Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh
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embarrassed that he believed me. You can understand how far-fetched it all sounds?’
Cassien nodded. If not for Romaine …
Fynch continued. ‘Despite logic, he followed his instincts and agreed to throw in his lot with me. He said he’d help but we could not press her majesty again. He offered to attempt the journey of shifting worlds that I spoke of.’ Fynch lifted a sad shoulder. ‘I don’t think he ever believed it would work.’
‘How do you know it has worked?’
Fynch’s expression clouded. ‘I don’t but I have faith that the imminent sign — the confirmation — will come.’
‘How are you so sure that this demon exists? That he’s coming?’
‘Because of Aphra. She can’t hide herself as well as Cyricus. She leaves a trace.’
‘Magical, you mean?’
‘Curiously visceral, actually, except it comes to me through ethereal means. Does that make sense to you?
Cassien gave an uncertain shrug. ‘Go on.’
‘She became suddenly active recently.’
‘Here?’
Fynch looked pained. ‘No, she’s still in another world.’
Cassien took a slow breath but kept his expression even. ‘And you know this because …?’
‘I could smell violets on the wind. There are no violets in the Wild to yield such perfume.’
Cassien’s lips thinned with growing consternation. ‘And that’s her trace?’
‘Yes,’ Fynch said softly. ‘Breath of violets.’
‘And if she’s active then so is Cyricus?’
‘Cyricus uses her. She is his acolyte and most effective minion. She can be anything to anyone in the female form … her preferred shape. It would take me centuries to teach you all I know, all I’ve seen, all I’ve read, all I’ve gleaned through my long, long life. You have to choose to trust me.’
Cassien breathed out and his shoulders slumped slightly. He scratched at his beard, well aware of needing a shave — he must look a sight, he thought, in fine clothes and ragged chin. ‘Right, so you realised Aphra was active,’ he repeated. ‘What else?’
‘I needed her followed. She was our only route to Cyricus … the only connection I could trust.’
‘So Reynard agreed to follow Aphra,’ Cassien presumed.
‘Yes. Reynard was entirely unknown to Aphra or Cyricus. He possesses not an ounce of magic. Only I knew the secret of world travelling. He trusted me, and his fears for Florentyna overcame any dread he might have had of my magic. I sent him, guiding him to Aphra’s trace.’ Fynch shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t watch him unless I leave this world but I needed to get you involved. Before you ask, the only way I will know that he has found what we seek is through his death.’
Cassien stared somewhat dumbfounded at Fynch. ‘The queen’s chancellor has to die to get a message to you?’
‘Former chancellor. Yes. It’s a special sort of death,’ Fynch admitted. ‘It allows him to utter words that will be carried across worlds and I will know that he’s found Aphra. And if she has effected her death, I will know she’s on her way back to our land to meet up with Cyricus, who was trapped here.’
‘In the Void,’ Cassien qualified.
The old man shook his head. ‘I wish it were still so. I blame myself. In trying to protect the Crown, I have made it vulnerable. Over the years I have sent three people out of our world to another, all connected with seeking Aphra. Reynard was the last.’ Cassien wanted to ask who each was but Fynch kept talking. ‘I considered myself clever … thinking that if I could retain control of events then I could contain Cyricus. I thought it wise to know what the enemy is doing. I designed a way to bring Aphra back to our world and I planned to fling her once and for all into the Void with her demon and then our world would not be troubled by them again. But what I didn’t realise is that using the Wild’s powerful magic for sendings weakened the Void’s hold on Cyricus. He escaped, although he doesn’t know why it occurred; his glee is so intense that he isn’t questioning it. He doesn’t know me, has no sense of me. However, I’ve set something in motion now that I must stop. He will use Myrren’s magic, of that I have no doubt.’
Cassien shook his head at the complexity of Fynch’s tale. ‘And you’ll know it’s begun.’
‘Exactly. If she has found her way back, she has her mortal host.’
‘Wait. You said there was another person you trusted who was helping.’
Fynch straightened. ‘Reynard was a man — mere mortal. This second companion is a creature. He is a friend of mine who was once a bird, then a man, and learned he could only be a man in this world, but that he could still be his magical bird shape in other worlds.’ Fynch smiled sadly in the lowering light. ‘It’s complicated, Cassien. Suffice to say Ravan is one of the most special creatures I’ve ever had the privilege to know: formed by a god, answerable to that god, but a friend of men.’
‘And?’
‘I think when we met on my travels Ravan was a little lost. He needed a purpose. I gave him one. Reynard couldn’t be everywhere; I needed him watching Aphra, while Ravan kept her target under observation.’
‘The host that you speak of, you mean?’
Fynch nodded. ‘Ravan readily agreed to be the second observer.’ Cassien gave an encouraging gaze to Fynch. ‘Ravan knew he too would have to relinquish his life — in this case, his life as a bird — in order to get back to our world. He will be safe, will walk as a man again. Reynard sadly cannot survive if he sees out his mission.’
They were all meaningless names to Cassien although he tried to sound respectful of Fynch’s obvious sorrow. ‘If Cyricus is trapped here, what is Aphra doing in her world?’
‘If my hunch is right, she’s sourcing a carrier to get herself back. It will need to be a very special individual who is somehow in tune — knowingly or otherwise — with other worlds.’
‘But you don’t even know what this vessel, this man in this other world, looks like.’
He hesitated. ‘No,’ Fynch then said, ‘but Reynard is hoping to mark him somehow. We couldn’t plan for something we neither knew nor understood. Fortunately, I was able to send him on the trace of the violets almost directly to Aphra, but it was his decision how he would clue me into the carrier from then on.’
Cassien took a long, slow breath as he digested all that he’d learned. He realised they’d crested the second rise that formed Vincen’s Saddle and down below them was the village known as Partridge Vale beginning to sprawl outward, perhaps with visions of becoming a town — but not yet. ‘Looks like we’re here,’ he remarked.
‘Tomorrow we’ll reach Orkyld.’
Cassien was pleased by the sight of softly smoking chimneys and the hint of cooking on the air. ‘Can you smell that?’ he asked. ‘No pigeon pie, Fynch, but roasted chicken, I think. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted that treat.’
He expected Fynch to smile but his companion looked suddenly troubled. ‘Violets,’ he breathed. Then looked at Cassien, his gaze raw and intense. ‘You smell roasted poultry. I smell Aphra.’
Fynch swayed in the saddle and Cassien leapt down from his horse and rushed to the old man just as he slipped sideways. Cassien’s fast reflexes caught him and carried him easily. The man was as light as his namesake.
‘Master Fynch!’ he cried, looking around for help, but there was none.
He hoisted Fynch over his shoulder and grabbed the reins of both horses to lead them into a nearby