Circle of Dreams Trilogy: Circle of Dreams, #5

CHAPTER ONE

THE CALL OF THE BOOK

Z aine! You up yet? A high, shrill voice pierced Zaine’s dreams and he opened one eye reluctantly.

He pushed a sharp piece of straw out of his face and rolled over with a sigh. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky, and from the window at the far end of the barn he could see that daylight was only a matter of minutes away. He started to snuggle back into the straw – just a few more minutes wouldn’t make any difference – then he remembered what day it was.

Sitting bolt upright and grinning broadly, Zaine ran through the chores he would have to do before he could leave the farm for the day. He only had two days off every cycle of the moon, and today was one of them.

I’ll be right there, Aunt Tilly, Zaine called out, as he hurried over to the rope that hung from the open end of the hayloft where he slept.

He slid down easily, and many years of practice meant he did not miss the ladder that Aunt Tilly’s son broke on purpose a few months ago. He knew from an early age that something wasn’t normal about his family. No other families made the smallest boy sleep in the hayloft from when he was only a few years old. Other kids got hugs and gifts on their birthdays, but all Zaine ever got were sneers and extra chores. Older boys weren’t allowed to pick on their younger siblings in other homes, but at the Taitem farm bullying went unnoticed.

The hayloft had seemed a long way up, and scary, when he was just five, but almost eight years later he wouldn’t sleep anywhere else. He dropped silently to the ground and was running almost before his feet touched the warm, hard-packed earth. There was a light coming from the small kitchen window and he could see the tall figure of his aunt walking back and forth. He stopped at the well, drew a full bucket of water and skilfully carried it to the farmhouse without spilling a drop.

‘‘You took your time,’’ Aunt Tilly snapped, as she grabbed the bucket and poured the water into the waiting pot over the simmering fire.

Morning Aunt Tilly. Zaine greeted her with a grin, ignoring her scowl.

Two people could not have looked more different, and anyone could see in an instant that they were not aunt and nephew. Aunt Tilly, a tall, thin woman, was dark-skinned. A black so deep that it was difficult to see where her skin stopped and her tough, wiry black hair began. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck and small metal-rimmed glasses perched halfway up her long, slim nose.

Zaine, however, was pale-skinned, almost the colour of the wheat that blew gently in the fields that he tended. His hair was white, when it was clean, and his eyes sparkled, a soft blue. He had tried to rub his skin with coal when he was little so that he would look like the rest of his family, but all it got him was a dunking in the creek in the middle of winter.

Your uncle needs you up in the back hills today. There’s stock up there he wants to take to market tomorrow. Aunt Tilly began stoking the fire, the red embers reflecting dully on her shiny black face.

It’s my day off today, Zaine replied carefully, making sure he kept any hint of demanding out of his voice. He desperately needed to get away from the farm for the day, and if he upset his aunt there would be no chance.

Pretor said nothing to me. Aunt Tilly turned to face him, looking at him hard to see if he was trying to get out of the hard work of chasing stray sheep. Pretor!

Her voice carried through the house easily. It could probably pierce an ear-drum if you stood too close. A minute later Zaine’s Uncle Pretor came hurrying into the kitchen.

Yes, dear. What’s the problem? Pretor hovered at the far end of the kitchen, eyeing his wife warily, like a dog expecting to be beaten. He was almost as dark-skinned as Tilly, but his hair was turning grey at the temples and it stood out like candles on a dark night.

Zaine thinks it’s his day off. Tell him you need him to round up the sheep, Tilly ordered her husband firmly. We’ve got to make up what we lost in the sales at market last week.

I did say he could have today off. Pretor cast an apologetic look at his wife.

We must get the sheep to market by tomorrow, though. We need the money. He will have to stay and help! Tilly retorted angrily, waving the poker from the fire in a furious shaking motion.

He has worked hard these last two moon quarters. Pretor’s voice was fading and wavering, and Zaine felt his day off slipping away.

He still owes us a jar of silver, and if I say he will work today then he will work! Tilly was glowering at her husband, her black irises standing out clearly against the brilliant whites of her eyes.

Zaine’s shoulders sagged. Pretor hardly ever won an argument when she brought up the coins Zaine owed. Many years ago he had found out why he looked so different and learned why he owed them so much money. He had heard a speech many times since then.

You know that when his mother dumped him here as a small baby, she said she’d come back in a few years, Aunt Tilly reminded her husband bluntly. The money she gave us wasn’t nearly enough to cover this many years of looking after him. By my reckoning he still owes us at least a full jar of silver coins.

Zaine wondered why the jar he owed never seemed to get any less. At this rate it would take him most of his life to pay it all back.

It’s not his fault the sheep aren’t fetching what they were before the king died. If we wait until the new king or queen is crowned, the sheep will be worth more. What with all this uncertainty about who will be crowned, it is hard to know which coins will be worth anything in a few moon cycles.

It was the longest speech that Zaine had ever heard from his uncle, and for once his wife actually listened to him and didn’t snap back immediately. She pressed her lips together, covering her broken and yellowed teeth, staring intently at her husband as she weighed up what he had said.

We should wait until the crown has been decided. The sheep will fetch more then, she concluded bluntly and firmly, as if she had just come up with the idea herself.

Then there’s really no need for Zaine to be here today, Pretor said as he nodded in agreement with his wife, and he made a shooing motion at Zaine, urging him to leave while he could. Zaine shot a quick look at his aunt and, seeing that she wasn’t going to stop him, he walked quickly to the door and slipped out into the still half-light of early dawn.

There hadn’t been time to grab any breakfast, but Zaine plucked berries off bushes as he passed them, and by the time he had jogged into the town he wasn’t hungry any more. He crossed the empty streets quickly, as the town wasn’t where he wanted to be but it was the most direct route to get there. He stepped up his pace a little as the first rays of light warmed his face. Davyn would be leaving soon and he didn’t want the herbmaster to leave without him.

He left the cobbled streets, with their narrow, tall houses that hugged the dark alleyways, and headed out into the forest that lay to the north. A small, well-worn track wove its way into the forest. It was used by the townspeople only once every month, the morning after a full moon, and that was only two days from now. Then they would all gather up their sick children, chickens that had stopped laying and anything else that needed attention and head out to see the herbmaster, Davyn.

I thought you weren’t coming, Davyn said, as he stepped into the path just ahead of Zaine. I was going to wait by the weather tree until it was fully light.

Davyn pointed up ahead to the huge old tree that grew up ahead and forced the path to go around the base of its massive trunk. It wasn’t called the weather tree for no reason, either, as the townspeople marked the seasons by when it lost its leaves and when they grew back. Right now the leaves were beginning to turn brown, which was a sure sign that summer was almost over.

I had a bit of trouble getting away, Zaine commented, and took the canvas bag that the herbmaster held out for him. They walked quickly along the path in silence for a short while. Zaine had often wondered how old the herbmaster was. He looked old, his hair and short-cropped beard were white, and his face was shadowed by deep lines and sunken eyes, but his step through the forest was that of a young man, agile and never tiring.

Zaine had made friends with the old herbmaster when he was just a small boy. Perhaps it was because the old man was a loner like him or because they both liked to wander the forests. Every day he had off, Zaine headed up to spend time with Davyn, sometimes just sitting and watching him mix his herbs, and other times, like today, gathering the ingredients of the potions Davyn mixed. Sometimes the herbmaster went away for weeks at a time and Zaine assumed he was off gathering some of the more unusual herbs which did not grow well around here.

I need to head up towards Widow’s Peak today. I’ve just about run out of a root that grows up near the top, Davyn said as he kept pace easily with the young boy.

I could get the others down here. I know what you need. I’ll get a full bag and meet you back at your cottage, Zaine offered, a little too quickly, as he couldn’t believe his luck. The old herbmaster would be gone for hours. Zaine would be alone in the cottage.

That would be good, Zaine. If you could sort them while you wait it would be a great help. The herbmaster seemed pleased with the plan, and Zaine felt a pang of guilt at tricking the old man, but it was for a good cause.

They parted ways half an hour later and Zaine waited until he was sure that Davyn was well gone before he began frantically gathering roots, leaves, bark and berries.

Zaine was breathing hard by the time he came in sight of the small cottage an hour later. The canvas bag thumped rhythmically against his hip, filled almost to the top with the fresh herbs, roots and leaves he had just gathered. He stopped and leaned against a tall tree as he caught his breath before looking up to check the position of the sun. It was still early and Davyn would not be back until midday at least. That gave him almost three hours alone in the cottage.

He allowed himself a small smile as he slipped the bag from his shoulder and pushed open the unlocked door to Davyn’s cottage. There was no need for the door to be locked, as nobody in the town dared to go inside the herbmaster’s cottage, nobody except Zaine. He carefully placed the canvas bag by the door and hurried across the room in the dim gloom. There were only three small windows in the cottage and they were heavily veiled with black cloth.

Zaine lit a row of candles along the back of the heavy wooden worktable, and cheerful yellow light filled the small, one-roomed cottage. It was sparsely furnished with just a bed, table, two chairs and the heavy worktable and shelf where Davyn practised his herbcraft. A small fire struggled to remain alight in the fireplace and Zaine threw some wood in to keep it going.

With a nervous glance at the door, he dropped to his knees and pushed his arm deep under the low shelf that ran just above the floor under the worktable. He pulled out a dark-green leather-bound book, which was no bigger than his two hands placed next to each other. He carefully blew off the dust that had gathered since he had last looked at the book. He knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t even be looking at the book, but something drove him to seek it out whenever he could.

Davyn had gone to a lot of trouble to hide it and obviously didn’t want it to be seen. Zaine knew he should respect that, but he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t been snooping when he had found it. A candle had rolled under the shelf and, fearing a fire that could burn down the cottage, Zaine had reached under to remove it. That was when he found the book, almost five years ago, and it still intrigued him.

Let’s see how far I get today, he muttered to himself, brushing his grubby hair out of his eyes, and setting the book carefully on the workbench. He rubbed his hands on his baggy, threadbare trousers to remove as much grime as he could, and then reached out to touch the leather front cover.

There were no words on the cover of the book, just a gold design imprinted on the green leather. Zaine remembered staring at it in confusion the first time he saw it, wondering why the cover would not open when he pulled on it. He knew the secret to opening the book now, and he quickly ran his finger along the golden line, keeping his pressure firm and unbroken.

The cover sprang open with a click and Zaine turned to the first page. There were shapes and designs scattered, seemingly at random, over it, and years ago Zaine had spent many days just staring at it, wondering what the drawings meant. Then, realising that some of them were words, he had professed an interest in learning to read and Davyn had willingly taught him.

Each design had a word beneath it, and he spoke the words quickly, without even having to read them, and traced each design at the same time.

He had once tried to flick through the book to where he was up to, but the book would not allow that. He had to do each page in order before he could turn the page and, if he spoke a word or traced a design incorrectly, the book would not let him continue until he had done it properly.

After several pages there were no words, just designs, and he continued confidently. He had done these pages so many times over the past few years that he could have done them in his sleep if he had needed to.

Each time a new design appeared on a page, there was a word beneath it. Zaine had realised that the book was meant to teach the designs in a purely repetitious way that ensured the pupil would never, ever forget them – but why? Zaine guessed they had something to do with the herbmaster’s craft.

Zaine knew what he wanted to do with his life, if he could ever get away from the farm. He wanted to be a herbmaster like Davyn. It was the only thing that let his mind accept the sneaking around he had to do to read the book. If he could learn enough of the designs, he could surprise the old man by being able to help him out with the dozens of townspeople who turned up on his doorstep the day after each full moon.

Zaine reached the page that had stumped him the last time he had been alone in the cottage. Nervously he glanced around to see if there was any sign of the herbmaster returning yet, but there was no sound other than those of the forest.

Just one more time, Zaine said out loud, determination and concentration changing his voice from that of a young boy not quite into his teens, into the deep tones of a confident youth.

He ran his hand over the designs, speaking the words clearly and slowly, but the page remained firmly stuck to the next one, and Zaine frowned. What was he doing wrong? He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear the door creaking open, and it wasn’t until it banged shut that he realised he was no longer alone. He slammed the book shut instinctively as he turned to face the herbmaster, with a look of guilt that said clearly he knew he had been doing something wrong.

CHAPTER TWO

A POCKET FULL OF SILVER

Zaine just stared at the old herbmaster as he heard the book fall to the floor next to him. Davyn stood a few steps inside the cottage and the bag he carried dropped from his shoulder. The herbmaster ignoring the precious ingredients he had gone so far to collect.

I ... I ... Zaine tried to find a way to explain that he hadn’t meant any harm but he couldn’t think of anything to say. It was then that he noticed the herbmaster didn’t look angry. Instead he looked shocked and more than a little worried. His normally fair skin had turned a sickly grey and his mouth had dropped open.

Davyn seemed to shake himself out of his shock and strode forward so quickly that Zaine took several steps backwards to the middle of the round cottage. But Davyn wasn’t heading for Zaine. Instead he bent down and picked up the book, turning it over. Zaine assumed he was checking for damage.

A lit candle rolled under the table and I reached under to get the candle out ... Zaine let his explanation fade away as the herbmaster tucked the book into an inside pocket of his lightweight brown cloak and then turned his attention on the boy.

Did you try to open it? Davyn demanded sharply, as anger seemed to have taken over from shock. Zaine had never heard the old man speak so harshly, and he took another involuntary step backwards.

Yes, sir, Zaine admitted and nodded his head briefly. I just couldn’t help it. I had to see what was inside.

The old herbmaster’s anger faded as quickly as it had flared and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He started to speak but no words came out, and he shut his mouth, turned away from Zaine, and started pacing back and forth across the stone floor.

He was muttering to himself, his head bent down, appearing to be having an argument with himself about what to do.

I just wanted to help you with the potions and things. I wanted to be your apprentice ... if I could get free from the farm. Zaine paused, as the herbmaster didn’t appear to be listening. I wanted to surprise you.

Surprise me? Davyn stopped pacing and stared at Zaine with wide panicked eyes. You’ve certainly done that. This book has absolutely nothing to do with being a herbmaster. How many pages did you do?

A few, Zaine lied. In truth he was well over halfway through the thick book, but he seemed to be in enough trouble already without admitting that.

You must promise me that you will never, ever, touch this book again! The herbmaster pulled the book out of his pocket and waved it in the air as he spoke, his eyes boring into Zaine and demanding his agreement.

I ... Yes sir, if that’s what you want, Zaine agreed, knowing that there was no other choice. Davyn was too good a friend to lose, and even if it meant he could never look at the book again Zaine had to agree.

It is ... All may not be lost yet. He looked hard at Zaine, as if trying to make sure the boy meant his promise. I knew I should have buried it.

I won’t try to take it from under the shelf ever again, Zaine promised sincerely. The herbmaster laughed. A snort that showed his disbelief.

Oh, it won’t be under the shelf any more! I’ll be putting it where you’ll never find it. I know only too well about how hard this book is to resist. The call of it is enough to drive a rune— ... umm ... anyone to great lengths just to get hold of it. It probably pulled that candle under there to make sure you found it!

Zaine didn’t really understand what Davyn was talking about, but he just nodded solemnly, sure that this was not the time to ask how a book could move a candle.

I think it’s time you went home, Davyn said with a weary voice as he tucked the book into his cloak pocket again. He picked up his bag of roots and herbs, turned to the wooden worktable and spread the contents out across it.

Zaine walked quickly over to the door, keeping the herbmaster in sight the whole time, wishing he could turn back time and have never touched the book in the first place.

Can I come back? Zaine asked in a quiet voice that barely reached his own ears, but Davyn paused in his sorting of the roots.

Of course you can, he said softly, and he turned to face Zaine with tears in his eyes. I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself for breaking a promise I made.

Davyn looked at Zaine for a few seconds and then frowned as if he was confused.

You don’t look tall enough to be twelve, he commented. Perhaps I’ve lost count over the years.

I was twelve at the beginning of last winter, Zaine replied, unsure why the herbmaster had changed the subject.

You’ll be thirteen in just a few moon cycles. It was a statement, not a question, but Zaine nodded anyway. Time has gone so quickly.

Davyn seemed lost in his own thoughts and Zaine backed out the doorway, not knowing what to say, and shut the door gently. He walked slowly back towards the farm and spent the rest of the day sitting up in his hayloft. He wondered if things would be the same between himself and the old man ever again. Perhaps if he tried hard to make it up to the herbmaster they might be one day.

HIS NEXT DAY OFF WAS two moon quarters later and he walked through the forest towards the round cottage with a hesitant step. What if Davyn had changed his mind and no longer wanted him around?

Zaine, I thought it must be about time you had a day off again. They work you far too hard over at that farm. Davyn’s head popped around the door and he grinned at Zaine. Got time to help me mix up some potions?

Sure! Zaine agreed willingly. Davyn had never allowed him to mix any before, so he must have forgiven him.

THE MOON WAXED AND waned and Zaine and Davyn slipped back into their old routines, the book never being mentioned by either one. Zaine tried not to think about it, but after a few visits he found himself looking carefully around the room to see where the book might be hidden. He told himself off – that book had almost lost him his friend – but still he looked. He told himself that, even if he figured out where it was, he wouldn’t touch it ... well, maybe just to hold it, but he wouldn’t open it.

ZAINE KNEW IT WAS HIS birthday today. He always knew when it was, even though nobody else ever commented on it. If anything, Aunt Tilly was meaner to him on that day than on any other. There were no presents, no cake, not even a day off, and Zaine worked the fields until it was almost dark, just like he did every other day.

He was walking back along the boundary of the farm, checking the fences before he went in to fetch the water for cooking, and he was kicking a stone along as he walked.

Happy birthday, Zaine.

Zaine looked up, surprised to see the old herbmaster standing on the other side of the fence. The old man had never come up to the farm before, and Zaine wondered how he had known the exact day of his birthday.

Thanks, Zaine replied simply.

I have to go away for a while. I’ll be leaving in a few days. Could you keep an eye on my cottage for me? Davyn asked, even though his eyes said he was thinking about something else as they were glazed and distant.

No problem, Zaine answered, but he knew there was nothing that needed looking after as nobody ever went near the cottage.

Davyn nodded, his eyes coming back into focus, and he looked at Zaine with a serious and worried expression. He stared for so long that Zaine started to feel uncomfortable, then the old herbmaster turned away and walked off without another word. Zaine continued walking along the fence line and watched the old man until he was out of sight.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Zaine walked into town to get supplies for Aunt Tilly. Winter was just beginning, but it was already cold enough to make his breath come out in clouds of steam.

Zaine held a large wicker basket in one hand and a neatly written list in the other. Another benefit of being able to read was that he didn’t have to try to remember what his aunt wanted and risk a beating for forgetting something.

He was about to turn down a small alleyway to the tanner’s shop when one of the local children, a boy of three or four, ran past him. He had a great big, delighted grin on his face and he was holding a copper coin with both small hands. Zaine smiled, as he would have been just as delighted to have a coin when he was small – for that matter he still would. He never received any coins from the farmer or his wife and probably never would. A second child ran past, a young girl of about eight, and she too held a copper coin.

I’m buying some of those boiled lollies! she exclaimed. Do you think he’d give us another copper if we went back and tried again?

Who gave you the copper? Zaine called out.

The girl turned as she continued to run. There’s a man by the inn who is giving out coppers for free, she replied, and then she disappeared around the corner.

A man giving out coppers! Zaine turned back out of the alleyway and headed for the inn. If he got a copper he could buy some of the things he had longed for so many times. But why would anyone just give away coppers?

He broke into a run, just in case the man ran out of coins. He arrived outside the inn to find a whole line of children. He couldn’t see who was at the front of the line, but he joined on the back of it, willing to wait as long as he had to, hopeful that the girl had been telling the truth.

A copper for everyone who tries – silver if you succeed! A voice boomed out from up ahead of him. Zaine stretched to see who had spoken, but several of the larger teenagers in the town were near the front and blocked his view. The line moved quickly forward and everyone walking back past him was carrying a copper coin. Zaine began to believe he would actually get one.

He reached the front of the line and saw that a middle-aged man, well dressed and obviously not short of a few coins, had set up a small wooden table and chair to the side of the inn’s doors. A young man, who looked to be a few years older than Zaine, stood to the right of the man’s shoulder.

However, it wasn’t the man who drew Zaine’s attention, or even his young companion. Both seemed very ordinary, if richer than this town was used to seeing. Zaine stared at the black leather-bound book with a gold design on the cover lay on the table. Apart from the colour of the leather, and the fact that it looked to have fewer pages, the book looked exactly like the herbmaster’s book.

Trace the design, boy ... if you can open the book I’ll give you a silver coin, the man said in a bored tone that showed he had repeated the same instructions many times. He didn’t even look up at Zaine as he spoke.

"You want me to open it?" Zaine asked, excitement making his voice squeak like a small child’s. He could barely restrain himself from snatching up the book and running off with it.

That’s what I said, the man replied with a sigh.

And I won’t get in trouble? Zaine asked suspiciously. His fingers itched with anticipation, but he held back, making sure it wasn’t some sort of a trick.

Look, do you want a copper or not? the man asked, briefly looking up at Zaine with an exasperated sigh. He looked as if he just wanted to give all his coins away and move on as quickly as he could.

Zaine stepped forward and drew the design with his finger, then pulled the cover open. It felt so good just to touch the book that he had already traced the next designs and started to turn the first page before the man’s hand fell on top of his. Zaine pulled his hand free and jumped back a step, realising that he had gone too far. The man had not said anything about turning the first page. Would he still get the silver coin?

I’m sorry ... Zaine said quickly, his eyes cast down at the ground.

Silence met his apology, and Zaine started to back away until he felt someone grab his sleeve and pull him back. He looked up and saw surprise, delight and amazement in the man’s eyes. The young man who stood beside him looked mildly surprised but had not moved.

How did you do that? the man demanded, pulling him so close that Zaine could smell the man’s ale-tainted breath.

I ... I just did what you said, Zaine stammered. He knew it had been a trick!

Can you turn any more pages? the man asked, letting go of Zaine’s sleeve and pushing the book closer towards him.

I just want my silver coin, Zaine said, finding it hard to drag his eyes from the book. He knew that he could turn almost one hundred of the pages, but did not want to tell the man. Just one page seemed to be more than enough to excite the man.

I’ll give you another silver coin for every page you can turn, the man offered softly, almost daring Zaine to try to turn another page. He pressed the first silver coin into Zaine’s palm and then sat back, watching Zaine with a curious and excited look.

You will? Zaine realised that a crowd was beginning to gather around them and everyone was staring at him.

He closed his palm around the silver coin and felt his heart begin to beat faster. If he could get enough silver coins, he could pay back Aunt Tilly and leave the farm. He reached out a hand, but drew it back instantly. Davyn had been so upset at him touching the other book; perhaps he should not be doing this?

Come on, lad. I’m sure you can do just one more page, the man prompted him and grinned, several gold teeth sparkling in the weak sunlight.

He slid another silver coin across the table and Zaine just stared at it. Surely it was just Davyn’s book he shouldn’t read. This man seemed quite happy for others to look at and turn the pages of his book. What harm could it do? He traced the designs quickly, muttering the words softly, and flicked the page over.

Any more? the man queried hopefully, and slid another silver coin across the table.

Zaine grabbed the coin, and with a merest flick of his fingers he traced the designs and turned the page. He had turned three more before the man stopped him by holding his wrist so that he could not reach the pages. It took a great effort of willpower to stop himself from throwing the man’s hand aside so that he could turn more pages. He had missed the designs so much that he didn’t want to stop.

You’ve seen a book like this before, haven’t you? The man’s voice was soft but demanding, and he looked at Zaine with an intensity that frightened him.

No, Zaine lied. If the man knew he had been drawing the designs since he was almost eight he might not give him the rest of the coins.

Really? the man stood up and looked around at the crowd, looking at each face, especially the adults. Who taught this boy?

Zaine looked through a gap in the crowd and saw Davyn standing on the far side of the street, hovering near an alleyway. His jaw was slack