Keelin’s palm tingled. His skin prickled. Warmth spread through him like flame. The bag was his, just as the hood was his, and the stick. They were more his than the clean, shabby clothes folded in the chest. He did not know why, but he knew it was so.
He opened the bag but could see little of the contents. He felt around with a trembling finger. There was a feather, he thought, and something hard and knobbly—
He fell back with a gasp, snatching his finger away as the bag lit up like a tiny lantern. In the fireplace the clink chittered in fright, and across the room Petronelle mumbled and half woke.
Keelin sat shaking and blinking, his eyes still dazzled by the flash of light. His head pounded ominously. He knew he had to get back to bed. It would not do for Petronelle to find him here.
For who else but Petronelle could have hidden the little bag in the toe of the boot, and used the silken hood as a plug to hold it in place? Why had she done it? And why had she not breathed a word about the bag to him or anyone else?
Quickly he pulled the drawstring tight once more and without thinking very much about what he was doing, looped the cord around his neck, tucking the bag under his nightshirt.
Silently he closed the chest and tiptoed back to bed, the silken hood crushed in his hand. To his relief, the clink had stopped chattering and gone back to its meal. But just as he slid between the covers he heard Petronelle yawning, then the springs of her cot squeaking as she sat up.
He lay very still, his heart pounding, as the old woman got up, poured herself a drink of water and returned to bed. Slowly the pain in his head eased. With the hand that held the hood he pressed the little bag to his chest. It was strangely comforting. He could just hear the small sounds of the clink scrabbling after the last of the cake crumbs in the fireplace.
He had not thought he would sleep—had not imagined sleep would be possible—but the next thing he knew, it was morning.
His head felt clear. Petronelle was still snoring gently in her corner. The drawstring bag was warm against his chest. Now was the time to examine its contents.
He slid out of bed, put on the striped dressing gown and padded across the room. Dawn light was seeping through the curtain. There was another blue pebble on the floor beneath the window. And the clink in the fireplace was dead.
10 - Carryl
Petronelle started up when Keelin cried out. She jumped out of bed and hurried over to him, plump in her pink, frilled nightgown, her fluffy hair standing up at odd angles all over her head. She clicked her tongue when she saw the small, cold body on the hearth. The clink had clearly been lying there for hours. Its tiny claws were spread wide, its mouth was gaping, the sooty flaps of skin that Keelin recognised with surprise and pity as sad little wings had stiffened in death.
‘Ah, never mind, Keelin,’ Petronelle soothed. ‘Poor creature. Its time had come, that’s all.’
She went to the door, looked out, and murmured something. Instantly Jett was in the room. He strode to the fireplace and removed the dead clink, wrapping it first in a piece of rag the old woman thrust at him.
‘I gave it the spice cake last night,’ Keelin said, the moment the door had closed again. ‘The spice cake that was meant for me.’
Petronelle stared at him. Suddenly her face was watchful.
‘You think it was poisoned,’ she said slowly. ‘But Zak gave it to you. Surely you do not think he or Farr—?’
Keelin shook his head. On impulse he took the threatening message from his pocket and handed it to her. She read it in silence, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand.
The drawstring bag seemed to throb against Keelin’s skin. The silken hood and the two blue pebbles burned in the pocket of his gown. He opened his mouth to speak—to ask about the hiding of the bag, the hood …
‘Listen to me, Keelin,’ Petronelle whispered, leaning towards him. ‘This is very important.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve tried to protect you, but now it’s known you’re awake and gaining strength I’ll have less and less power over what happens to you. You’re going to have to find your own way, and if you can’t remember what that way is, you’re just going to have to trust your instincts to lead you right.’
Keelin gaped at her in confusion.
‘I know you’re good,’ she went on, in the same, low whisper. ‘You can’t nurse someone for as long as I’ve nursed you and not know his heart. You’re kind, Keelin. You’re brave. You’re loving. You think things through. You try to do what’s right. You wouldn’t willingly harm any living creature.’
She was very sincere, Keelin could feel it. But her words of praise, which should have warmed him, made him uneasy. For why had she said them at all?
‘I feel it was meant that we should meet,’ the harsh old voice whispered on. ‘I think perhaps it’s why I was born. I’ve betrayed Farr and Janna for you, Keelin. I haven’t told them all I know. I’ve kept some things secret, till your memory came back and you could speak for yourself.’
‘Petronelle—’ Keelin began, but she shook her head and put her fingers to his lips.
‘No, there’s more,’ she hissed. ‘We haven’t much time—I feel it! It’s been hard for me, very hard, to make myself deceive Farr and Janna. Farr’s a fine man, and Janna’s like my own child. I pray I’ve done right. Swear to me that whatever the future holds you’ll do nothing to harm them, Keelin! Swear to help Farr in his struggle. Swear to be loyal to him, to the death!’
She took her fingers away. Her strange eyes searched Keelin’s, filled with agonised appeal.
‘I swear it with all my heart,’ Keelin said without hesitation, and watched with wondering pity as the old woman’s face became slack with relief. She had asked so little of him. How could he ever regret such an oath? He had nothing but respect for Chieftain Farr, wanted nothing more than to help him.
Petronelle turned away and hurried to her cot. She threw a red dressing gown over her nightdress, smoothed her hair and thrust her feet into worn slippers.
‘I’m going to Farr and Janna, to tell them about the clink,’ she whispered, going to the door. ‘There’s no time to lose if I’m to catch them alone. Lock the door after me, Keelin. Open to no one but Janna, Farr or me. And Keelin—keep your bandage on! Whatever you may think, you need it!’
And with that, she was gone.
Keelin locked the door after her, feeling more confused and helpless than ever. He looked over his shoulder at his rumpled bed, suddenly yearning to lie down, draw the covers up to his chin, and sleep.
But another part of his mind was resisting—the part that was tired of confusion and helplessness, the part that was telling him it was time to be himself again, with memory or without it.
He walked to the window and drew back the curtain. The sky was clear, pale blue. He stood for a moment, taking great gulps of air that smelled of the sea. Then he left the window and moved past the silent fireplace to the chest in the corner.
He opened the chest and slowly dressed himself, pulling garments out one at a time. At last only the stick remained. He picked it up cautiously, but this time there was no disturbing flash of memory, only a feeling of rightness. He pushed it into his belt, and at once knew that was where it belonged.
Fully clothed for the first time in days, his feet unnaturally heavy in boots, he went to his chair and sat down. He was tired, but as he had hoped, dressing had made him feel less like an invalid and more like a person who could control his own destiny.
He put his hand over the little bag that hung around his neck. Now, he thought, I am ready to think about you. But before he could open the drawstring, there was a violent hammering on the door.
‘Open, Keelin!’ Farr shouted, his voice harsh with fear. ‘For pity’s sake, make haste! I need you!’