Katharine Kerr - The Black Raven

He arrived to find the troupe clustering around a fire and talking. Marka paced back and forth at the edge of the pool of light, and every now and then she raised her hands to her face as if she wept.

‘Here!’ Salamander called out. ‘What’s so wrong?’

The troupe froze, then burst out laughing and cheering all at once. Marka ran to him and flung her arms around him.

‘My thanks to every god!’ Her voice quavered on the edge of sobs. ‘I was so worried.’

Salamander slipped his arms around her waist and held her while he murmured small soothing noises. At last her trembling quieted.

‘Have I been gone so long?’ he said.

‘Well past the midnight bells, yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘Why did you run like that?’

‘I don’t remember.’ He felt himself yawn and shook his head. ‘I’m exhausted, my love. I’ve got to go lie down.’

That morning Marka gave up on sleep early. When the sun was rising in a pink blaze of distant fog, and the sea wind was making the tents flap and rustle, she put on a short dress and went outside, yawning and stretching in the cool air. As she glanced around, she saw a stranger, dressed in Bardekian tunic and sandals, leading his horse through the camp. He saw her, waved, and strolled over. His skin was as pale as Ebañy’s, and his eyes a strange turquoise colour, as vivid as the stones, but since he wore a leather riding hat pulled down over his ears, she could see nothing of his hair.

‘Good morning,’ Marka said. ‘Are you looking for someone?’

‘Yes, actually. The magician who performed in the market place last night.’

‘Indeed? Well, I happen to be his wife.’

‘Ah. How do you do?’ The stranger swept off his hat and bowed to her. ‘I’m a friend of his father’s.’

Marka stared like a rude child, then pulled her gaze away. His ears were impossibly long, impossibly furled, and pointed.

‘Well, then, good sir.’ She found her voice with a little gulp. You’re certainly welcome in our humble camp.’

‘Thank you. My name is Evandar.’

‘My husband’s still asleep.’ Marka glanced back at the tent and saw the flap moving. ‘Or no, here he is.’

Salamander stepped outside, saw Evandar, and screamed aloud.

‘No, no, no!’ Evandar said. ‘I’m here to help you, truly I am. What’s so wrong?’

‘There’s nothing to you,’ Salamander said, and he was shaking so badly his hands knocked together. ‘You’re not really here.’

‘Well, I’m here as much I can be anywhere.’ Evandar looked down at himself and frowned. ‘Everyone else always thinks I look solid enough. Your charming wife, for instance, didn’t shriek at the sight of me.’

‘Indeed?’ Ebañy turned to her. ‘What do you see, when you look at him?’

‘Just a man like any other, as pale as you are, and so I guess he must be from your homeland. But I don’t understand what you’re saying. His ears are – well, forgive me, sir – but they’re awfully strange, but otherwise, he looks ordinary enough.’

For a long moment Ebañy stood unspeaking, glancing back and forth between the two of them. Behind him Kivva, their second daughter, flung open the tent flap and stared out, a tall girl, dark like her mother, with tight black curls cut close to her head. Zandro wiggled out between his sister’s legs, saw Evandar, and squealed one high-pitched note. He laughed, stuck out his tongue, then threw his head back and pranced around in a tight circle whilst waggling his fingers in Evandar’s general direction. Everyone stared, speechless, until Marka found her voice.

‘Zan! What are you doing? Stop that!’ Marka stepped forward and grabbed. ‘This man is our guest, and taunting him is very rude.’

Giggling, Zandro raced back into the tent. When Marka pointed, Kivva obligingly went in after him. Marka turned back to find Evandar considering her with a smile as sly as any merchant closing a deal.

‘Please, let me apologize for my son,’ Marka said.

‘Oh, no apologies needed,’ Evandar said. ‘He must be an unusual child, yes? Difficult to handle, perhaps?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’s not really human, you see.’

‘That’s what my husband says!’ Marka turned to Ebañy. ‘I don’t understand any of this!’

‘No doubt.’ Evandar bowed to her. ‘But I see this interests you. Perhaps we can discuss it?’

Ebañy merely glared at him, trembling on the edge of rage.

‘The Guardians,’ Evandar hissed. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’

All at once Ebañy laughed, relaxed, and began speaking to him in an incomprehensible language. For a moment Marka felt like screaming herself, but the stranger seemed to understand the words; he answered in the same tongue. When she started to ask them what it was, Ebañy silenced her with a wave.

‘I’m sorry, my love, and truly, I’m forgetting all my manners.’ Ebañy laid a soft hand on her arm. ‘We have a guest, a stranger in our camp!’

‘So we do.’ She saw her chance for escape and took it. ‘We’ll all have a lovely breakfast. I’ll go attend to it.’

‘None for me!’ Evandar broke in. ‘I don’t exactly eat, you see.’

There seemed to be nothing to say to this announcement. Marka hurried away, calling to her daughters to come help with the meal.

Inside the tent Salamander offered his guest cushions, and they sat across from each other on a flat-woven carpet of green and blue. Kwinto, dark and graceful with his father’s long fingers and slight build, sat cross-legged on the floor cloth nearby. When Salamander glanced his way he found the boy’s face a tightly-controlled mask.

‘Did I ever tell you about the Guardians?’ Salamander said.

Kwinto shook his head.

‘They’re a race of spirits, like the Elementals, but far far more advanced and more powerful than that. This fellow, sitting here? The man you see is just an illusion.’

‘A bit more than that, please,’ Evandar said. ‘I don’t know what I make myself out of, exactly, but it suffices.’ He picked up a silk scarf, flicked it, then tossed it to Kwinto. ‘Illusions don’t have hands that hold and touch.’

Kwinto smiled briefly, then ducked his head to study the scarf as if perhaps he could read the secrets of the universe from the pale gold silk. Marka and the girls came in, set down plates of bread and fruit, cups, and a pitcher of water laced with wine. When they started out, Salamander called Marka back but let the girls run off.

‘Come sit with me, my love,’ he said. ‘I think this news concerns you, too.’

‘Where’s Zandro?’ Marka said. ‘I should go see –’

‘Terrenz has him.’ Kwinto spoke up, his boy’s voice cracking. ‘They went out the back when we came in.’

‘Leave him be, my love,’ Salamander said. ‘Sit down.’

When he shoved a cushion her way she sank onto it. For a long moment an awkward silence held, as Evandar studied her and Kwinto both, but neither would look his way. Salamander poured himself a cup of water.

‘I should tell you why I’m here,’ Evandar said at last. ‘Your father is worried about you. He wants you to come home.’

‘My life lies here.’

‘And it seems to be a busy one, I must say.’ Evandar glanced around the tent. ‘And prosperous. Your tents are much richer than your father’s.’

‘Bardek’s a richer country than the Westlands.’

‘Just so, but your father’s getting on in years. He desperately wants to see you. He worries about you, too, off in this far country. And now I see that he has grandchildren, and here he doesn’t even know it.’

At that Marka made a little whimpering sound, quickly stifled. Salamander glanced her way.