down and sat on the boy’s shoulder. Piven smiled. ‘You are a comfort to me, Vyk. You always have been. I know you go back to Loethar whenever you’re not here. I like that you listen—I couldn’t let anyone else hear these thoughts. Look,’ he said, pointing. ‘There goes Greven. Why would he be so dressed up? His meetings are usually with farmers and he only wears that jacket and shirt if he’s attending a wedding or a funeral. And I know he’s going to neither.’
Piven watched in silence as Greven disappeared down the incline. Then he continued. ‘Whoever he’s meeting, I know it’s not good news for us. I know it’s going to affect me and this is not a good time.’ He banged the tree. ‘Not a good time at all! Something’s happening to me. Do you know I soured the milk yesterday? Greven made me cross because he didn’t like my mending a squirrel with a broken leg, and my bad humour curdled the entire pail I’d just milked from Belle. I’m sure he knew it too because he hasn’t said too much about Bonny’s lameness that is now miraculously cured.
‘I thought curing her would make me feel happy; I try to use my skills wisely but for all the good they can do, I’m paying a price. I’m sure of it. My heart is filling with hate, Vyk; I feel increasingly angry at my situation and yet just a few months ago I couldn’t have been happier. And nothing’s changed. I’m leading the same life, which I love, and yet I feel such rage. I can control it—my anger—but when I exercise that control, quelling the power inside, quietening my fury, something bad happens, like the soured milk. And it’s going to get worse. I sense it. I’m frightened by it. I just want everything to remain the same but I think Greven’s meeting today will change everything.’ He knew he wasrambling; words were tumbling out of his mouth furiously, crowding together and turning into a tirade.
The bird shifted on his shoulder, making a clacking sound near his ear. It sounded like a question.
‘I don’t know. That’s just it, I don’t know, but this darkness, this growing up so fast and this new awareness about myself is driving me towards something, or someone, and I’m not sure I can control my urge any longer. Besides, Greven thinks he’s got me fooled. I admire his cunning and I especially admire his courage because this life of his must require a will of iron, but he underestimates me. And soon I won’t be able to shield him from the truth any longer.’
He shrugged and the raven leapt to another branch. ‘It’s the magic, Vyk, it’s not me. Promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what. I sense you understand me, even if you can’t tell me as much. Don’t desert me, even if I disappoint you—or frighten you. The magic controls me now and I need to understand it more. Someone somewhere must know what it wants.’
Piven turned sadly and trudged deeper into the forest in search of the fungi he knew they would never use.
4
Oblivious to Piven’s pain, Greven strode into Minton Woodlet, a village with one inn but with a second being built, testimony to the growing importance of the village’s hardy golasses vines. It seemed the barbarians enjoyed the dense, dark wines of the south that drew their flavours from the salty air of the sea nearby and the earthiness of the forest that they flanked. Greven was sure that even within a few anni, Minton Woodlet would be a flourishing southern town with a burgeoning population, swelled by the transient workers who streamed into the region at grape-picking time. His and Piven’s days were numbered here.
‘Hello, Jon,’ an attractive woman said, slowing her walk as she approached him.
He liked Evelyn but not as much or in the same way that she liked him. He could almost regret the tumble they had taken together in his bed when Piven had once again been out hunting down the precious saramac fungus. That had been when the outward signs of his leprosy had begun
Piven watched in silence as Greven disappeared down the incline. Then he continued. ‘Whoever he’s meeting, I know it’s not good news for us. I know it’s going to affect me and this is not a good time.’ He banged the tree. ‘Not a good time at all! Something’s happening to me. Do you know I soured the milk yesterday? Greven made me cross because he didn’t like my mending a squirrel with a broken leg, and my bad humour curdled the entire pail I’d just milked from Belle. I’m sure he knew it too because he hasn’t said too much about Bonny’s lameness that is now miraculously cured.
‘I thought curing her would make me feel happy; I try to use my skills wisely but for all the good they can do, I’m paying a price. I’m sure of it. My heart is filling with hate, Vyk; I feel increasingly angry at my situation and yet just a few months ago I couldn’t have been happier. And nothing’s changed. I’m leading the same life, which I love, and yet I feel such rage. I can control it—my anger—but when I exercise that control, quelling the power inside, quietening my fury, something bad happens, like the soured milk. And it’s going to get worse. I sense it. I’m frightened by it. I just want everything to remain the same but I think Greven’s meeting today will change everything.’ He knew he wasrambling; words were tumbling out of his mouth furiously, crowding together and turning into a tirade.
The bird shifted on his shoulder, making a clacking sound near his ear. It sounded like a question.
‘I don’t know. That’s just it, I don’t know, but this darkness, this growing up so fast and this new awareness about myself is driving me towards something, or someone, and I’m not sure I can control my urge any longer. Besides, Greven thinks he’s got me fooled. I admire his cunning and I especially admire his courage because this life of his must require a will of iron, but he underestimates me. And soon I won’t be able to shield him from the truth any longer.’
He shrugged and the raven leapt to another branch. ‘It’s the magic, Vyk, it’s not me. Promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what. I sense you understand me, even if you can’t tell me as much. Don’t desert me, even if I disappoint you—or frighten you. The magic controls me now and I need to understand it more. Someone somewhere must know what it wants.’
Piven turned sadly and trudged deeper into the forest in search of the fungi he knew they would never use.
4
Oblivious to Piven’s pain, Greven strode into Minton Woodlet, a village with one inn but with a second being built, testimony to the growing importance of the village’s hardy golasses vines. It seemed the barbarians enjoyed the dense, dark wines of the south that drew their flavours from the salty air of the sea nearby and the earthiness of the forest that they flanked. Greven was sure that even within a few anni, Minton Woodlet would be a flourishing southern town with a burgeoning population, swelled by the transient workers who streamed into the region at grape-picking time. His and Piven’s days were numbered here.
‘Hello, Jon,’ an attractive woman said, slowing her walk as she approached him.
He liked Evelyn but not as much or in the same way that she liked him. He could almost regret the tumble they had taken together in his bed when Piven had once again been out hunting down the precious saramac fungus. That had been when the outward signs of his leprosy had begun
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