The Elves’ Prophecy: The Book of Being

In which Tomas the Rhymer learns to use his Magecraft. In THE RHYMER AND THE RAVENS, Tomas's encounter with Moira, the Elf Queen, catalyzed his recognition of his true nature and his introduction to the Ars Magica. Accompanied by his new raven-allies, Tomas is going his own way and finding his own teachers now, yet there's something that Moira hasn't told him...

EXCERPT FROM THE ELVES' PROPHECY: THE BOOK OF BEING
copyright 1996 Jodie Forrest. All rights reserved.

Aud the Seer sat on a battered wooden chair at the booth where her old friend Brubakken sold all manner of ships' lines, the best crafted by his own hands from whale and seal hide in good Saami style. Over the carved back of Aud's chair--once the high seat of some now-derelict house--Brubakken had carefully draped her lightest woolen cloak. A chill tinged the late afternoon air with silvery light that frosted the stacks of coiled lines and turned the grey in Brubakken's meticulously trimmed hair the shade of warmed pewter. Freydis the baker's three young children straggled down the mud-trodden plankway with their arms full of fragrant brown loaves that hadn't sold, while Brubakken's nearest neighbor, the goldsmith Arne, was already sifting through the semicircular leather aprons tacked to his counter, searching for scraps of gold too valuable to consign to the refuse bin.

A sallow-faced, hook-nosed man, Hassan by name, stood at Brubakken's booth, casting glances over both scrawny shoulders. It required none of Aud's Sight to sense the man's urgency, but not a word of his speech did she understand. The tongue was Eastern and the man a regular customer from Miklagard, the great city that lay across the Varangian Sea and far inland to the east and south, through the country of the Rus and beyond a fearful series of river rapids.

Both men were intent upon a curious object which Brubakken had brought back from that part of the world, a series of engraved metal plates, flat and roundish and well-oiled, which stacked and interlocked and could be swiveled this way and that. An astrolabe. Brubakken used them to translate the language of the heavens for sailors--and for auguries.

Beads of sweat stood on Hassan's turbaned brow; in his hands was an ill-repressed tremor. Brubakken shook his head in a way that meant the man had asked something which the astrolabe could not answer.

No desire to employ such devices had Aud. The Sight was enough for her. Enough and more, some days. She took a ruminative sip from her cup of water. Fresh and not sludgy. Over the years both she and Brubakken had earned the gratitude of Birka's water-sellers.

At first she noticed the rangy, fair-haired young man, leisurely wending his way towards their stall and lingering at all the jewelers' booths, merely because he was one of the tallest fellows in the marketplace that afternoon. And far from the fattest: what sorry fare did the merchanter crews subsist on these days? Then something shining and dark flashed on either side of the lad's sun-streaked blond head, something with the opalescent glimmer that accompanied such visions as the Sight gave. Something dark and shining and purple-streaked, like a bird's plumage. Like the feathers of a raven.

Ravens... Aud rose from her chair, ignoring a quizzical look from the departing Hassan. The thin man wore stained green garments that Aud recognized, along with his crooked nose, but the grim set of his jaw was new. So was the kinetic suppleness in his stride, though he was weaponless. It was her young friend Tomas, alive and come back to Birka. Feeling a small thorny knot unravel itself behind her breastbone, Aud gave silent thanks to whatever Powers were responsible, and waited for Tomas to notice her.

He moved rather like Gillian the lake-Elf now, uniformly so, whereas Aud had only glimpsed that powerful fluidity of gait and reflex once or twice before, when he'd been startled. A cut-purse considered that balanced carriage and moved on to other targets. Tomas carried a weatherbeaten satchel that doubtless still held the harp and flute of a skald, a Northern bard. And yes, on his shoulders rode a pair of sleek and glossy ravens. No passer-by so much as glanced at them, though even at this distance their eyes had a dark and uncanny gleam. Those two birds must be perceptible only to the Sighted, unless they chose to be visible to those without a full measure of that gift.

Almost as striking as the birds, now that Aud chose to apply her Sight, was the elongated halo of colors that wreathed Tomas's entire body, a halo twice its former size and so bright it hurt her eyes. The red of vitality was unchanged at the base of his spine, but at heart level, the murky smudge which bespoke a history of abraded feelings had grown larger. A pity, but not surprising.

His Elf Queen must have known there was a chance that Thought and Memory might not tamely permit themselves to be handed over to her, and that once freed from Odin, they might choose their next ally themselves. Gillian said that Asgard had fallen, that the balance among the worlds was shifting. Certainly both Aud and Brubakken had observed that the Elementals seemed more agitated of late--but only now, upon seeing those ravens with Tomas, did the Seer accept that Asgard had well and truly collapsed. The rainbow of tints around him glittered and swirled and pulsated with a rampant iridescence that spelled power. Sheer magical force. If he'd not already done so, he'd best learn to use that power quickly.

She sat down. "It's him. The Rhymer. Headed our way."

Brubakken's voice was mild, but Aud was well-acquainted with that particular glint in his shallow-lidded dark eyes. "Your young skald? The natural, the Fool?" He scanned the thinning crowd. "Where?"

"No longer a Fool," she said dryly. "He's come back a Mage sure as I'm an old woman. By Arne's stall. The tall blond lad with the ravens."

"Wearing green?" Brubakken squinted at Arne's booth. "What ravens?"

Aud reached for his hand. "There. On his shoulders."

"I see them." He clamped down on her fingers. "By the Ice, look at their eyes! Are they--"

"Thought and Memory," she confirmed. She hadn't told Brubakken that Tomas had been sent to fetch them, but their identity could hardly be hidden. Having once perceived the birds, even though the initial glimpse required physical contact with a Seer, Brubakken would henceforward be able to detect them unaided. "I must speak with your friend." Brubakken's voice was hushed. "To bond with a common raven is much in itself, but with these..."

"You can take your evening meal with him, if you like. He's just seen me," said Aud, waving.

Heedless of the knots of idling passers-by, Tomas broke into a run and didn't stop till he reached her. Standing, she caught a glimpse of his hooded grey eyes, warm with affection and over-bright in his sunburnt face, before black wings sailed past the two of them and she was hoisted clear off her feet in a surprisingly strong hug.

"Turn me loose, lad. My customers will laugh themselves silly," the Seer said, chuckling.

Tomas set Aud down on the wooden plankways that crisscrossed the length and width of Birka market. Completing a lazy circle of his head, Thought settled on his left shoulder and Memory on his satchel. "How have you been, Aud?" He glanced curiously at the sturdy, greying, round-faced man who was tying an ancient leather pouch, heavy with the day's earnings, to his belt.

"Well enough," said Aud. Her austere face with its starkly prominent bones and amber-centered blue eyes was just as serene as Tomas remembered it, even as she studied the ravens with their eerily conscious gaze. "Brubakken, this is the Rhymer."

The lake Elf, Gillian, was right: Brubakken had Lappish blood. Saami blood, rather. They called themselves Saami, those tribes who roamed the far northern Ice with their reindeer. It showed in the suggestion of skin folds around Brubakken's dark and obliquely set eyes and in the wide flat planes of his face. Either he had only a scant beard, or he shaved it exceedingly close. His thick straight hair had once been entirely black. The rest of his blood must be Swedish: his complexion was quite fair, more lined than was common for a Saami of his years--somewhere around Aud's--and his solidly built, compact body was still straight.

He gave Tomas a minuscule nod. He hadn't smiled. "Been hoping one of your kind would stop here." His accent was high-country Swedish, more broad than that of the Birka Upplanders. A rustic's accent, rare in this lucrative port. "There's much I'd learn, be you minded to teach."

"I've just heard similar counsel about you," murmured Tomas.

Brubakken's face creased in a grin. Turning, he began to lash a tarp over his wares. "Gillian must have taken to you. We could barter, if you're agreed."

"Why have you returned?" Aud put in. "Not that I'm not glad to see you," she added more gently as they both moved to help Brubakken close his booth for the day.

"To begin with, to thank you again for your help--when was I last here?"

"Less than two moons ago."

That was what Gillian had said, but Tomas wanted confirmation from a mortal. "Next to ask you some questions. More of the right ones this time, I hope." Tomas smiled. "And to answer some, I've no doubt."

Brubakken was grinning again.

"I'd like to replenish your woodpile and check the repairs I made to your steading, if you permit."

"With my gratitude for your kindness." Aud's austere expression softened. "Come, let's go there now. You look hungrier than we are."

Hassan sidled up to Brubakken's booth again just as Aud issued her invitation to dine. He took a sidelong glance at her and the young Mage, but his vigilant face did not change whatsoever when his gaze passed over the glowing-eyed birds. Then, noticing the tarps pulled over the coils of line, he looked dubiously at Brubakken.

Since Aud had given Brubakken the slightest of nods, he tapped on the astrolabe that he carried at his belt. "Neither of my friends has any Arabic; you may speak freely," he said to Hassan. "I'd be glad to address another question before I go. But I cannot answer the same one as before."

"So you've told me before. It isn't the same." Hassan was eyeing the Rhymer. "He watches us."

Brubakken shrugged, not as a Swede does: an Eastern gesture he'd perfected in Miklagard. "He is learning." And that Aud's friend certainly was, and would continue to do. If he survived.

"Ah." Hassan's crooked teeth flashed. "Your student, that is different. I am honored." He proffered a slight bow, which Brubakken was pleased to see the Rhymer return without hesitation. Only a fair imitation, but give the lad time.

"Well?" Brubakken produced an astrolabe from its leather case.

"What will happen with the King's bailiffs?"

Brubakken reflexively glanced at the Sun, gauging its position, and rotated a plate on the astrolabe. "Legal trouble again? If that's the true question--"

"No! How should I be in trouble?" Hassan scowled. "I have stolen nothing. All that I promised the bailiffs I gave them." An extravagantly fluid gesture. "Some contention there was over its quality, but what does a Swede know of spices? And less of fine silk--" He stopped, looked contrite. "They have not traveled as you have, Brubakken. Without your experience, how can they judge merchandise--"

"Be easy, I've not taken offense." Brubakken refrained from mentioning that at a port as flourishing as Birka, the King's bailiffs had probably seen more exotic goods than had Hassan.

"Brubakken," said the Rhymer. Softly, but the Swede took a hasty glance down the rows of stalls.

He counted three, no, four bailiffs, including the one with whom Hassan most frequently dealt and who looked particularly dour. Trailed by half a dozen men-at-arms from the garrison, they were heading straight for Brubakken's booth. Which would have been innocuous enough, save for the dry irksome itching of his scalp that was the invariable accompaniment to what faint Sight he possessed. What had Hassan done, tried to palm off a load of dead silkworms? Assuming he'd been able to smuggle them out of the uttermost East.

The itch grew into a tingle, became painful: did the bailiffs intend to rob Hassan of the rest of his wares, under the pretext that he'd tried to swindle them?

Sometimes sheer instinct worked much like the Sight. At sight of the officious enclave converging upon them, Hassan clutched Brubakken's arm. "Hide me. I pay whatever you ask."

"They'll search my booth; you frequent it--"

"Not that way. With magic." That brand of magecraft they had never discussed. So Hassan did have some rudimentary Sight. They locked stares, Hassan's face pale and grainy as raw linen. He could die in custody, along with not a few prisoners before him.

Brubakken grabbed Hassan's hand, thrust it into the tankard of water he'd left on his counter and held it there, while he dashed the contents of Aud's cup over Hassan's immaculate white sleeve. Hassan gasped.

"Hold your fingers in the water and keep your wet sleeve against your skin. Don't move or speak till I tell you, no matter what you see. Or we could all four of us die," Brubakken hissed in Norse, which Hassan understood. Brubakken included the Rhymer in his stare. "You, play your harp and say nothing." Risky, but the young Mage promptly reached for his satchel. In no time he looked absorbed in his harping, and the ravens hopped down to his pack where it sat by the plankway. Brubakken saw how, without seeming to, the Rhymer watched Hassan. A fine way to learn. If the fast-approaching bailiffs were fooled; if the four of them eluded arrest. But Brubakken would not incur the responsibility for allowing a man to be dragged away, robbed and beaten--or worse--over no more than a history of driving hard bargains and flaunting a costly cargo for which he'd not paid an appropriately succulent royal tithe. Over greed on both sides. Not when it could be prevented.

Hassan's spotless robes appeared tattered now and grey with filth. From his turban fluttered a few greasy strands of cobweb. His face had blurred. Shifted. Most of his nose had been eaten away, and the hand thrust into the tankard of water possessed only two fingers. On his face was a horrid assortment of weeping patches where there once had been skin.

The bailiffs and soldiers shot one look at the leper, shrank to the far side of the plankway and hurried by with their hands raised to ward off contagion. Brubakken heard a low-voiced malediction as they passed. He'd overdone the illusion a trifle, perhaps--a leper in that pitiable state would require a miracle to get passage on a ship bound to Birka or anywhere else--but small matter, no one would question it. No one would dare.

"Go hide by the docks," he told Hassan, who was staring at his two-fingered hand. His ruin of a mouth worked soundlessly. "It's just an illusion! You'll keep that semblance until your sleeve dries completely, and then you can buy your way off-island. Make haste--do you need silver?"

Hassan shook his head. "I have some for you," he whispered. After a cautious feel of his robes, he produced a small silken bag of many thicknesses and, with a low bow, gave it to Brubakken. "With all my heart I thank you. I shall send more as soon as I may." Turning, he hurried down the plankway, making good speed through the crowd as appalled market-goers melted away to the left and right of him.

"But it rippled," murmured the Rhymer. "Like water. I could see his own face through it." He hadn't missed a note on his harp, but his eyes were narrowed and alert, and he sat poised on the edge of his chair as if he half-doubted its solidity.

Aud, who had seen stranger things than this, looked as she always did: calm.

"It was water," said Brubakken after a moment. If Aud wasn't taken aback that the Rhymer, with no training yet, had seen through the illusion, he certainly was, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. "A water Elemental, I should say."

That earned him a piercing stare from the deep-set grey eyes. "One connected to you?"

Brubakken nodded. He might have said too much already, before any tests had been administered. "I've finished here. Shall we accept Aud's hospitality?"

The three of them began strolling along the plank-lined center aisle between the stalls, headed for the pathway across Birch Island towards Salvik harbor and Aud's house.

"You're more than welcome to visit me long enough to get a good rest, my friend. I expect Brubakken is of the same mind," said Aud, breaking a silence.

"That I am. You look like you've spent a month marooned on the ice."

"Not that," the Rhymer said bitterly.

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