The Spell of Rosette (13 page)

Did you hear me, Maudi? It’s another feline!

‘He’s not listening,’ she said into Clay’s ear.
That’s terrific news, Dray. But can you talk to him first so you don’t take everyone by surprise?

It’s a ‘her’.

Right. Can you talk to her?
Rosette squeezed Clay’s leg and whispered, ‘It’s a “her”.’

‘Who’s a “her”? What are you two talking about?’

She won’t link. I know she’s here. I can smell her, but she hides.
Drayco had stopped his descent and was pacing back and forth across the road halfway down the grade.

‘Why does she hide?’

No idea.

‘Maybe you’re scaring her.’

Me?

‘Yes, Dray-Dray. You. How about we all enter together? There’s plenty of time to meet her. We’re going to be here for years.’

Hurry up then.

‘What’s he saying?’ Clay asked.

‘There’s another temple cat about, it seems.’

‘Didn’t you know? The Sword Master has a familiar. She’s not Dumarkian, though. She’s from the southern cliffs of Tuscaro.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘A month’s sail and another on foot to the east.’

‘It sounds like the far end of the world.’

‘It is…’

She tapped him on his shoulder. ‘You’ve been there!’

‘No!’ Clay grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I haven’t been anywhere yet. I just look at…’

‘I know. Maps.’

They fell silent as Dozer’s iron-shod hooves clicked over the cobbled road. He seemed more animated now, clearly picking up on their excitement. His neck arched and Clay had to shorten his reins to keep him to a walk.

‘Someone’s waking up,’ Rosette observed.

Clay didn’t answer.

The long descent gave Rosette time to survey the temple valley. It had an ancient feel, its architecture and design preserved for hundreds of years. She’d read about the living history of Treeon but had had no idea how tangible it was, until now.

The trees alone took her breath away. There were massive willows and dark green oaks, wind-contoured cypress along the cliff face, and tall, white-barked eucalypts below, all shimmering and swaying with contrasting shades and hues. Spotting row upon row of jacarandas made her laugh out loud. Her favourite tree in all of Gaela lived here.

‘I can’t wait for spring,’ she said, waving towards a lengthy row. A combination of acacias and jacarandas lined most of the thoroughfares to the furthest ends of the valley. ‘Can you just imagine the colours when they bloom?’

‘I can, and look there.’ Clay nodded towards a grove of evergreens near the central plaza. ‘The size of them!’

She’d never seen redwoods so big. ‘They must be hundreds of years old.’

‘Thousands, I’ll wager.’

It would take a chain of twenty people to surround some of the larger trunks standing sentinel in front of the main gates. Their pointed tops, like arrows, thrust skyward, challenging the distant mountains.

The buildings around the central plaza were of a sophisticated design, more ornate than anything she had seen in Dumarka or Lividica. They were mostly two storey, and many had rounded turrets or domed roofs. They sported long, brightly decorated flags of many colours, flying like kites over the temple square.

Wide stairs flowed down from every entrance, a cascade of steps leading to a massive weeping willow in the midst of the main courtyard. There, statues stood at each corner of the plaza—guardians of the four directions.

She couldn’t see all of them clearly, but she got chills from the ones she could. The east corner held a winged lion with a long tail and sharp claws, crouched to pounce, or perhaps take flight. The statue to the north was like a sea lion, laid out in a playful, luxuriant recline, as if nothing could be of any threat. It was rotund, jovial, with pups in tow. The statue to the west was a Draconian, a winged dragon rising from an angry sea. She couldn’t make out the south, blocked by the feathery branches of the willow.

On the opposite side of the oval, she saw a long wooden building with rows of metal-strapped kegs,
some stacked high against the wall and others in unhitched wagons. Past them were acres of dormant fruit trees with bare branches, braced for winter. Treeon was famous for its apple cider. She remembered tasting it in Lividica and she could certainly smell it now.

There’ll be rabbits in those fields,
Drayco’s thoughts cut through her own.
Can you hurry?

They caught up with him at the gate. Most of the valley was obscured from view now, disappearing behind the stand of redwoods and the high arch that framed the massive wrought-iron entrance. Only the peaks of the Prieta Mountains could be seen in the distance.

‘Stick close, Dray. I don’t want bedlam on our first day.’

‘Save it for at least the second or third,’ Clay spoke out of the side of his mouth.

‘Shush.’ She slapped his thigh.

They were met at the entrance by two gatekeepers—a woman and a man, both tall and muscular. They had swords at their sides and were dressed for fighting, in black leathers and body-hugging shirts, with small shields slung across their backs.

‘Halt and present your letters.’ The woman spoke formally, but her smile was sunny and warm. This was a time of peace and little could threaten Treeon in any case.

Rosette dismounted, followed by Clay. Drayco stood between them as they fished in their packs for their invitations.

‘I’m Clay Cassarillo.’ He handed over an envelope bearing the Treeon seal.

‘Rosette de Santo and Drayco of the Dumarkian Woods,’ Rosette said, offering hers.

The woman nodded to them briefly, resting her eyes on Drayco for a moment before turning to Clay. ‘Take
the horse to the orchard stables. There’s a stall and paddock reserved for him.’ She pointed towards the smoothly paved road to the left. ‘The stable crew will show you what to do.’

‘If there are any still lingering about,’ the man added. ‘You’d best hurry or they’ll all be at the top field.’

‘Where do I go?’ Clay gazed out into a network of intersecting avenues and buildings, his brow wrinkled.

‘Straight ahead. Make no turns. That’ll take you right to the draught barn.’ The man stretched his long bronzed arm to its full length, pointing the way. His biceps sported a serpent-and-tree tattoo similar to Nell’s, the emblem of Treeon Temple. ‘The welcome gathering is about to start.’

Clay and Rosette didn’t budge.

The woman clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s move! You’ll need to get to the training grounds, Rosette, through the main courtyard, past those low buildings and beyond the dorm-rooms.’ She indicated the way as she spoke.

Rosette and Clay nodded but still didn’t budge. It was like they were rooted to the ground.

‘Go, you two!’ the man urged, smiling. ‘You won’t want to miss the demonstrations.’

Rosette snapped out of her daze and tugged at Clay’s arm. ‘Come on, Clay. I’ll walk you to the stables and we can go together.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s all right. I’ll catch up.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. Give me your backpack.’ He grasped the straps, slipped it off her shoulders and slung it up over the saddle before she could respond. ‘You can pick it up after. No sense lugging it when you don’t have to.’

He gave her a shove in the right direction and led Dozer towards the stables. The animal lifted his head high and crested his neck like a warhorse, ears pricked
forward. His white mane flowed in rippling waves over his taut shoulder as he trumpeted a challenge.

Rosette blinked. For a moment, the animal completely transformed. Clay stroked his neck when he started to whinny again, his whole body vibrating with the sound as he started to prance on the spot.

Rosette frowned and looked again. She wondered if she had imagined it, because now his head was drooping, his ears floppy, and his walk languid, back toes dragging over the cobbles as he barely lifted his feet. Clay continued stroking his shoulder, saying something she couldn’t quite catch.

She was puzzled, but turned away to head for the demonstration grounds. ‘Come on, Dray. Let’s go.’

There’re many people here.

‘I know, my lovely. It’ll be all right. Just stick close to me.’

Clay led Dozer to the stables, cursing under his breath. The horse’s head had lifted again as they got closer, his ears tense, nostrils whiffing in the scents. The beast’s languid act was over. When he pulled back on the bridle Dozer broke into a piaffe, an exaggerated slowmotion trot. Clay quickly moved his feet as the hooves thundered down. He couldn’t keep him subdued any longer.

Dozer knew the way. They both did. The hesitation in front of the guards, the drowsy draughthorse routine—it was all a performance. Clay restrained the stallion as best he could, his right arm raised, holding the reins tight against Dozer’s shoulder, pressing his elbow into him for leverage. He had to jog to keep up. The cue to wilt like a worn-out mule was no longer working. The warhorse was too close to home.

Never mind. Clay had accomplished his task. He had Rosette’s confidence and her worldly possessions, all in
one pleasant morning’s work. The temple cat seemed quite tame and controllable too. He’d be okay as long as Rosette didn’t suspect anything, and clearly she didn’t. The only problem now was his conscience.

Before he’d met Rosette, it had sounded like an easy task for a hard-up bard—a simple way to make some quick coin. All they’d wanted him to do was meet the girl, gain her trust and get her to hand over her pack. Demons, he’d come close to getting a good romp with her on the side. She might have been keen, if there’d been more time. Unfortunately there hadn’t, and now he wanted to get away. Quickly.

Even if they asked him to stay on, offered him more gold, he would refuse. It surprised him, but he didn’t want to continue deceiving her. She’d given him nothing but kindness and good company, and in return he fed her lies. It made him sick. If they asked, he’d say
no,
wouldn’t he? He bit his lower lip.

Honestly? I’d grit my teeth and do it.

Clay reined the massive horse back when he surged ahead. ‘Steady, boy. You did well.’

His mind was spinning. He needed the gold, and surely they wouldn’t harm her. That hadn’t seemed their intention. He wasn’t really certain why they wanted her watched, or planned to go through her things. She was a witch of Treeon now. Why would they be suspicious of their own? Of course, Clay wasn’t sure who
they
were or how many were involved. This morning, when he’d awoken in a clean bed with a spectacular breakfast of fruit, bread, eggs and ham awaiting him, he hadn’t cared. Now that he had met Rosette, he did.

She had a revitalising effect on him. She made him want to write new songs, travel to new regions, work harder at his craft. He even felt the hankering to train again with the sword and improve his equestrian skills. His left hand twitched at the thought, a familiar ache.

‘You cut that close,’ a man called out, striding towards him from the stables. ‘What took you so long?’

‘We stopped for lunch,’ Clay said, handing over Dozer’s reins. ‘And this beast of yours was slow as winter honey. Quite lethargic, the perfect draught horse until we came within sight of his stall.’

‘Did she notice?’

‘Nah. You’ve trained him well.’

‘I train them all well,’ he said, slapping Dozer’s neck and giving a light tug to his mane.

Sure enough, in the hands of his master, Dozer stopped pulling to get ahead. He walked along, animated but contained. Clay wasn’t going to argue with the man. He seemed to be in command all right. Confident didn’t begin to describe Sword Master Rowan An’ Lawrence. His walk alone portrayed it. He moved like a lion patrolling his turf, a man who knew his destiny and strode out to meet it. He flicked away doubt as easily as a child shoos a fly.

Bared to the waist, his muscles rippled in the light that filtered through the lattice-bordered walkway. He had a shaved head, agate green eyes and smooth bronzed skin. Tattooed serpents entwined up his arms and rested their heads on his broad shoulders. A winged bird of prey tipped with red feathers—the thunder eagle—stood guard at the back of his neck. On his right arm was a thick scar running the length of his biceps. It didn’t seem that old.

‘Did you get her pack?’

Clay nodded, patting the leather bag hanging from the saddle.

The sunlight vanished as they passed under the arch into the deserted horse barn. Everyone was up at the training grounds, or making their way there. Clay sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his threadbare shirt.

They stopped in front of Dozer’s stall and Clay reached to untie Rosette’s pack, dropping it to the ground. He grabbed his own things and faced his employer.

‘I believe my job’s done, Sword Master.’ He’d made his decision. He was out of here.

‘Not quite.’ The Sword Master didn’t look at him as he unsaddled the horse. ‘Did she mention anyone, a Nellion Paree perhaps?’

‘You didn’t tell me to listen for names.’

‘Do you recall it, though?’

‘She said she’d trained with her for the last five years, if that’s what you mean. She told me the story of how she bonded with the temple cat too.’

‘How?’

‘Rescued him as a kitten, lost in the woods.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘What?’

‘Temple cats don’t lose their cubs.’ He stopped, turning to face Clay. ‘What else did she say?’

‘Only that Nell is a phenomenal star-watcher and has taught her the craft. She mentioned something about the bow, gathering Snow Root, and sword practice with an islander. That’s about all.’

‘Did the girl say if Nellion would soon travel?’

‘She spoke only of her past.’

‘Growing up in Lividica?’

‘Sort of. She said she ran away because she didn’t want to be married off.’

An’ Lawrence went back to unbuckling the girth. ‘Did she say why she chose Treeon?’

‘That one’s easy,’ Clay grinned.

‘How so?’

‘She came to train with you.’

An’ Lawrence stopped for a moment before lugging the saddle off. Steam rose from Dozer’s wet back. ‘Thank you, Clay. You did well.’