The Lay of Old Follies (5)

So many things fell into place with just this one item of knowledge.

Go back to the INDEX.

Mother seldom smiled, but when she did it was around me, because of me. As much as my brother belonged to Father, I was hers.

"Don't tell your Father," she'd often begin, and I knew I was about to learn something.

Mother shared some of her secrets with me. Not all, by any means. But as a youth hungry for the truth — that I felt was being withheld from me by Father and Mother delighted in the giving of — I cherished these private talks. They were revelatory. 

After months on end at the Isle gathering my questions from unwitting tutors and professors, inspired by their half-truths and partial answers, Mother and I, ensconced in her chambers, would talk for hours on obscure esoteric matters, on the finer points of a particular magick, and occasionally on the subject of someone's scandalous secrets laid bare in society gossip.

Mother had a sense of the truth of things, which told her which of the rumors were worth repeating to me. She only ever wanted me to learn the truth. 

I never asked her about her obvious unhappiness. I took it for granted that any sane person would be unhappy in my father's presence. That was one of the ways my esteem for people was determined. I felt kindly towards anyone who despised him.

The second most important conversation I had with Mother happened by complete surprise. 

In the dead of night, after a day of particularly demoralizing classes, I awoke to a hand over my mouth in the darkness. My reflexive protections began to build, instinctively, but they were shunted aside by a mage of awesome talents: Mother.

She had sailed to the Black Isle, of course, at the mercy of the tides and winter winds, and was a hostage to them still, as a boat urgently awaited her return, so they could raise anchor and continue on their voyage to the south, away from home, away from Father.

She spoke in the barest of whispers, reluctant to let the walls hear enough of anything. It was bad enough that Father would eventually learn of this visit. 

The Gatekeeper was an old acquaintance, allowing her entry despite the irregularity and the lateness of the hour. She'd farsended directly to me, once safely over the doorstep Boundary.

She told me so much in those few frantic minutes. Some of it I'd struggle to understand for years to come. But one thing became plain: I existed only because of her disobedience. The Curse meant she had been permitted only a single pregnancy. She had used her arts to ensure my brother and I were a single pregnancy. This was why Father hated me so much. I was a constant reminder of his wife's greatest betrayal.

So many things fell into place with this one item of knowledge. 

I was old enough, she told me. I could bear this bit of truth now. I'd be able to carry it, live with it. 

She delivered other information she said I'd need, but time was short, and she rushed through them. 

The boat would return her to the ship, the ship to distant southern lands, to answers she was determined to find for herself, and certain other things she said she must do.

With a final kiss on my forehead, she vanished. She had farsended back to the Gatekeeper, to step softly over the Boundary, and would then have farsended to the waiting boat.

My professors scoured my chamber for evidence of our conversation, at Father's bidding of course. But I'd spent the rest of that night practicing one of Mother's own secrets: the stones would reveal nothing.

And the most important conversation I'd have with Mother? I waited many years for it to occur.

Continue reading with Part 6 - The Way Out.