Mike Shevdon: Strangeness and Charm

"I had lessons," said Alex.

"That isn't what I asked you."

"I can play a bit," said Alex.

"I thought not," said Fionh. "Tomorrow then, and five, not four. Niall, could I have a word?"

"Talking about me behind my back again?" asked Alex, as we retreated to the corridor.

Fionh waited until I had passed through the door. "Actually, no. I want to speak to your father about something else. I'll talk to him about you when when I can tell him how hard you've worked."

"But I have worked hard…" Alex's voice was muffled as Fionh closed the door.

"You're very patient with her; I'm grateful."

"I'm not doing it for you, and I said we wouldn't talk about her behind her back," she said.

"But I wanted to ask you how she was doing? Garvin said she was improving. She is, isn't she?"

"Improvement is a relative term. Is she better? Yes. Is she ready to join the courts in her own right, no. At least not yet." She glanced towards the door. "I'm hopeful, though."

"Hopeful?"

"She's still having nightmares, Niall. She cries in the night. She puts on a brave face in front of other people, but we both know she's been through a lot."

"Will she ever be the same?"

"I doubt it. In any case, that's not what we're trying to achieve. She's changed — she's had a lot to take on in a short period. She needs to find a new equilibrium, to find her feet again without them getting swept away from under her."

"How long will that take?"

"The rest of her life, maybe? It was you I wanted to talk about, though."

"Me?"

"Yes. I'm busily giving lessons in power to your daughter and you're missing out."

"In what way?"

"I was supposed to be teaching you. Garvin asked me to talk to you about it."

"I've just seen him; he didn't say anything to me."

"No reason he should. You're progressing with your physical training, but that's only half the story. You need to learn to use your power — you have no focus, no concentration, your control is erratic — you're ruled by your emotions."

"And on the positive side…?"

She smiled, but the smile faded. "It will get you killed Niall. It took you weeks just to master your glamour enough to carry a sword without anyone noticing."

"That's more difficult than it looks."

"Warders have to control their power — not just use it but make it an extension of their will. It's a weapon that's more potent than your sword and potentially a greater weakness if it's used badly."

"I get by."

"Getting by isn't enough. Your power should be an expression of your inner self, a reflection of your determination, concentration and will-power. Use it well and you won't need to fight."

"I'm not sure my inner self needs expression."

"I'm talking about learning to use your power, Niall, not therapy sessions."

"Look, sorry but I'm too old to go back to school. I'm just trying to imagine you teaching me the way you teach Alex."

"I'm not sending you back to school, and I'm not going to be teaching you. I have my hands full with Alex and my other duties, remember? I've arranged for someone else to give you lessons later on."

"But not with you?"

"No."

"Then who's teaching me?"

"This isn't working," I said.

Blackbird glanced sideways at me and then returned her gaze to the parkland that spread out before us. The widebrimmed sun-hat shaded her eyes, concealing her thoughts from me. "You're not giving it a chance."

"I thought when Fionh said she would find me a tutor, she meant one of the other Warders."

"Thanks." The brim of her hat dipped as she looked down at her hands.

"I didn't mean…I just meant that they would be more… objective."

The August sun beat down upon us, she in a light summer top and shady hat, and me in warders grey. I was hot, irritable and wanted to go inside for a drink.

"You don't think I can be objective?" she asked.

"I think you'd be objective about other people, just maybe not about me."

"You think now that you're a Warder and I'm just a mother, you're beyond my ability to teach you anything…?"

"It's not that. Dammit, we sleep together. We… doesn't it bother you? We had a child together."

"I don't recall you doing much sweating and straining," she said. "The way I remember it, it was mostly me having the child."

"That's what I mean. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't give me credit for anything."

"You want credit for birthing our child?"

"No, of course not. But you don't allow me any… oh, it doesn't matter. Just get on with it." I sighed in resignation.

"Have you considered that the problem might be with you?"

"There you go again."

"I'm simply suggesting that you might not be be adopting the best approach. If you're going to learn anything you need an open mind — just get on with it is perhaps not indicative of openness."

I looked at the landscape, not appreciating any of it.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"How do I feel? I'm hot. I want a drink. I'm sitting here baking in the sun, wondering what we're doing out here. How is this helping me?"

"You need to be more open to the possibilities."

"I'm open." I opened my arms wide. "Look at me — how open do you want me to be?"

She smiled and looked back at the view. It was a stunning vista, designed by someone famous, apparently, and modelled on the work of Capability Brown. It was supposed to invoke peace and tranquility. It wasn't working.

"Anger will not help you," she said.

"…For anger leads to hate, and hate leads to…"

"Don't quote movies at me that I haven't seen," she said.

"If you haven't seen it, how do you know it's a movie?" I asked her.

"You were doing the funny voice."

I smiled. I couldn't help myself.

"That's better. I was serious about anger not helping you. It tightens everything up, and limits your ability to respond."

"How then, mistress, should I respond?"

She let the sarcasm pass. "You could start by cooling us down. You're sitting here in the heat and it's making you irritable and tetchy — even more than usual. It would be a simple thing to summon a cooling breeze and drop the temperature by a few degrees… not too much. I don't want to lose my hat."

She tipped it forward again, shielding her eyes. The breeze I had called tugged at her loose top. The cooler air over the grey long-sleeved shirt that was the Warder's summer uniform helped lower my temperature and cool my head.

"Maybe I should go and get a hat," I suggested.

"Running away so soon?"

"I'm not running away, I'm just saying that a hat might be good. You've got one."

"You don't have a hat," she said.

"I could borrow one. I'll get sunburn."

"If you don't want to do this, Niall, you don't have to."

"I'm fine. I'll manage without a hat."

There was a long pause.

"The breeze has died," she said.

I summoned it back, but it whipped up the bank, tipping Blackbird's hat from her head and sending it tumbling across the grass. I ran after it as it veered away and I barely caught hold of it before it landed in the flower bed.

I walked across the grass to the bench where she waited. I handed it back to her and she squinted up at me, light and laughter bright in her eyes. The copper tints in her hair caught the sun like burnished metal.

"It was your breeze, Niall, you could simply have let it die and you wouldn't have to chase the hat across the grass."

"I like chasing hats."

"Warm now?"

She had a point. It was far too hot to chase around. I sat on the bench beside her and resumed looking at the view.

"Your power is an extension of your will," she said.

"You've told me that before — or somebody did — Fionh, maybe."