Carol Berg - Son of Avonar

Another quarter of an hour and Martin’s eyelids fluttered; his cheeks grew rosy.

“Cut the binding now.” Karon’s voice was no more than a whisper.

Gingerly, Tennice picked up the knife Karon had dropped and slit the strip of linen. Martin’s arm exhibited no drop of blood, no mark; on Karon’s arm was only a new pale scar among all the rest. Karon gently laid Martin on the rug and backed away, but remained on his knees, arms folded, shoulders hunched, looking pale and fragile, almost transparent. He did not raise his head.

Martin sat up slowly, rubbing his temples and blinking as he looked about the room. “What’s going on here? Why so solemn? Stars and planets, Karon, you look like death.”

Karon, eyes still averted, said softly, “I think there are those not far from here who’ll tell you that is exactly what I look like.”

Martin glanced from Karon to the rest of us, and only after an awkward moment did his puzzled gaze settle on the spilled glass of wine, the silver vial, and Karon grimly fastening his left sleeve as if he could hide what was there. “Oh, my friend, what have you done”—his voice was filled with shock and distress, but no surprise—“and what have I, in my unbounded self-pity, done to you?”

“If Evard is to be king, then he must have someone worthy to keep an eye on him, to be ready when his subjects take his full measure,”—Karon glanced at Martin, his smile as pale as the rest of him—“and we’d miss your entertainments so.”

“And did you tell these others what you were about?”

Karon laughed ruefully and blotted his neck with the remains of his handkerchief. “I thought it best to surprise them with it. More in keeping with the Windham tradition of puzzles and mysteries. I thought that if I were to reveal my little secret, I’d best get some good out of it and make sure you were here to defend me.” His color was returning.

“And what did you think we would do?” asked Julia, abruptly sitting herself on the carpet between the two men and grasping one hand from each, forcing Karon to look at her. “Such faith you have in your friends!”

Tennice stood behind Karon and laid a long, thin hand on his shoulder. “Have you listened to nothing we’ve said these past two years? We know what kind of man you are, and nothing you’ve revealed this night makes any change in it.” Then Tanager sagged onto the couch cushions, saying sorcery must not be all it was made out to be, as it looked more like work than the devilish fun he’d been led to believe.

I sat on the hearth stool, trying to comprehend what it was I had witnessed. Nothing was as it had been. The world had changed as surely and irrevocably as if I had been struck deaf or blind, or had been roused from deafness to hearing or blindness to sight. But, just as Tennice had said, I knew this man. “Martin, I think there are some inaccuracies in the lessons I’ve been taught. I certainly hope someone has plans to set me straight.”

Interregnum

The night of Karon’s revelation was a night of intoxication. We were four initiates caught up in the heady exhilaration of mystery and conspiracy. As our questions flew about the library like autumn leaves in a whirlwind, Karon pleaded that we had no time to waste. “I must go. Give me an hour. Then go to a sheriff, tell him my name, and report what you’ve seen. I’ll not have you compromised for me. Every moment you delay increases your danger.”

Julia was weeping, trying to thank Karon for saving Martin’s life, and asking what refreshment might relieve the toll his night’s work had so clearly taken on him. Tanager swore to slit the throat of any man who said that what we had seen was anything but holy, and began reviewing the events aloud as if we had not witnessed them for ourselves. “Stars of night, man, you’ve got to tell us how you do it,” he said.

“You can’t just leave it.” Even Tennice pushed his brother aside and said he’d appreciate knowing one thing: Could Karon just tell him whether it was one of the Twins, or the First God Arot himself, or some unknown god who guided his hand in such works, or was it, instead, some factor of the blood?

I was so filled with wonder, I could not decide what to ask first, so I just kept mumbling that no one in that room could ever be so cowardly as to betray him to the law. He could never have heard me above the clamor. We might have continued all night in such fashion, but Karon looked more distressed by the moment and cast a pleading glance at Martin, even as he tried to disentangle himself from our exuberant circle.

“Silence, all of you!” Martin bellowed. “Karon, step into the garden for a moment—no farther, mind you! We must give these nattering fools a chance to think.”

Only when an exasperated Karon had retreated through the garden doors did Martin turn to us. “Sit down and listen, friends. This is perhaps the most dangerous night of your young lives, and I’ll not have you go forward without stopping for one moment to give it some serious consideration.”

Once we had obediently sat ourselves on the overstuffed couches, sobered by his serious tone, he went on. “This is the law of Leire—and Tennice can correct me if I miss a word or two. To harbor a sorcerer, to knowingly speak with a sorcerer or listen willingly to one word from his mouth is punishable by death—not the unspeakable death Karon will suffer if news of this night’s deed escapes this room, but death, nonetheless. To my everlasting shame, my weak and selfish impulse has put him and you in this danger. He has risked the stake, the burning of his living flesh… and every conceivable torment that could make even such horror as that a welcome gift… to save my pitiful life. Yet I know him well, and the last thing he would wish is to buy his safety with ours. Every moment that we delay in turning him over condemns us alongside him. You must think soberly of your lives and your futures. If you do not accuse him as he insists, then every breath you take from this night forward will have a binder on it, every word you speak will be restricted, every truth to which you swear will be tainted by the shadow of a lie, a secret, a withholding. No soul beyond this room can ever hear this tale, be it husband, wife, child, or lover. Never. Ever. Or we are all forfeit. Now, hold your peace until I give you leave. Think carefully.”

We obeyed his command in seeming. But one glance at each well-known face told the answer. No one of us would ever preserve his own life by setting the hounds on Karon. When Martin released us from our silence, we told him exactly that. Yet even as we released our pent-up indignation—that Martin might, in the remotest chance, believe one of us could be such a craven coward—my cousin confronted each of us individually, asking if we would swear to keep Karon’s secret, be damned whatever came. Each one agreed. He came to me last.

“And you, my dear cousin. Never would I knowingly have faced you with this circumstance. To require you to carry such a burden into a marriage…”

“There is no burden here, Martin,” I said. “Every time I’m at Windham my world grows larger. Who better to understand truth than one who might be queen?”

There. I’d said it. The fact that could not be lost in the excitement of the night.

Martin smiled at me fondly. But behind the lines that five and forty years of good humor had written on his kind face was pain and worldly wisdom that I could recognize, though not yet understand. “If I’d only kept that thought in my head a few hours ago, perhaps I could have spared Karon and all of you the consequences of my unforgivable cowardice. Go fetch him, and we’ll let him tell you more of truth.” Tennice and Julia poured brandy, while I hurried toward the garden door.