The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Read online

  Suddenly Kellen remembered. His last night in the City—in the cell—his father had said he would come to the same bad end that his sister had. But his sister was dead, killed by the Outlaw Hunt years ago!

  If Kellen had been confused before, he was at the edge of panic now, as too many new ideas and too much information crowded in on him all at once. It was one thing to say—back behind the safety of the City walls—that he’d welcome new ideas and complete freedom. It was quite another thing, Kellen was discovering, to be handed both things on a platter.

  “Uh … yes. Sort of. Not exactly,” Kellen stammered. “If you—Are you—” He shook his head just a little, trying to make his thoughts come clearer. “He said I had bad blood, all right; he said that I’d end up just like my sister. I guess you’re … that sister?” he finished meekly.

  “Typical of him,” the woman—his sister!—muttered cryptically, staring fixedly at nothing for a moment.

  Kellen felt an unsettled mixture of confusion and relief that did much to restore his composure. Confusion, oh my, yes. It wasn’t every day that you woke up to discover entirely new family members existed. But relief as well, for this meant one thing for certain; he wasn’t completely alone out here. He had a sister—and a beautiful and competent one at that. She must be kind; she’d taken in an Outlawed stranger and had tended him. If luck was with him, she’d let him stay with her until he got something sorted out about making his own way out here. She wouldn’t throw her own brother out of her house, would she?

  And another sort of relief as well, for the moment that she had named herself as his sister, every bit of desire for her had just—vanished. At least this way—since she was his sister, even if he didn’t really know her—his promise to Shalkan would still be easy to keep.

  He studied her more closely, trying to see a resemblance between them. But her hair was dark and straight where his was light and curly, and her eyes were violet to his grey. Still, now that he was looking for it, he could see something of their father in her—more than anyone could see in him, anyway.

  He had a sister, right here in front of him. And she was alive. Kellen did his best to get used to both ideas.

  “He didn’t tell me your name,” Kellen offered hopefully.

  She sighed and shook her head with disgust. “Typical. He probably drove it right out of his memory. I’m Idalia—just Idalia. I don’t claim his name. Pleased to meet you, Kellen—again.”

  She held out her hand, and Kellen shook it solemnly before he took in the full sense of her words. “Again? But we’ve never met. You were Banished before I was born. You must have been. That’s why I don’t remember you.”

  “Wait. I’m going to find you some clothes. I’ve had plenty of time to prepare them while you were asleep. Then we’ll talk. You aren’t going to like some of what you hear, so you might as well be patient—and dressed.” She got up, then looked back over her shoulder and added, “You’ll feel less vulnerable when you’re dressed, too, and that will make it easier for you to hear some of it.”

  Idalia went into the other room and came back with an armful of leather of the same sort and color that she was wearing. She shook it out, revealing it to be a pair of pants—leggings, really—and a long voluminous shirt.

  “I wanted to salvage your clothes, but all that was left by the time you got here was a pile of bloody rags, barely enough to make smallclothes with. This should be a good fit, though.” She held out her hand to him. “Come on, now, I’ll help you stand up.”

  “But—” Kellen felt himself blushing. He hadn’t been dressed by a woman since he was … well, a whole lot younger than this, anyway.

  Idalia dropped the tunic and leggings on the bed and regarded him, hands on hips, an amused smile on her lips. “Oh, come now, brother mine, who do you think cleaned you up, treated your wounds, and put you to bed when you got here? And I bathed you and put you to bed every night until you were six; that ought to count for something.”

  “But—” Kellen swung his legs over the edge of the bed—still clutching the blanket to him—and stared up at her. “Idalia, I don’t remember you,” he blurted, feeling the fear begin to well up within him once more.

  Idalia sighed, and tugged on one of her braids. “I know, Kellen,” she said gently. “Father told me he’d do that, just before the Constables came. Look, just think of me as—as a servant, and we’ll get this over with.”

  Kellen flushed. “I still don’t remember you. And you don’t seem old enough to—to have gone away when you said.” Everyone who had cared for him in his childhood had been very, very old; he remembered that much. And his last “Nursie” had departed when he’d been five, not six.

  She shook her head. “But I’m not; I’m only ten years older than you are. I left the City when I was sixteen, a year younger than you are. Banished, just as you were. You were born when I was ten. You were six when I left, old enough to remember me and ask embarrassing questions, since I was almost your sole caretaker until then. So after I was gone, Father tampered with your memories, erasing me from them.”

  Wildly, Kellen cast his mind back over his childhood. He remembered growing up—alone—in the vast gloom of House Tavadon under the indifferent care of a succession of nursemaids and nannies—none of whom had been Idalia. He remembered falling off his first pony when he was four, and the grand celebration—with fireworks in the garden—when Lycaelon had become Arch-Mage.

  He did not remember Idalia. Somehow, Idalia had been taken out of all those memories, and a series of strangers put in her place.

  “He couldn’t do that!” Kellen gasped in shock as he realized just how extensive the changes must have been. He WOULDN’T do that, his mind cried inwardly, clinging to that last hope.

  “Well, of course he could; it’s a simple enough Working,” Idalia said with calm reproof. “The Mages use it all the time to take traumatic—or inconvenient—memories away from people. It’s all for their own good, of course—and the good of the City.” Idalia smiled again, her violet eyes suddenly hard and dark, and once more Kellen could see their father in her. “And if you’d been a good little boy, and agreed to do what they told you, they’d have taken away all the memories that made a rebel out of you and replaced them with memories of conforming. They would have told themselves that it would make you infinitely happier and better off.”

  “They would?” he asked numbly. “They do?”

  The revelation rattled Kellen to his core—but after all he had been through, it didn’t really surprise him. Only now was he beginning to understand how utterly ruthless the Mages were. If they could kill a man, surely killing his memories would be a minor issue for them.

  Idalia toyed with the end of her braid as she watched him closely. “That was one of my problems, you see, all the things that the Mages do to the people for their own good. The other was that we mere females are not allowed to become Mages. We’re too emotional, you see.” Her lips twisted in an ironic half smile. “As if the Mage Council isn’t ruled by every petty emotion there is. Hatred, fear, jealousy …”

  Kellen barely heard her. He was feeling more than a little sick at the thought of Lycaelon—his own father—using magick on him without his knowledge. That was worse than spying on him, lying to him, searching his room to find his Books. He’d been invaded, manipulated, changed. And why? Just to eliminate a child’s inconvenient questions?

  Or to help cover up the fact that Idalia had ever existed at all, to make sure that her influence over him was gone?

  Kellen swallowed hard. He’d thought there’d never been an Outlaw Hunt in his lifetime, before his. He’d obviously been wrong. And the question now was, how many Hunts had there been? How many of Armethalieh’s citizens had been torn to pieces by enchanted stone Hounds—for the good of the City? How many memories had been erased so that no one would even remember the folk who’d been Banished had ever existed?

  Kellen shuddered, feeling queasy. Idalia put a gentle hand on his sho
ulder.

  “Those memories that are gone—can they be put back?” he asked urgently, looking up into her face, and hoping he could regain this much, at least. Something more precious than things—something lost, something taken from him, something that was his by right. Something he wanted back.

  Idalia met his gaze, and now there was pity in her eyes. “Oh, Kellen, no,” she said softly. “What is cut away by Magecraft is gone forever. It can never be regained. But come on, let’s get you dressed,” she added briskly, ending the discussion. “You’ll feel better, trust me.”

  Kellen, still stunned by what she had just told him, made no further complaint as Idalia helped him into the snug buckskin trousers that laced up the sides, and the long, soft leather shirt that fell nearly to his knees. Both were as soft as the finest velvet, and supple as silk, of a warm, golden color, the only ornamentation being the fancy stitching over the seams. They were beautifully, if simply, made.

  “You’ll need boots, too, of course. I’m working on a pair. They’ll be ready soon, but you won’t be needing them today. Now lean on me, and let’s see if you can walk a few steps,” Idalia said. She put an arm around his shoulders and lifted him to his feet with surprising strength.

  The floor underfoot was wide pine planks, sanded smooth. Standing made Kellen feel dizzy and light-headed, but with Idalia’s firm support he was able to make his way by slow steps into the other room of the cabin.

  The outer room was even smaller than the sleeping room, and windowless, but a narrow doorway stood open into the spring sunshine. Most of one wall was taken up with a fireplace made of smooth grey river stones, and a small pine table, a ladderback chair, and a stool filled the rest of the compact space. The room reminded Kellen a bit of what he imagined a ship’s cabin must look like, with everything carefully built-in and tucked away to conserve valuable space.

  “That fireplace took me all of one summer to build, but it gets cold up here in the winter,” Idalia said, nodding at the fireplace as she lowered Kellen into the chair. “When the snows come, you’ll be glad of it, believe me.”

  Kellen was breathing hard, even after walking only a few steps, but he thought he could already feel his strength returning. In a day or two, he was pretty sure he’d be fully recovered. Surrounded by so much newness, he barely even registered Idalia’s calm assumption that he’d be here—still here—when the snows came.

  From his seat, Kellen could look out the door into the world outside the cabin. The area immediately around the cabin was packed earth, scrubbed clean even of grass. Farther away the ground was covered with scrub and bushes, and then the trees began. The cabin seemed to be set in the center of a woodland clearing, without any other cabins—or for that matter, a road—anywhere in sight. In the center of the cleared area, Kellen saw a ring of large stones with an iron brace built over it. Hanging on the brace was a large copper kettle, its sides blackened with soot. Near to where the trees began there was a large flat tree stump with an axe stuck in it, and some neatly stacked firewood—far more, it seemed to Kellen, than anyone could possibly use.

  The whole arrangement seemed neat and orderly and well thought out. Everything he had seen so far impressed him with Idalia’s competence, even expertise, in living out here beyond City walls. She would be a good mentor to have.

  He’d known her … before. He’d been six when she disappeared. He remembered being six. But he didn’t remember Idalia.

  Don’t think about it now, an inner voice warned him. Now is not the time. Later, when you’re stronger. Not now.

  Kellen heeded the inner warning, and carefully turned his mind away from the new wound he’d just been given. Idalia was here now, after all. And there were plenty of things around him to concentrate on.

  Without thinking about what Lycaelon had done to him. What else Lycaelon had done to him—and all these years, he’d never suspected …

  As he gazed out at the trees, he saw a flash of white moving through them. Shalkan stepped out of the trees into the clearing, head held high as if scenting the air. He saw Kellen and tossed his head, locking eyes with him to be sure Kellen saw him as well, then trotted back into the trees, tufted tail held high.

  “I saw Shalkan!” Kellen exclaimed, nearly losing his balance on the chair. And he’s all right. A knot of tension Kellen hadn’t known he was holding within himself eased. Idalia had said Shalkan was all right, but hearing it wasn’t the same thing as seeing it.

  “Your unicorn friend? Is that his name? I guess he’s sticking around to keep an eye on you, then,” Idalia said, unsurprised. She’d gone over to the hearth and filled two wooden mugs, adding a generous dollop of honey to each and stirring briskly. She returned to the table, setting one of the mugs in front of Kellen and sitting down on the stool. “Friendly enough, but won’t have much to do with me.” She flashed him a smile. “And if you think about it, you’ll realize that there’s an obvious reason for that.”

  Kellen stared at her uncomprehendingly. Idalia shook her head, dismissing the subject.

  “Now. Suppose you tell me what you’re doing here,” she said. “The long version, this time. You might as well start at the beginning, even though the beginning is obvious.”

  “I was Banished,” Kellen said, picking up his mug. He was very thirsty, despite what he’d already had to drink, and the sweet tea tasted good.

  He looked up and found Idalia gazing at him, obviously waiting for more. The story had seemed complete to him in that sentence, but Idalia apparently felt it wasn’t, so haltingly, Kellen began to tell her the rest. He hesitated about telling her why he’d been Banished, but Shalkan would not have brought him to this particular place if anything bad could happen to him here, and he had already begun to suspect that nothing he could tell Idalia could possibly surprise her. So he took a deep breath and told her everything—about finding the three Books of the Wild Magic; his first hesitant experiments with them; being brought before the Council when the Books were discovered in his room; casting a Calling Spell to gain Shalkan’s help in exchange for a year of continence; their fight against the Hounds.

  “I don’t remember much after that. And I’m not sure it could have all happened the way I remember, because all the bites and everything are gone,” Kellen finished, confused again.

  “Oh, they were there, right enough,” Idalia said. “Bites—gouges—lacerations—bruises—scratches—broken bones—you looked like you’d been through—well, an Outlaw Hunt. Lucky you were near to my cabin here, when you crossed the border; I’m the only one out here who could have put you two back together again.” She tilted her head a little and looked thoughtful. “The unicorn probably had something to do with that; it’s no secret where I live, and he must have known that after that last border increase, you two would have to face the Outlaw Hunt, and afterward you’d need help, and I was the logical person to offer that help.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kellen replied, shaking his head. “I mean, I understand that we’d need to find someone and quickly, but I don’t understand why it particularly had to be you—”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m well known as a Wildmage and a Healer out here; it would make the best sense for Shalkan to head straight for me—especially once you were actually injured.”

  Kellen stared. Idalia … a Wildmage? A female Wildmage? But women couldn’t do magick!

  Or could they?

  Was that just another of the Mages’ lies?

  What if it was?

  Idalia didn’t seem to notice his shocked expression, any more than she’d shown any particular surprise or amazement at hearing about his involvement with the Wild Magic, although he supposed she’d had plenty of time to get used to that idea already, since he’d come in riding Shalkan, something only a Wildmage would be likely to be doing. He regarded his newfound sister with increased respect.

  His sister was a Mage … a Wildmage!

  “How did you think all your injuries disappeared so fast? I healed you�
�yes, with genuine, women-can’t-possibly-do-it magic,” Idalia said. “Wild Magic.”

  Kellen gaped blankly at her, still trying to get used to the idea of meeting a Wildmage. Another Wildmage.

  “Of course,” Idalia went on, “it was only Wild Magic, so I suppose that doesn’t count for the Council’s purposes …” she added mockingly.

  “And now I suppose you have a right to hear my side of the story,” Idalia continued, “but to tell it properly I’ll have to go back a good deal further than you did.”

  She brooded for a moment, and Kellen took the opportunity to drink as much of his tea as he could before his hand began to shake.

  “I suppose it begins with our mother, Alance. Father didn’t need to tamper with your memories to make you forget her. She left when you were still a baby, and from what little I remember of those days, he never let her see much of you at all. I suppose after he saw how I turned out, he was afraid her Mountain blood would contaminate you.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what the two of them ever saw in each other, but I suppose everyone wonders that about their parents. Still.”

  She shook her head. “I would like to believe that at least at some point they loved one another, but for all I know, it was a political alliance for him.”

  “But you were old enough to know her—” Kellen ventured cautiously. “He always said my mother was dead …”

  Idalia grimaced, dismissing Kellen’s half-voiced question. “Here’s what I do know for sure. Alance was the daughter of a Trader from the Mountains. The Mountain Traders used to come right down into the City, but after Alance left the City again they stopped and started trading only through Nerendale village. I’m not sure why, or if her leaving had anything to do with that. I’m also not really sure why Father didn’t try to make me forget her, either—maybe he thought it wasn’t worth bothering with, me being a mere female. And then again, perhaps he was right about the ‘bad blood’ in both of us coming to us through her: if Mother really was a Wildmage, perhaps she was able to cast a spell to make him simply forget about it. Anyway, no matter how it came about, I remember her, and what she told me about how they met.