Читать книгу A Muddle of Magic - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 9

Prologue

Bedtime for the Mablet

A blizzard raged outside the thatched cottage, rattling the shutters like an angry frost giant, but the boy was unafraid. His mother was strong and fierce, and mighty in magic. She would keep him safe. Sitting at the table eating his supper, he watched her throw another log on the fire. Sparks shot up the chimney and fire imps danced in the flames.

“Finish your milk, boy,” she said in her gruff voice. “Bed time.”

“I’m not sleepy. I want a story.”

“There are more stories than hairs on your head. Which do you want?”

“You know, Mor. Finn and the Troll.”

“Again?” She sighed. “I should think you’d weary of that one.”

The boy shook his head. “It’s my favorite.”

“Very well.” She heaved her bulk into a sturdy chair by the fire. “Come here.”

The boy jumped down from the bench and climbed onto her lap.

Settling him in the crook of her arm, she said, “Finn and the troll, having bested the god Trowyn in a contest of wits, were given the task of—”

The boy wrapped his small fingers around one of his mother’s tusks. “No, Mor. From the beginning. I want the whole story. Starting with Magog and Xan.”

“Cheeky cub.” The troll tickled his ribs until he squealed. “As you know, the gods of Tandara once numbered ten.”

The boy sat up in her lap. “I can name the gods. Brefreton taught me a poem about them.”

“Did he? I’d like to hear it.”

He regarded her from beneath lowered brows. “If I tell you, I still get a story?”

“You drive a hard bargain, but the answer is yes.”

The boy nodded. Taking a deep breath, he recited,

Once upon a time, ere the world was changed,

The gods numbered ten and these are their names:

Kron the Smith, god of forge and flame,

Seth, Lord of Darkness, turmoil, and change.

Reba the Bountiful, goddess of dawn,

Bringer of light and things that are grown.

Gar, fierce Hunter, god of rivers and rain,

Esma the Healer and easer of pain.

Valdar the Merry of poem and wine,

The sweetest nectar born of the vine,

Tam is the goddess of sea, hearth, and lore,

Trowyn the Bear—

The boy broke off. “Trowyn’s my favorite, ʼcause he can turn into a bear,” he confided, curling his fingers like claws. “But Finn bested him, all the same.”

“Yes, he did. Go on.”

The boy nodded, and continued:

Trowyn the Bear god wields his Hammer of War,

Last come Magog and his twin brother Xan,

They loved one another, then Magog raised his hand.

Magog the Comely—

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Comely makes him sound like a girl, and Magog is a boy god.”

“Take it up with the poet. I didn’t write it.”

“Bree says Magog was handsome. Handsomer than Xan.”

“Aye, Magog was beautiful to look upon.” The troll tugged one of her long ears. “By human standards, at any rate.”

“Until he ripped his face off.”

“Such a vicious cub,” his mother said, chucking him under the chin with a hairy knuckle. “Magog did not rip his face off, and you know it. Finish the poem.”

The boy sighed, and said,

Magog the Comely, out of jealousy and spite,

Struck his brother and took his life.

Xan the Beloved, god of music and air,

Fell to the earth, to the world’s despair.

Magog howled his grief as Xan’s life waned,

Plucked out his eye and went insane.

Nine gods there are now, where once there were ten,

One for the monsters, and eight for men.

Eight gods a-sitting on their thrones,

The last, Magog, grieves forever alone.

“It’s not a very good poem, is it?” the boy said.

“The fellow who wrote it was Tannish, I believe,” the troll said with an apologetic cough. “The Tans are farmers, not bards. Still, I’d keep your opinion to yourself. Bree might take offense.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” The boy nestled himself in her hairy arms. “I’d like my story now, please.”

“Certainly. The tale begins, as you pointed out, with the murder of the god Xantheus.”

The boy gazed at the troll’s shaggy head. “Why did Magog kill his brother, Mor?”

“Jealousy and spite, like the poem says.”

“But why was he jealous of Xan?”

“Who can know the mind of a god?” the troll said, shrugging her massive shoulders. “ʼTwas a long time ago, but this much I know. As gods went, Xan was easy to love. The same could never be said for Magog.”

“Brefreton says Magog drinks the blood of his people.”

“That’s true, in a manner of speaking. Magog’s priests sacrifice humans to their god, but I suspect that is as much Glonoff’s doing as Magog’s.”

“Bree says the Dark Wizard is a bad man. Bree says Glonoff hates you.”

“Bree talks too much.”

The boy regarded her with a worried frown. “Don’t worry, Mor. I won’t let the bad man hurt you.”

“Thank you, son. That’s a great comfort. Shall I tell you the story?”

“Yes, Mor.”

“When Magog murdered Xan, the world became chaos. The Great Cataclysm, men called it, and dark days they were. The world cracked when Xan fell, and whole countries were swallowed by the sea. Mountains spat out gouts of fire and rivers boiled. Magog, seeing what he had wrought and stricken with remorse at the death of his twin, sank deep into madness. Xantheus’s people were orphaned at his death. Some found refuge in Shad Amar and became worshippers of Magog.”

The boy clenched his fists. “They were stupid to worship Magog. He killed their god.”

“They’d lost their home and their god, and they were frightened,” the troll said. “I suppose it seemed a reasonable solution.”

“But all of Xan’s people didn’t do that.”

“No, indeed. Most of Xan’s people refused to worship the Slayer. Some left Tandara and crossed the Strait of Gorza to the unknown lands beyond. They called their new home Torgal, meaning we abide.”

“And the rest of Xan’s people?” the boy asked. “What happened to them?”

“You know very well what happened to them.”

“Yes, but I like to hear you say it.”

“The Torgs weren’t alone in their rejection of Magog,” the troll said. “There were others among Xan’s people who chose exile rather than enslavement to the Mad God and the Dark Wizard, and they wandered, rejected and despised by the other races, without a god or country to call their own.”

“Until one day, a boy was born,” the boy said, warming to the story. “Finn was special, wasn’t he?”

“Very special,” his mother agreed. “For one thing, he was fair haired and blue eyed among a tribe of swarthy people, and he had the gift of magic.”

“No one else could do magic, could they?”

“Not among Finn’s people,” the troll said. “What’s more, his size made him remarkable. By the time Finn had reached his eleventh name day, he was tall and broad shouldered, a warrior among men, good with the sword, the bow, and the sling.”

“Finn’s like me,” the boy said. “He didn’t know his father, either.”

The troll brushed his dark locks from his brow with a gentle paw. “One day your father will come for you.”

“When?”

“When you are older.” The troll’s arms tightened around him. “You are but four, my precious boy.”

“Will they like me?”

“Who?”

“The other boys at the Citadel.”

“You are the rowan’s son. You are my son. They will like you.” Her rough voice deepened. “So help me, they will.”

The boy yawned. “The story, Mor.”

“Beg pardon,” the troll said, her black lips twitching. “One day, Finn was hunting in the woods when he happened upon a band of evil men torturing a troll.”

“It’s funny to hear you say it,” the boy said with a chuckle. “Like you don’t know who the troll is.”

“Are you telling this story, or am I?”

“You, Mor.”

“Outraged by their cruelty,” his mother continued, “he slew the wicked humans and bound the troll’s wounds, caring for her until she healed. The troll and the boy became inseparable, and she tutored him in magic, for she was a kolyagga.”

“Kolyagga is Trolk,” the boy said. “It means troll sorceress.”

“Really?” The troll arched a bushy brow. “I never would have guessed. Where was I? Oh, yes. One day, Finn came to her, sorely troubled. ‘My people suffer for want of a god,’ he told her. ‘I mean to challenge a god on their behalf. Help me in my quest and, if I prevail, I will protect the trolls from this day forward. Aye, and my people after me. You have my word.’ The troll agreed, on one condition.”

“Finn had to promise to protect all the monsters,” the boy said. “Not just the trolls, and the monsters were bound by the oath, too. Any monster that attacks a Finlar without…without—” He frowned. “It’s a funny word.”

“Provocation,” his mother murmured.

“Provocation,” the boy said, “can be slain with um-plunity.”

“Impunity,” she said. “It means that if a monster tries to hurt a Finlar without reason, the Finlar can kill the monster and not be foresworn.”

“I know.” He made an impatient gesture. “Go on. We’re almost to the part about the bear.”

“The troll and the boy traveled deep into the mountains to a cave where the Bear God Trowyn slept. If you’ll recall, I mentioned that Finn had talent. He was a shapeshifter. When they reached the cave, Finn took on the form of a young bear and bawled out a challenge. The troll used her talent to heighten the sound to a mighty roar. The noise woke Trowyn from a deep sleep. Furious, Trowyn lumbered from the cave and found, not a bear, as he expected, but a youth in the company of a red troll. Trowyn hated the troll. He raised a huge paw to strike her, and—”

“Why did Trowyn hate the troll, Mor?”

“I cannot say. As I was telling you, the Bear God raised his paw to kill the troll, but Finn threw himself in front of her. ‘Kill me, if you like,’ he said, ‘but leave her alone.’ The youth’s loyalty to the ugly creature—”

“You’re not ugly,” the boy protested, patting his mother’s whiskered cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” the troll said, “but most humans find trolls unappealing, and Trowyn shared their distaste. Touched by the youth’s devotion to the troll, the god stayed his paw. ‘What do you want, boy?’ Trowyn growled.”

“And that’s when Finn challenged him to three tasks,” the boy said. “A race, a contest where Finn got to choose the weapon, and a…um…”

“A wondrous feat,” the troll said. “If Finn won, Trowyn agreed to grant him one wish. If he lost, Finn’s life was forfeit.”

“That means Trowyn could kill him.”

“That’s right. The first task was a race. Eight hundred leagues, from the fork of the River Shara and back again. Trowyn chose for his champion Raskfar, the messenger hound of the gods.”

“Finn turned into a rabbit,” the boy said.

“Aye, but Raskfar was quick as the wind, so the troll cast a spell that gave the rabbit the speed of thought. The rabbit won, and Trowyn was angry and demanded the second task, the contest at arms. Finn chose his sling. ‘Let us see who can throw a stone farther,’ he said to the god, and Trowyn pulled up a mountain by the roots and threw it twenty leagues. ‘Beat that, if you can, boy.’ Finn selected a rock from the ground with great care and placed it in his leather sling. Twirling the sling over his head, he released it. The stone flew as though it had wings and landed several leagues beyond Trowyn’s mountain.”

“That’s because it wasn’t a rock atall,” the boy said. “It was the troll, disguised as a bird.”

“Aye,” said his mother. “‘ʼTwould seem you have bested me a second time, tadpole,’ Trowyn said. ‘We have come to the third and final task. What wondrous feat will you perform?’

“‘Fear not, Great Bear God,’ Finn said, ‘and prepare to be amazed.’

“The god looked down on him. ‘Show me, impudent stripling, for I await your next marvel.’

“Finn pointed to the ground. ‘I can put one foot on this mountain and the other in the Kalder Sea. Can you?’

“Stung, Trowyn began to grow until he towered over mountains and lakes. Night fell in his shadow and the moons came out. Lifting one enormous leg, Trowyn set one foot into the Kalder Sea, leagues to the south. The other foot remained on the mountain, beside Finn.

“‘Your turn, Finn the Foolish, but methinks you cannot do it,’ the god boomed, but Finn was unperplexed. The troll handed him his pack, and Finn removed a wooden bowl and a leather flask and set them on the ground.

“‘What’s this?’ the god demanded, shrinking once more to his former size.

“Finn uncorked a flask and poured water into a wooden bowl. ‘Water from the Kalder Sea,’ he said. Setting the bowl on the ground, Finn put one foot in the bowl and grinned at the god. ‘As easily as that, I have bested you.’

“‘By base trickery,’ Trowyn said, his face dark with fury.

“‘The boy did not state how he would do the thing, only that he would do it,’ the troll said, coming to Finn’s defense. ‘By the rules of the contest, you must grant him his desire.’

“Trowyn sneered. ‘And what prize is it you seek? Riches? Fame? Everlasting life?’

“‘Nay, great god,’ Finn said, ‘I seek a god for my people, left orphaned by Xan’s murder.’

“Trowyn was surprised and touched by Finn’s request. ‘Very well, but first you must complete another task, this time one of my choosing, and there will be no deceit. Bring me the Hound of Mandoora’s collar. If you succeed, I will be your god and the god of your people.’” The troll stroked the boy’s cheek. “But that is a tale for another time.”

The boy yawned again. “You left out the part about Reba. She’s the one who figured out that Finn had tricked Trowyn.”

“I didn’t forget. It’s time you were abed.”

Rising from the chair, the troll carried him to his bed and tucked him under the covers.

The wooden frame groaned as she settled her weight on the edge of the mattress. “Goodnight, boy.” Her yellow eyes gleamed in the darkened room. “Don’t let the stone fairies bite.”

“Night, Mor.” He put his arms around her burly neck and gave her a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my Raven,” Gertie said. “Sleep well.”