The Amber Legacy (13 page)

‘But why books?’ Meg asked.

Emma pointed at the open page. ‘Read that to me.’

Meg squinted and waited until the black lettering on the page made sense to her. ‘It says, “The eldest of the boys was named Longbough, and to him was given all the land of the river side.”’ She stopped when she felt the pressure of Emma’s hand on her arm. ‘What?’

‘How hard are you finding it to read?’

‘It’s not hard, not like pushing the plough behind the bullock.’

‘But you told me the first time that you thought it was impossible.’

‘That was then. Now it just seems to be easy.’

‘All you do is look at the words and then you read them. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘In a way. I have to think hard about what the words are and remember what you’ve shown me. Why?’

‘Take off the amber necklet,’ Emma ordered.

Meg obeyed and put the amber sliver carefully on the table. ‘What is this about?’

‘I want you to read what is written here,’ Emma said, turning to another page.

Meg stared at the creamy page, and rubbed her eyes when the words wouldn’t take shape. She squinted, but she couldn’t understand anything more except a couple of familiar letters. ‘It’s not the same. I don’t understand this part.’

‘Put the necklet back on,’ Emma instructed. Meg looked at her, wondering what was making the old woman act so oddly, but she picked up the necklet and slipped it over her head. ‘Read the page,’ Emma said.

Again Meg gazed down at the black letters, but now they shifted into order. She looked up at Emma. ‘Is this magic?’

The old woman smiled. ‘Oh yes,’ she answered. ‘It
is
magic. Read it.’

Meg looked down and read. ‘If there is a lesson to be learned in the actions of kings, it is nearly always that the holding of great power leads to the abuse of power. Kingdoms and dynasties rise and fall as their emperors and kings gain and abuse their power.’ She stopped. ‘What does that mean?’

‘That,’ said Emma, still smiling, ‘is what we can talk about when you’ve finished this morning’s lessons.’

N
ightwind was gone. Daryn met Meg with the news as she was walking along the main road. ‘Someone cut his hobbles. He’s been stolen.’ She hurried home and searched the surrounding bush and foothills, but the horse was truly gone.

‘Perhaps the soldiers took him when they left this morning,’ Dawn suggested at lunchtime.

‘They didn’t leave a promissory note,’ said Mykel.

‘That’s because it was already their horse,’ Daryn retorted, and he bit into his slice of bread and honey.

After lunch, Meg fed Whisper and took the rat out of her cage to run free for a while. Sunfire followed the rat as she searched the ground and reacquainted herself with its odours, his fascination with the rat no less intense than the first time Meg introduced them. Meg’s thoughts were full of Treasure and his lips and hands, and his strong touch, as she went about her chores throughout the afternoon. She’d given herself to him because it was what he’d wanted and something in her was happy that she’d accepted his desire. She might have done the same for Button Tailor, under different circumstances, but the war’s intrusion in Summerbrook had changed everything.
Had Treasure taken Nightwind after he left her sleeping? It made sense. He’d lost his own horse. She hoped that he had. She wished that he would come back to Summerbrook when the war was over and take her away too.

The dream. A battlefield. Men struggling, caught in a macabre dance. She was above them, a bird, observing. It fascinated her that a battle could be so silent, yet she could feel steel piercing flesh, and the anguish of those who fell like rag dolls. Then she descended, drawn to the midst of the action. Everything blurred, except two figures, one in blue armour, wielding a war axe. She remembered the axe vividly. Her father had owned one like it, when he was a soldier, and she was a little girl. He was fighting a second figure, a young lad, a soldier in the Queen’s army. The warrior in blue armour always had the upper hand, was always close to winning. No one could bring him down. Just this one Queen’s soldier persisted while his fellows fell around him. In an instant, the scene changed, and she was staring into Treasure’s deep eyes. He was surprised, shocked to see her. Then his eyes glazed over. She knew she was staring at his death mask.

Three successive nights she dreamed of the blue warrior charging out of the forest into a furious and chaotic battle, and always the dream ended with Treasure’s empty blue and grey eyes staring up at her. Each night the dream was more intense, more detailed, and yet there were missing sequences, as if she couldn’t see all of the events unfolding, even in the strange moments when she floated above the battle. Every morning she woke in despair, knowing that Treasure was in mortal danger. She was seeing the future. She had the Blessing. What else could it be?

‘I have to go,’ she informed Emma, the fourth morning after the army marched out of Summerbrook. ‘I have to warn him.’

Emma put a hand on the scripted page they’d been reading and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Do you love this man?’

Meg’s expression flickered through shock. Did she love Treasure? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think so.’

‘You
think
so?’ Emma queried, her eyebrow raised mockingly.

‘Yes,’ Meg replied, blushing. ‘I do love him.’

‘Enough to risk your life for him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then do whatever you feel you have to do.’ Meg saw the old woman’s stern gaze and almost flinched from it, but Emma let a soft smile crease her face, as she said, ‘If you have the Blessing, you have to let it guide you.’

‘What do I tell my mother?’

Emma stood and placed a gentle hand on Meg’s shoulder. ‘You’ll have to decide what is right.’

‘But what if it’s only a stupid dream? What if it’s like any ordinary dream?’ Meg asked, desperation seeping into her voice.

‘What do you feel in your heart?’ Emma asked.

‘That I have to warn Treasure.’

‘Then there is your answer.’

The question was
when.
If she left in the middle of the day, it would give her six hours of travelling before she would have to camp. If she left later, after everyone had gone to bed, she would have to travel at night. She’d never been beyond the outer reaches of the village, and certainly she’d never been to another village or town beyond Summerbrook. If she waited until dawn
tomorrow, she could travel a whole day.
How fast does a huge army move
? she wondered.
Were they staying on the road, or had they cut across country
? If she could ride a horse it would be so much easier. She guessed an army wouldn’t be very hard to find or follow, but how would she find Treasure in the middle of an army when she did catch up to it? And what if he was still scouting and keeping his presence a secret? How would she find him? Her idea was stupid, doomed to failure. Why was her heart pulling her so urgently away from her home? Why were the dreams coming to her?

She decided she would leave before sunrise. That gave her time to organise provisions for her journey. She had no idea how long she would be away. She considered going into the hills to dig up the soldier’s armour and clothing, and wearing it to disguise herself on her journey, but she let the notion slip. The chain mail corslet was too large for her, and she had no idea how to use a sword.

Meg ran her fingers along the thin gold chain around her neck. Treasure had noticed it and asked who had given it to her. She’d told him the truth—that it was a family heirloom passed down by her uncle. She never mentioned its association with magic. ‘Wear the amber and don’t ever take it off,’ Emma warned before she had let Meg finish the morning’s reading lesson. ‘And don’t show it to anyone. If you have the Blessing, it’s a part of you and you are a part of it.’

She sauntered along the side of the house, the chickens already fed, and squatted beside Whisper’s cage. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ she said to the rat. ‘What if I’m gone more than a few days? What then?’ She would take the rat to Emma’s house when she left in the morning. She couldn’t trust her mother or her brothers to look after a bush rat.

She helped her mother to prepare the evening meal, and she ate, watching and listening to her brothers’
banter. She offered to clean up afterwards by herself so the others could relax and chat, and she took the food scraps to Whisper. The breeze was chilly and the sky was full of clouds. The weather was changing again.

Back inside, her family was gathered before the fireplace. Mykel was curled up on the floor, asleep, with his head in Dawn’s lap, and she was gently stroking his hair. Daryn poked the fire with a stick, stirring the embers into flight, and Sunfire watched, stretched out on his stomach with his back legs splayed. Meg scooped up Peter, who squirmed with delight at his big sister’s affection, and he snuggled against her chest as she sat beside Dawn.

‘How are you feeling?’ Dawn asked, touching her daughter’s cheek and brushing aside a thin lock of her red hair.

‘I’m fine,’ Meg replied. ‘Why?’ She kissed Peter’s fingers as he put them against her mouth.

Dawn gazed at Meg in the flickering firelight. ‘I was thinking about the boys the soldiers took away—Button Tailor especially.’

Meg ignored her mother’s implication, but it was obvious that village gossip had been thorough. ‘I heard from a soldier that they won’t be hurt. They’ll be trained to be soldiers.’

‘When were you talking to the soldiers?’

‘Almost every day,’ Meg replied. ‘They were talking to every girl in the village that walked past them.’

After that, Dawn changed the chat to mundane farm business and cooking. Peter curled up in Meg’s lap and went to sleep. Daryn tired of lying around and went to bed, taking Sunfire with him. Finally Dawn woke Mykel and steered him into bed with Daryn, while Meg put Peter into Dawn’s bed. She kissed her little brother’s forehead, and whispered, ‘Sleep safely, little man. And look after Mum.’ After she covered him with the blue
blanket and stepped out of the bedroom, she hugged her mother, silently wishing she didn’t have to let her go, before she retreated to her room.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Nervous about her impending adventure, the fear of entering a new world churned her thoughts as she pondered the difficulties of finding Treasure. All the conundrums she’d already considered were magnified in the darkness. She’d never been beyond Summerbrook. What would she find? Were people friendly in other villages? How would she know exactly where to go? What would the soldiers do when they discovered that she was following the army? What would Treasure say when she told him what she had dreamed? Would he believe her? Could he leave?

The wind picked up intensity outside, stirring the leaves into a rustling symphony that steadily relaxed her. The weather change was sweeping through. It would be windy in the morning and that would mask the sounds of her leaving. She just hoped that it wouldn’t rain.

She woke from the recurring dream of Treasure’s dying face, surprised that she’d been asleep. And she heard the steady rhythm on the thatch roof. She opened her shutter a little, and saw that it was still dark outside, but the wind was driving the rain. She closed the shutter, climbed out of her bed and rolled up her spare blue blanket. From under her bed she retrieved a bag, and the money purse with the coins she’d found on the dying soldier who’d brought Nightwind, and she dressed quickly, stuffing spare clothes and the purse inside the bag.

In the main room, Sunfire pressed his snout against her in the dark as she gathered supplies. She scratched his head, and then packed bread, a knob of butter, a jar
of honey and a slab of ham into a small green sack, and pushed the sack inside her bag. She rolled her blanket tightly and secured it to the side of the bag. She grabbed her raincoat from the door hook and crept to her brothers’ room. The darkness masked their sleeping forms but she listened for a moment to their breathing before she crept to her mother’s door. Dawn and her little brother Peter were asleep. She mouthed ‘Goodbye,’ and headed for the door, where she whispered to Sunfire, ‘You stay.’

The weather was dark and foul, the rain angling with the wind into her face as she walked to the side of the house in search of Whisper’s cage. ‘Come on,’ she called to the bush rat, and waited for her to crawl onto her arm so that she could lift her. ‘It’s better if you stay with Emma,’ she informed the rat, and tucked her inside her raincoat.

No one was awake in the village. It was usual to see Horseman Farrier firing up his forge, or Pan Baker working at his oven before sunrise, but the moody weather must have convinced them to stay rugged up inside. She was regretting leaving in the rain. It was creeping down the back of her hair and under her collar.

As she went to knock on Emma’s door, the door swung open and Emma stood glaring at her in the darkness. ‘Come on, child,’ the old woman said gruffly, and hurried Meg inside to shut out the rain. ‘Have a bowl of soup.’ She made Meg sit at the table in the circle of flickering candlelight.

Meg opened her raincoat and lifted Whisper onto her lap. When Emma noticed the rat, Meg said, ‘I couldn’t leave her with Mum or my brothers. She’s safer here.’

‘You really should be taking her with you,’ Emma told her, as she packed several small jars into Meg’s bag.

‘What are they?’ Meg asked, as her soup spoon dribbled its contents back into the bowl.

‘Useful items,’ Emma cryptically answered. ‘They’re labelled. Read the labels when you make camp this evening.’

‘I’ve got enough food.’

‘They’re not food. I said they would be useful, not edible. Now finish the soup.’

Meg slurped the thick, warm meal, while Emma bustled around her, organising her kitchen shelves and cupboard in the semi-darkness. Soup finished, she stood, announcing, ‘I’d better get going.’

Emma stopped her busy activity and faced Meg in the candlelight. ‘Are you wearing the amber?’

‘It’s always around my neck,’ Meg replied.

‘See that it stays there,’ Emma warned her. ‘Did you dream about him again this night?’

‘Yes.’

‘This warrior you see in the shining blue armour—be careful of him. I fear he is more than he might seem.’ She studied Meg’s face closely. ‘Do you have a tinderbox?’

Meg was crestfallen. ‘No. I forgot.’

Emma opened her right hand, revealing a silver rectangular container. ‘Here,’ she said, and passed it to the girl. ‘It was Samuel’s. It’s a very clever version of a tinderbox. It’s yours. What about money?’

Meg nodded. ‘I have some.’

‘Here,’ Emma said, producing a small coin purse. ‘You’ll need this. It’s not very much, so use it wisely.’

‘I really do have plenty,’ Meg told her.

‘You can’t have enough. Take this. I have no need for money. It’s wasted in my possession.’

‘But—’

‘Take it, child.’

Meg took the purse, and hugged the old woman, who felt small and frail in her embrace. ‘Can you look out for my family?’ she asked after she stepped back.

‘Of course,’ Emma tersely answered. ‘We
are
related, after all,’ and she smiled. ‘And I will take care of Whisper until you return. Go carefully and quickly, Meg Kushel. And go safely.’