Robin McKinley - Pegasus

She rarely recognised any of them, but the magicians’ robes were easy to spot—and the way ordinary people tended to leave space around them. What were they watching for? What were they seeing?

What were they reporting back to Fthoom?

She thought of asking Ahathin about the number of guild magicians she saw, about why there were so many ... but couldn’t think how to do so without betraying the intensity of her dislike and distrust of magic and magicians. What had still been half a joke on her twelfth birthday was, since the morning after her twelfth birthday, no joke at all. She often thought, bleakly, that all the things she most wanted to ask Ahathin because he was a magician, she could not, because he was a magician.

Ahathin himself she was glad to have beside her. Ahathin’s presence—and, she had to admit, Glarfin’s or Colm’s or Lucretia’s—made her feel braver; as her Speaker, Ahathin could whisper in her ear, even when he was saying things like “you need not answer that question” or “tell him that is a question for a judge.” And most of the questions were innocuous enough—she also learnt to wait, fractionally, for any stir or startle from her entourage. She asked the questions about the pegasi themselves, like how many of them there were ( Yikes. I haven’t a clue. Lots. Not as many as you humans, though ), or where they lived ( See the mountains that start behind the far Wall of the king’s palace? If you fly—er—if you walked, uh, up and down, over those mountains, Rhiandomeer begins on the other side ) and if their king lived in a huge grand beautiful palace too ( Yuck! No way. Who wants to be trapped in the same old stiff up-and-down walled-in thing all the time, where the sun can only come through the same holes? ).

Sylvi had some trouble translating that one. Okay, it’s not trampling children, she’d said crossly to Ebon, but can’t you think of a little nicer way of putting it? Your shfeeahs stay in the same place, don’t they?

Sort of, said Ebon. But most of the walls come off or roll up or something. They’re not made of stones as big as our bodies.

And he answered all the weather-and-crops questions. He was not good about livestock questions: If I knew what would make your wethers grow faster, I wouldn’t tell you. Their lives are short enough before they go to the—the what-you -call-’em—the killer. Let them have their few months in peace. He also knew some odd herbal remedies for things that she didn’t dare pass on because neither of them had any idea whether they’d work for humans or not—although she told her mother, whose best friend was a healer (“the best friend a soldier can have,” said the queen). The queen shook her head. “We’ll have to ask your father.”

“Careful,” said the king.

“Cory—” began the queen. “Dad!” said Sylvi at the same time.

“Sylvi first, I think,” said the king.“Persuade me this is a worthwhile exception— another worthwhile exception—to the rule. You’ll be sixteen soon enough, when everything will change, and you’ll have more—”

“Of course it is!” interrupted Sylvi. “A good exception. A good exception now. This is the sort of thing that could make everyone happy that Ebon and I can talk to each other, if it turns out there’s something we can use!”

“I agree,” said the king. “And I have no intention of forbidding it. You still need to realise what you’re doing.”

He was looking at her in a way that reminded her of Ahathin waiting for her to answer her own question. She smiled involuntarily, quickly and mirthlessly. “And perhaps we’ll be grateful for a few extra friends when I turn sixteen and the Speakers’ Guild tries to block Ebon and me doing any Speaker work.”

“Perhaps,” said the king. “But the Speakers’ Guild won’t block you, if that’s what you decide you—and Ebon—want to do.”

She looked at her father, and remembered the hatred in Fthoom’s glittering eyes.

But she had her permission, and one of the remedies got the queen’s friend, whose name was Nirakla, very excited. She begged for the opportunity to speak to any of the healer-shamans who were willing to speak to her, and Minial translated.

“You’ve thrown a rock in a pond,” said the king.

“It’s a good rock,” Sylvi answered. “Why hasn’t anyone thrown it before now?”

“Good question,” said the king. “But the shamans come here very little, and those who do come stay in their annex.”

I wonder what Fthoom has heard about it, she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

Sylvi couldn’t help picking at the thought of Fthoom, scratching at it like a wound that won’t heal, partly because you keep scratching at it.

“Darling,” said the queen, “if you don’t stop fretting, I’ll ask your father to give you another project. You know Hester and Damha’s binding went just as it was supposed to.”

“ Did it?”

“Do you mean we didn’t tell you about the ultimatum we had from Fthoom about it? Darling, don’t be silly.”

Kachakon had been the Fifth Magician, and Sylvi had thought he looked uneasy, and the other magicians furtive. Hester and Damha couldn’t talk to each other—but it had been a blow to Sylvi when she read relief in Hester’s face after the ceremony. She might just have been relieved to have the ceremony over, but Sylvi didn’t think so. She didn’t think so even more when she and Ebon went up to give the new pair their congratulations, and Hester looked worried as soon as she saw Sylvi coming toward her. What, do you think it’s catching? Sylvi thought irritably. But she said the correct words, and Hester said the correct words back, and then Sylvi and Ebon went away. Did Damha say anything to you? said Sylvi. After you said congratulations, or whatever you say.

Are you kidding? She was too busy being overcome. We’re famous, you know.

What? Oh, leave me alone.

Ebon looked at her sidelong. No, I don’t like it either.

But at that moment Lady Denovol came up to them and begged the favour of being allowed to present her son to them. The son was about Sylvi’s age, and looked even more miserable at being faced with Sylvi and Ebon than Hester had, and his pegasus seemed to be trying to hide behind Lady Denovol’s. The older pegasus stepped smartly aside and swung her head round in a gesture that needed no translation : move it, you. Sylvi used this as an excuse not to reply as she made her bow to the son and he bowed back. She didn’t catch his name.

The next day was a beautiful one, and she and Ebon were together. Ebon was at the palace more than any other pegasi but Lrrianay and Thowara, but he had to go home sometimes, and he’d been gone nearly a fortnight before returning three days ago in time for Hester and Damha’s binding. They had had lessons to do in the morning, but it was afternoon now. Sylvi half sat, half lay with her head on Ebon’s shoulder and the tip of his half-open wing negligently across her lap. There was grass under them, and trees nearby if the sun grew too warm, or more wing if Sylvi felt chilly, and the smell of flowers drifted over them. This had used to be enough—especially after they had been separated—especially when their next public appearance wasn’t till the day after tomorrow—especially when they’d gone flying two nights in a row. This had used to be enough, before they’d been to too many fêtes, and been asked too many questions that only a real oracle could answer. Before their cousins had found them intimidating because they were famous. Before it was that much sooner till Fthoom presented his findings.