Alanna: The First Adventure (11 page)

“Duke Baird's with the queen,” he reassured Alanna. “He'll see to it that she's kept calm and doesn't come here. And pirates have been attacking
Port Caynn. His Majesty is in the War Chamber and cannot leave. They both have to trust Duke Baird's judgment and leave us alone.”

Alanna looked around. Three sweat-soaked men—and outside this room, the entire palace—watched her, waiting for what she would say next. It was frightening. Was it possible that adults weren't as assured and as powerful as she had always believed?

She didn't have time to worry about that now. “Timon, let Sir Myles spell you,” she said. “You need to rest and eat.”

Timon obeyed. Now Myles helped her and Coram rewrap Jonathan, and Myles held the Prince while Alanna gave him her syrup. When Timon returned, she made Coram get some rest. By late afternoon Jonathan was coughing up the stuff that was choking his lungs. By dark he was sleeping, but his fever continued to rise. Alanna sent the others away to rest and eat while she watched her friend. Duke Baird looked in briefly and left—it was his third such visit, and he never said anything. Alanna only nodded to him. She had no energy left for conversation.

Myles returned with a tray of food. “Eat,” he ordered. “And I'm setting up a cot in Jonathan's dressing room. It's your turn to rest.”

Alanna knew her friend was right. She ate and then lay down in the dressing room, falling asleep immediately and not awakening until nightfall. While her friends went for a snack and a walk, she sat with Jonathan. The room was suffocating with heat, but the Prince was shivering. Sweat ran down his face. Alanna watched and gathered her strength. If the Dark God wanted Jonathan's life, he had better be ready to fight for it.

The door opened. Alanna jumped to her feet, bowing deeply as the king and queen came into the room. She felt sorry for them. The king, who was always smiling, looked worried. Deep lines seemed permanently carved around his mouth. He kept one arm around his lady, supporting her weight. Queen Lianne sank into the chair Alanna pulled up for her. She was still not over her own bout with the fever, and her gown hung loosely on her.

“Alan of Trebond.” The king kept his deep voice quiet. “How is my son?”

Alanna swallowed nervously. “As well as can be expected, sire. He slept most of the day.”

Lianne's voice was kind, but a little sharp. “How can you help him? You're only a boy, no matter what Baird says.”

“Your Majesty, even
I
know better than to dirty the air with incense and surround Jonathan with wailing people,” Alanna told her. “Besides—he called for me. He trusts me, and he doesn't even
know
I have the Gift.”

“Have you ever been trained?” King Roald asked.

“I learned all our village healing woman had to teach me, sire. I can heal, and—I can conjure. My brother's the same, only he can see people's minds and sometimes the future. I can't.”

“Why didn't you tell Duke Gareth this when you first arrived?” the king demanded. “Why didn't your father tell us?”

She scuffed her foot along the floor. “My mother died having Thom and me. She had the Gift too. Father was angry—he thought their magics should've saved her. So he said he wouldn't ever use his Gift again, and we weren't to use ours. We weren't even to be taught how to use it; but Maude, the village healer, taught us in secret.” She hung her head. “As to the other, I want to be a knight. Using my Gift doesn't seem fair, somehow. It's as if I'm fighting dirty.” Roald nodded, understanding. “But Maude said I should use my Gift for healing. She said I had the power to heal more than most people. She said if
I didn't heal, I wouldn't make up for the killing I did as a knight. I didn't listen to her.” Alanna's voice was soft. “I disobeyed her, and one of my friends died.”

The king put his hand on her shoulder. “You did what you thought was right, Alan. We can't all see the future, and we can't know what will be asked of us.” He rubbed his forehead. “
I
should have listened to Roger,” he said, more to himself than to the queen or to Alanna. “If he were here now, teaching you boys—” He drew a deep breath and looked at Alanna once more. “Jonathan has the Gift. He gets it from me—from the Conté line.

“If—
when
he gets well, I shall see to it you lads are properly trained. I have ignored this part of our heritage, too. Like your father, I thought our magic would vanish if I ignored it.” The king shook his head. “A knight must develop
all
his abilities, to the fullest. And evil is often armed with sorcery.”

Alanna thought she knew what the king meant. If she had been more thoroughly trained, she wouldn't feel so helpless now. If the fever was magical, she was going into the fight badly prepared.

Lianne was fanning herself. “It's so hot in here,” she complained.

“We're trying to sweat the fever out, Majesty,”
Alanna explained. “It's best to try all the natural cures first.”

The king patted the queen's hand. “Remember what Duke Baird said. We can trust Myles and Alan. We
must
trust them.”

Lianne went to the sleeping Jonathan, taking his hand. Her eyes were bright with tears. “He's all we have, Alan. I can't—I am unable to bear any more children.” She smiled bravely at the king. “If my lord trusts you, then so do I.”

“Mother?” Jonathan's voice was no more than a whisper. “Father?”

Alanna hid in the dressing room. It was not long before Roald called her back. “He is asleep. Will you call us if—” The king could not say it. Impulsively Alanna reached out and patted his arm.

“We'll let you know right away if anything changes, sire,” she promised.

Myles stepped quietly into the room, bowing to his king and queen. “He'll be all right,” the knight told Lianne. “He has all our prayers.”

“Except for those of the one who sent this fever,” replied the queen.

The king and Myles exchanged a look. The queen was right. Who was Jonathan's enemy?

Gently the king took his lady's arm. “Come, my dear,” he said softly. “We must leave.”

Coram and Timon came back as Jonathan's parents left. Alanna rolled up her sleeves. “Let's get this fire built up again,” she said grimly.

It was a long night. Jonathan's coughing finally stopped. Alanna listened to his chest, smiling when she could hear him breathing easily. But the fever continued, drying Jon's lips till they cracked and bled. He fought Alanna and Myles, dreaming, living through ugly nightmares. His voice was worn down to nothing, and it shook Alanna to see him scream without making a sound.

Myles grabbed her shoulders. “Alan, this can't continue! Your Gift! Use it!”

“I've
been
using it!” she cried. “And I haven't the training—”

“Go inside yourself, then! Can't you see he's dying?”

Alanna looked at the fire. It roared hungrily in the hearth, waiting for her. She rubbed her eyes. Already she was tired from the little spells and charms she had used during the day.

She picked up the last packet of herbs. It contained vervain. She had known all along it would come to
this. She opened it dully, staring at the brittle leaves inside.

“Coram. Timon.” Her voice sounded dead. “You'd better leave.”

Coram stepped forward. “Lad—” he began worriedly. He looked at her face and sighed. “Let's go, Timon,” he said. “We don't want to be here when they start foolin' with serious magic.” They left, and Myles bolted the door.

Alanna threw the vervain onto the fire. She had no business trying magic like this. She was no sorcerer, and sorcerers far older and stronger than she had failed to master the forces she now sought to call upon.

A moan from the bed reminded her of why she was there. Kneeling before the flames, she whispered the words Maude told her would call the Greater Powers—the gods. Slowly, very slowly, because she was tired, the flames turned violet. She reached both hands into the purple fire.

Her essence, the stuff that made her Alanna, streamed out through her palms. She was dissolving into the fire; she was the fire. Then she uttered the spell Maude told her to use only when nothing else was left.

“Dark Goddess, Great Mother, show me the way. Open the gates to me. Guide me, Mother of mountains and mares—”

The fire roared up with a sound like a thunderclap. Alanna's body jerked, but she couldn't move away from the hearth. The fire filled her eyes. She saw countless gates and doors opening in front of her. Suddenly—there it was: the city, the city carved in black, glossy stone, the one she had seen in Maude's fireplace. The sun beat down on her. She was very warm. The city called to her, its beautiful towers and shining streets singing in her brain.

The city vanished. Now raw energy rammed through Alanna's arms, into her body. She choked back a gasp as her flesh turned into purple fire contained only by her skin. She glowed; she shimmered; she burned with raw magic. It hurt. Every part of her screamed for cold and dark to put out the fire. She couldn't hold it. She would burst like a rotten fruit.

A voice spoke, and Alanna screamed. That voice was never meant for human ears.
“Call him back,”
it chimed.
“I am here. Call him back.
”

Tears ran down her cheeks. The voice and the pain
were killing her. The fire was eating her alive, like a tiger.

Something inside her rebelled. She clenched her fists and fought the pain. She ground her teeth together.
She
would ride this tiger. Her body had never given the orders before—she could not let it start now.
Am I a silly child?
she thought angrily.
Or am I a warrior?

She fought back, shoving the pain away until she had it under control. Now
she
ruled the power she had pulled from the flames.
She
rode the tiger. She was a warrior!

Alanna walked to the bed. Myles got out of her way. He had watched, helpless, when Alan screamed as he turned a bright, sparkling amethyst. The color had dimmed, but Alan continued to shine with a pale purple fire. Myles sensed that if he touched Alan now, he would be burned to death.

Alanna stood beside the bed, looking down at Jonathan. He seemed so far away, so far from her.
“He has traveled a long way,”
the terrible voice said.
“Take his hands. Call him back.
”

A small part of Alanna realized that the voice was female. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She took Jonathan's hands carefully. Her mind reached into his unseeing eyes.

“Jonathan,” Alanna called. “It's time to come home. Jon.”

Myles stared. He did not hear a boy-child calling the Prince. He heard a woman's voice, speaking from eternities away. Awed by a power he could not understand, the knight moved even farther away from the bed.

Alanna fell into the blue depths of her friend's eyes. She was twisting in a black, writhing well. The alien place pulsed around her, enclosing her like a living thing. Shrieks and cackling and the screams of doomed souls sounded all around her. She was on the edge, between the world of the living and the Underworld. She drifted between Life and Death.

“Jon,” she called steadily, feeling the power in her shoving the ugliness back. “Jon.” At last she could see him. He was far below her, near the bottom of the well, near Death. A huge, dark shadow shaped like a hooded man came between them. Even in her strange state Alanna was afraid. This must be the Dark God, the Master of all death.

It was crazy to argue with a god, but he was between her and her friend. “Excuse me,” she said politely. “But you can't have him. Not yet. He's going to come back with me.” The shadowy hands
reached for her. Alanna stood still, her mind sending up a shield of purple fire. “You can't have him,” she said more firmly.

The shadow hands passed through her shield and held her by the shoulders. Alanna felt as if unseen eyes were looking her over. The great dark head nodded—and the shadow was gone. The Dark God had vanished.

Alanna reached out to Jonathan. Their hands clasped. “Come back,” she told her friend. “This place isn't for us. Come home.”

Jonathan smiled. “I'm coming.” His voice was that of the man he would be one day, deep and even, calm and commanding. Did he hear a woman when she spoke? Did he think it was her? “I'm with you, my friend. Time to leave.”

Their gripped hands glowed white-hot, melting the shadows around them. Their combined Gifts burned away the walls of that unreal place. At the end of the well, drawing nearer and nearer, was the room they had left so long before. Slowly the violet fire ebbed from Alanna's body. By the time they were in Jon's bedchamber, her skin was filled with nothing but Alanna—much to her relief.

“Thank you,” the man in him said. He released her
hand. She was Alan the page, sitting on the bed beside Prince Jonathan. His eyes were clear. He sighed and closed them. “It's good to be back,” he whispered, and slept.

Swaying, Alanna stood. Myles finally dared to come close to her. He had watched the two boys burn with a steadily brighter purple light. He had heard a man's voice and a woman's voice coming from Jonathan and Alan. It was something he could never forget.

“Alan?”

She turned. “He's all right,” she murmured, stumbling. “He'll sleep—” Her bones ached. Her head throbbed, and she could barely stand. “Myles?” she gasped, and fell to the floor in a dead faint.

B
ECAUSE SHE SLEPT FOR THREE DAYS,
A
LANNA
avoided most of the questions about her part in Jonathan's cure. When asked about it later, she gave all the credit to Sir Myles. Whenever the knight tried to discuss what had happened that night, Alanna always changed the subject. She knew Myles watched her, but she said nothing, knowing it would only bring the whole discussion up again.