Fey 02 - Changeling (117 page)

"If you can communicate with him," his father said, "I don't understand why you don't ask him to come back.
 
We need him here."

"I asked," Gift said.
 
"I asked once. And he said he would never come back because they tried to kill him here."

"The Warders must have treated him harshly," his mother said.
 
"I don't think harassing Gift will bring Coulter back."

"We need that boy," his father said.

"We had him for a long time.
 
No one knew what he was."

"But we know now."

"And we waited too long."
 
His mother sighed and adjusted her position slightly so that she rested on the arm that wasn't hurt.
 
Her wings were still damaged and if they wiggled, the pain was evident on her face. "We chased him away.
 
We can't pretend we didn't.
 
And we can't pretend he'll help us now."

"But he has no place to go," his father said.

"Yes, he does," Gift said.
 
"He's got a safe place."

"Where?" his father asked.

"Don't make him answer," his mother said.
 
"Gift doesn't belong in this.
 
He's done the right thing.
 
He's said that Coulter wants to remain Outside.
 
I say let him."

"You didn't see the entire team die," his father said. "We need an antidote."

She nodded.
 
"We do.
 
But we won't get it if we have to rely on that boy. We treated him too badly.
 
We will need to wait for another Enchanter."

"You sound so calm."

"I am," she said.
 
"Rugar is gone.
 
Dead, probably.
 
We will be able to take care of our destiny now.
 
Gift will become our Leader one day, and if he does, maybe Coulter will come back and help him.
 
Remember that they're Linked.
 
We just have to have patience."

"I told him not to come back," Gift said.

"What?" his father asked.

"I told him not to," Gift said.
 
He wasn't sure if he was helping his mother's argument or hurting it.
 
"He asked if I needed help when Shadowlands collapsed.
 
I said no."

"See?" his mother said. "That kind of Link is for life."

Gift frowned.
 
He hadn't realized that Links were forever.
 
Something bothered him about that.

"I hope you're right," his father said.
 
He sighed.
 
"I'll explain to Touched that he should wait a while.
 
He won't like that."

"He shouldn't be pressuring a boy," his mother said.

"The boy holds Shadowlands," his father said.
 
"He's our leader now."

"Not yet."
 
His mother smiled at Gift.
 
"He'll have some time to grow up.
 
The Shaman will help him.
 
She's already promised."

"I hope so," his father said.
 
"This situation is too strange to place on the shoulders of a three-year-old."

He let himself out of the cabin.
 
Gift watched him go.
 
His mother smiled.
 
"Let him be, Gift," she said.
 
"He was hoping that he could help you Lead.
 
But Wisps have no place in government.
 
Already he is making mistakes.
 
He thinks that he needs to find a solution because he was the only survivor of that attack on their holy man.
 
He doesn't understand that without Rugar, we probably won't be making those attacks."

"I'd rather listen to you than the Shaman," Gift said.

His mother eased back onto the pillows.
 
She tired so easily these days.
 
"I'm a Wisp too, Gift.
 
I can see a little clearer than your father, but not much.
 
The Shaman is the only one who can help you."

And Coulter, Gift thought, but he said nothing.

"I need some sleep, son," his mother said.
 
She adjusted her pillow with her good hand, and closed her eyes.

He went over to the fire and stared at it.
 
Seeing Coulter had bothered him.
 
Before when he and Coulter talked through the Links it had been like a conversation in his head.
 
But this time, Coulter's personality had stepped aside to let Gift into Coulter's body.
 
Then Gift was standing on that road, looking out of Coulter's eyes, moving Coulter's hands, feeling what Coulter felt.
 
Gift had done that before, not with Coulter, but each time he went to the palace.

But there he didn't know whose eyes he used.

He hadn't realized until this morning that he had been using another body at all.

Once he stepped into Coulter's place, he hadn't felt Coulter any more.
 
Only when he stepped out of the eyes —he didn't know how else to think about it, even though he knew he wasn't physically moving — only then did he feel Coulter's presence again. For a moment, they seemed to be in the same place, able to converse without words.

Gift had been pushing someone aside in the body in the palace.
 

And that was wrong.

He would hate it if someone did that to him.

It bothered him.
 
He hadn't known he was Linked to his real mother, and he had a thin Link to his real father.
 
But his strong Links outside of Shadowlands were Coulter and this person in the palace.
 
The person he had never thought of.

Then a memory rose:

In his bed, another baby lay.
 
His eyes were open, but empty.
 
The nurse brushed her hand on his cheek.

"You're cold, lambkins," she said.

The little woman huddled in the curtain around the crib.
 
She moved her fingers and the baby cooed.
 
The nurse smiled.

He was staring at the baby that had replaced him.
 
It looked like him, but it was not him.
 
It had been a stone a moment before.

A stone.

He had seen that nurse since, and the room, and now another baby slept in his bed.
 
A girl-baby.
 
His sister.

He was seeing through the Changeling's eyes.
 
Through the eyes of a stone that someone had left in his place.

That his parents, the Wisps, had left in his place.

He didn't want to leave Shadowlands, but maybe, just maybe, he could go Outside whenever he wanted to. That would allow him to see Coulter without anyone knowing.
 
Maybe the stone existed for him to use.

He sat cross-legged on the rug, close to the fire.
 
His father wouldn't be back soon, and his mother's even breathing told him that she was asleep.

He had time to follow the Link.

With his eyes closed, he found the Link and sped along it as he had done countless times.
 
Only this time, when he reached the familiar body, he stopped before stepping into the eyes.
 

Hello?
he called.
 
Hello?

He wanted to make certain he wasn't pushing anyone out of the way.

Hello?
he called again.

Then he had an answer.
 
It was faint, and it wasn't in any language he recognized.
 
Just a feeling.
 
He followed the feeling until it led him to a tiny place deep within the body.
 

There a half-formed boy huddled.
 
He had only the outlines of a body.
 
His face was there but his features were indistinct.
 
He was like a drawing of a child instead of a real child.
 
Or Gift would have thought so if he had not noticed another detail.
 
The half-formed boy
 
was shivering.
 

Who are you?
Gift asked.

The answer came to him, not in the child's voice, but in the voice of several people, some women and a man.
 
Sebastian
, they all said.

Sebastian.

It felt familiar.

(You will not give him a common name!
 
He is a Prince in the Black King's line.
 
He needs to be named as such!)

His mother's voice.
 
His real mother.
 
Fading now, but it had been mixed with all the other voices in the boy's head.

The boy looked up.
 
He apparently had heard the same snatch of memory.

Gift sent him the memory of the exchange.
 
Are
you the stone?

In response, the boy sent him the image of a half-woman, half-cat.
 
She was talking to another woman and gesturing at him, calling him
the lump
.

Gift understood bits of Changeling magic.
 
He knew that Golems should not have a life of their own.
 
Who are you?
he Sent again.

The half-formed boy pointed at Gift.

Gift shook his head.
 
I'm Gift.

The half-formed boy shot him a series of quick images.
 
The images were clear. First there was light.
 
Then there was Gift riding on the light, and then there was a tiny shadow in the corner, learning from the light.
 
Gift understood although he couldn't explain how.
 
Each time he had visited the stone body, he had left a bit of himself behind.
 
The half-formed boy had taken those pieces and created as much of a self as he could.

You're me, but not me,
Gift sent.
 
You have other people around you.

The half-formed boy smiled.
 
He sent more images, these wrapped not in light, but in warmth.
 
First he sent
 
one of their mother, the woman Gift watched die.
 
The image was full of a horrible, lonely sadness.
 

He followed that image with one of their sister, the baby girl Arianna.
 
Then one of his nurse who held him and talked to him and loved him.
 
And then he sent one of the yellow-haired man Gift knew to be his own father.
 
The images held more emotion than the others.
 

They held love.

Gift reached out and touched the half-formed boy's hand.
  
Suddenly the boy had language.
 
You make me leave?
the boy asked.
 
Make me go?