped off down the side stairs. He scooted through the kitchen, nearly scattering a bowl of shelled peas, and out through the side door across to the stables.

“Here,” he said, panting, as he held his hand out to Beth.

As she took the florins, Beth smiled into his unnervingly pale eyes, noticing only his earnest, kind face. “Well done, young one. Now, off you go, back the way you came. Thank you.”

As Jayhan emerged from the stairwell, he saw Eloquin down the other end of the corridor, gesticulating wildly as she told his mother of his behaviour. He slipped unnoticed into the schoolroom, crossing straight to the widow to peer down at the scene below.

Sasha had climbed down from the wagon and was now standing beside Beth as she farewelled Bryson. They watched as Bryson turned the cart and headed for the front gate without a backward glance. Then she placed an arm around the boy’s shoulder to steer him towards the stable. Unexpectedly, Jayhan felt a stab of jealousy as he turned from the window and returned to his work table.

When his mother and Eloquin entered a few minutes later, he had already written a sentence about a boy walking his dog and was waiting for his next task.

He smiled cheerily. “Sorry Eloquin. It was important,” he said, but refused to say what was important.

5

Sasha flinched as he felt Beth’s hand come down on his shoulder. With an effort, he tried to relax his muscles under the pressure of her hand, but Beth could still feel the tension in them.

He was trying to appear nonchalant so he only glanced up quickly at the two storey cottage as they walked past. He didn’t really see the beauty of the yellow climbing roses or the cosiness of the rooms that could be seen through the diamond panes of the leadlight windows. All he saw were tall whitewashed walls that lay between him and the family who lived there. Somewhere behind those walls were the people who could, if they chose to, make his life hell.

Then he risked a glance up at Beth and found her watching him. Fear knotted his stomach as he quickly dropped his gaze. He had often been belted for cheekiness and he didn’t know what passed for cheekiness in his new world. His cheek still throbbed dully from his last beating.

“Come one, young one. I’m not going to eat you,” said Beth bracingly. “Let’s get that face of yours cleaned up and then we’ll think about dinner. I bet you’re hungry after all that unloading. That was heavy work for a small boy.”

Sasha risked another glance up and saw that she was smiling at him. He nodded but said nothing.

He felt the change in texture under his bare feet as they crossed from gravel onto the brick path leading into the stable. He stared ahead at the well-kept wooden structure, smelling straw and dung and horses.

As they entered, Beth drew him into her office on the left side of the entrance. A wooden chair was pulled up to a large desk scattered with papers against the far wall, while along the right-hand wall was a long rough workbench, which Beth used for repairing and cleaning tack. The walls were hung with spare leather thonging, coils of rope, broken bridles and halters and, along the top of the wall, a row of rosettes and ribbons that nearly reached around three of the four walls. A fire burnt in a small hearth set into the outside wall and two chairs, one upright and the other a rocking chair strewn with knitted rugs, were set on either side of a small wooden table, on which a book and an empty cup of coffee had been left. A heavy black kettle hung over the fire, steam whisping up from its spout.

“Sit there,” Beth said, indicating the upright chair nearest the door. She busied herself with pouring water from the kettle into two chipped cups and a bowl. She added coffee and milk to the water in the cups and ground willow bark to the bowl.

She found a clean rag and used it to gently cleanse his wounded cheek with the suspension of willow bark. Sasha held still, lips pressed together, expecting to endure pain. But Beth was gentle and as she pulled away, Sasha let out a soft breath of relief.

A knock on the outside door made Sasha jump but Beth merely asked him to answer it. When he hesitantly opened the door, a young brown-haired blue-eyed maid from the kitchen handed him two steaming plates of what appeared to be beef stew.

“Here y’are, new boy. I’m Rosie, the parlour maid. Don’t expect me to bring your food over every night. You can eat with the rest of us in the kitchen tomorrow.”

Sasha nodded his head and mumbled his thanks.

When he re-entered the office, he handed a bowl to Beth and sat down, holding the other. He waited until she started eating. When he was sure that the bowl of stew he still held was for him, he picked up his spoon and began to eat. The stew’s aroma almost made him giddy. Despite his hunger, he ate it slowly, wringing every last ounce of enjoyment out of its rich flavour. As he scooped the last spoonful slowly into his mouth, he gave a shudder of contentment. He looked up to find Beth’s eyes on him, her bowl empty long ago.

He gave a little embarrassed grin. “Oops. But that was so… so amazing.”

After a moment, Beth smiled. “Better than Bryson’s fare, was it?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. I only ever had bread and cheese, sometimes an apple.” He scowled. “Sometimes nothing at all, if he was too tired or drunk.”

“Hmm. He didn’t clothe you too well, either. We will have to find you some new trousers and a good warm shirt. You’ll need boots too. Can’t have bare feet round horses. I think young Master Jayhan may have some clothes he’s grown out of that would fit you, until we can get you your own.” She stood up. “But first, before you dirty new clothes or my stables, you will have a bath.”

“Now? It’s cold and dark and…”

“And you’ve never had one before, I’m guessing.

“I went swimming in summer, in the river,” Sasha said defensively.

“Good for you. Now, there’s a big metal horse trough outside. Throw out what’s in it, get a bucket of water from the well and rinse it out. Then bring it in here. Once that’s done, you can bring two more bucket loads of water from the well and put them in the trough. I will add the rest of the boiling water and by then we should have the makings of a bath.”

Sasha stared at her for a few moments with his melting black eyes, then turned on his heel and followed her instructions to the letter.

As she added the hot water to make a shallow lukewarm bath, Beth nodded her approval. “Well done. You have a good memory.” She handed him a piece of soap and a clean rag. “Now, undress and hop in.”

Sasha baulked. “Not in front of you.”

Beth frowned for a moment then shrugged. “Very well, I will give you twenty minutes. But when I come back, you had better have washed yourself thoroughly, including your hair. Otherwise, I’ll be doing it for you.”

6

At dinner that evening, the new stable boy was the main topic of conversation. Sheldrake, Maud, Eloquin and Jayhan were seated around a long mahogany table, being served with discreet efficiency by Clive.

Maud tore off a piece of bread and dunked it into her seafood chowder. “It was a little highhanded of Beth to employ someone without your approval, Sheldrake, don’t you think?”

Sheldrake glanced at Clive, Beth’s husband, whose face remained impassive, then back at his wife. “I believe the circumstance were unusual. The boy demonstrated quick reactions, intelligence and a remarkable affinity with horses. He acted without hesitation and with some courage to save Beth from that cart horse’s hooves.”

“And then his master beat him around the head so hard, he could hardly stand up again, just for talking to Beth,” interrupted Jayhan hotly. “Of course Beth had to rescue him.”

As Clive passed behind him, he felt the weight of something being slipped into his pocket. When he surreptitiously felt in his pocket, his fingers closed around two metal disks. His silver florins had been returned.

“No ‘of course’ about it. We cannot rescue every well-deserving battered child. We do not have the resources,” responded his mother. She shrugged. “However, I understand Beth was prepared to pay for him with her own money.”

“She was, although I have naturally reimbursed her, since he will be working for us,” said Sheldrake.

“Why did she have to pay for him?” asked Jayhan. “Sasha said he wasn’t a slave…but is he free to walk away from here?”

“Our society does not have slaves, Jayhan.” Sheldrake’s voice developed its didactic tone. “But we do have indentured apprentices, whose masters pay their parents for them in return for their labour. The apprentices can be given a small wage, especially towards the end of their training, but generally they work in exchange for training and board, so that they may eventually become tradesmen in their own right. Bryson would have paid the orphanage for this boy and raised the price because he had given the lad experience, even if carting is not an actual trade.”

“But is he free to walk away?” he persisted.

Sheldrake gave a little cough. “Not exactly. His absconding would be broadcast and no one would take him in or give him work. An apprenticeship is a contract of trust, you see.” Seeing Jayhan about to raise an objection, he added. “If the boy fled far away, he might be able to start again but he would have no money, no credentials and his chances of survival on the road alone would be vexed. A young lad is easy prey.”

“Easy prey for what?”

Sheldrake glanced at him before taking a spoonful of chowder to his mouth. He swallowed unhurriedly before replying, “Other societies trade in slaves. And a child on his own is not safe. There are those among us who would use and abuse a child with no connections.”

“Hmph. Like that Bryson, you mean.” Aware of his mother’s eyes on him, Jayhan scooped a couple of spoonsful of soup into his mouth, careful not to spill it down his chin. When she looked satisfied and returned her attention to her own meal, he added, “Bryson didn’t even pay him, you know, and the boy said he should have.”

His mother asked for more wine and waited while Clive poured it before replying, “We will house him and feed him and Beth will teach him.” As she saw a frown gathering on her son’s face, she added hurriedly, “And I suppose we will give him a small wage. After all, a boy needs a bit of spending money, doesn’t he, for his days off.”

Jayhan let out a breath. “Of course he does.”

Sheldrake smiled. “You seem to have taken this child’s cause to heart.”

“Dad, he saved Beth and I love Beth…and then that carter was so mean to him and…” his voice hitched… “I’ve never seen anyone be hurt like that before. It was so unfair.” He suppressed a sob. “It was awful.”

Sheldrake met Maud’s eyes across the table as he put his arm around his son’s shoulder. “The world is an unkind place for many people, Jayhan. We can’t help everyone, but don’t worry. We will look after your waif for you.”

The boy leaned his head against his father’s shoulder. “Thanks.”