The familiar boom of the lock and the clinking chain snapped him out of his deranged fog. The drawbridge lowered slowly, revealing a lone man standing inside the outer bailey facing him.
Sir Gavin Lukos.
When the drawbridge hit the ground, Achan dragged himself across it. His new boots made dull, hollow clunks on the thick wood. He then clacked over the flagstones of the gateway and clomped onto soft dirt. The outer bailey was dark and nearly deserted. A few guards looked down on him from the sentry walk. The forge still burned in the armory.
“What yeh got there, boy?” a voice called down from above.
Achan flinched as the compression in his head grew and voices attacked at once.
What has he got? a man asked.
He’s killed something, another said.
Killed? What have you killed, dear? the kind woman asked, a slight edge to her voice.
Achan stopped in front of Sir Gavin.
Are you well? Sir Gavin spoke inside Achan’s head, just like the others.
Achan perked up, ignoring the pain, and stared at Sir Gavin. Then somehow, he sent a thought of his own. How do you do that?
Please tell me where you live, dear, the kind woman asked. And if you are hurt.
Where are you? the humming voice asked. I must find you.
Do not say, another man responded. He’ll only bring you trouble.
But he must have training, the kind woman said.
If the gods will it, he will learn.
I can teach you much, droned the humming voice. Tell me your location, and I’ll send someone for you.
Achan dropped to his knees and moaned. He clutched his temples, and the doe’s body slid off his back and thumped onto the ground.
He’s fainted. This voice was familiar. A guard. Achan looked up to the gatehouse.
Naw, he’s hurt.
Think he stabbed himself? Dumb stray don’t know which end of the knife is which.
You’re a stray?
Speak to me for a moment, I beg you, the humming voice said. Concentrate on my voice alone.
Yep. That’s the boy’s blood, thought another guard. He’s keeling over. He’s wounded for sure.
You’re a boy? How old? the humming voice asked.
Achan leaned forward and set his brow against the dusty ground. They could know not only his thoughts and words but the thoughts of others around him? How could this be? His head pounded as if it might burst. He rolled onto his side, clutched his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. Please stop! “Stop!”
Sir Gavin knelt beside him and massaged the base of Achan’s head, right where it hurt most. You must shut the door, Achan. Focus on a quiet place. See yourself there. Focus on the silence.
Sir Gavin’s voice and tone seemed to cushion Achan’s pain. The sensation was somehow familiar, like this had all happened before. But it hadn’t. Achan tried to sit, but the pain surged.
Listen to the knight, Achan.
This was a new voice. Unlike the others, this one seemed to come from inside him, like a warm breeze confined to his body alone. Achan froze and blinked up at the night sky. What was that?
Focus, Achan. A quiet place. Sir Gavin’s words flooded Achan’s mind again, blowing away the warmth of the strange voice. Only you can ease this pain.
Listen to the knight. Focus. Achan thought of the allown tree by the river, in a summer sunset. A pleasant wind rustled the grass, and the flax fields bloomed with lavender blossoms.
The pain in his head diminished instantly.
“That’s right. Concentrate.” Sir Gavin stopped rubbing. He patted Achan’s shoulder, then stood. “Now get up. Get your deer. Let’s go.”
Achan opened his eyes. The voices had gone, and the throbbing in his head remained manageable. He got to his feet and hoisted the deer over one shoulder.
“Let it be known,” Sir Gavin called out, “that on this day, Achan Cham has killed his first animal and is worthy of the journey to knighthood.”
Few people mingled in the outer bailey at this hour to witness his achievement. A handful of guards roamed the sentry walk. Harnu’s father stared from the armory, most likely working late on armor and swords for the coming tournament.
Right now Achan didn’t feel worthy to be a knight. He wanted to get the blood washed off him, crawl into his bed, hold a wet cloth to his temples, and sleep. He trudged across the outer bailey in a daze, following Sir Gavin past the stables and barn to the tanner’s wagon, which smelled strongly of urine. A high trestle stretched along the side of the wagon. A cowhide hung on one end, the brown pelt glistening in the torchlight.
Sir Gavin helped Achan hang the deer from the trestle. “I’ll see that someone takes care of this for you.”
Achan nodded and stared at the deer’s glassy eyes. “It had a fawn. I didn’t see it at first.”
“Most have fawns in spring.”
“You don’t understand.” Achan’s hands trembled. “The fawn is a stray now…like me…because of me.”
“Aye.” Sir Gavin stroked his beard. “And that’s the reality of it, Achan. In war, people die. Every one of them is important to someone. A child, a husband, a father, a brother, a mother, a friend. War’s ugly. And being a knight, you’ll have to deal with that. You’ll kill or be killed.”
But the doe hadn’t been at war, not with him.
Achan blinked. Being a knight was his chance at freedom, his only chance to win Gren. He wanted to learn to use a sword because it was exciting and made him feel strong and in control. But he’d never thought about actually killing anyone. His naïveté stung. Why else would he be learning to use the sword, axe, and dagger if not to kill?
Sir Gavin gripped Achan’s shoulder and steered him around to the back of the kitchens. He stopped at the well and drew out a bucket of water.
“I cheated,” Achan said. “I told the doe to come to me and she did. I’m no hunter. I’m a deceiver.”
Sir Gavin’s bushy eyebrows knit together. His one blue eye lay in shadow, making them both appear dark.
“Why could I talk to the deer? Why can you talk to my head? Why did I hear all those voices? One of them knew you were with me. How?”
Sir Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “How many voices did you hear?”
Achan shook his head. “Dozens. The whole way back. I think the Evenwall somehow…” He looked at the knight. “Why didn’t you leave me Etti?”
Sir Gavin’s questioning expression faded. He slapped Achan’s shoulder. “Stop whining. Go to bed. We’ll talk about the voices in the morning.”
Achan didn’t complain. He used Sir Gavin’s water to wash the blood from his body the best he could. Then he rinsed out his tunic. He didn’t remember walking down the stairs to the cellar, but suddenly he found himself there. He hung his tunic on one of the ale spouts to dry then crawled onto his pallet under the casks.
Prince Gidon’s coming-of-age celebration began tomorrow. Poril would be in a frenzy, and Achan wouldn’t have a moment to spare. But Sir Gavin had declared him worthy of knighthood. Would Poril allow him to watch any of the tournaments?