Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1) (7 page)

“You said before…” Robin began, hardly believing what he was about to say. “About me being a changeling, about me not being … human?”

Phorbas turned back to him. “A shock, I’m sure. But yes, the truth. You are not human, Robin. You are of Fae blood. Your parents were both Fae. You were born in the Netherworlde as the war reached its bloody conclusion. Twelve years ago, Lady Eris rose to ultimate power, the Arcania shattered and the Fae rulers disappeared. You were born, as they say … in interesting times.” He gave Robin a sympathetic look. “You have to understand, it was chaotic and dangerous for all Fae when Eris took over. Your parents feared for your life, Robin. A newborn Fae in such a world? You could not hope to survive. So they arranged to have you brought secretly to the mortal realm and placed you in the care of a human friend. A woman who you have always called grandmother.”

“My parents … gave me away?” Robin stammered.

“You were to be raised as a human, Robin,” Phorbas said beseechingly “Far from the Netherworlde, away from the war, from danger. You would not remember your home, your family, even what you were. But you would be safe. You would live. Your parents…” He halted, looking at Robin from the window. “… I’m sorry to tell you, they were lost in the war, Robin, soon after they sent you here. As were so many of your people. They could never come back for you. Everyone thought it best you know nothing.”

Robin felt an angry lump rising in his chest. “And now that whole plan is out of the window, eh? Is that it?” he asked hotly. “Now Gran’s dead, all of you people from another world are suddenly dropping out of the woodwork?”

Phorbas returned to the scarred table. “All that was done, was done for your own safety, Master Robin. It is dangerous to be the world’s last changeling. Eris and her people would like very much to get their hands on you.”

“Why?”

Phorbas’ eyes were unfathomable. “We will come to that in time,” he said maddeningly. “For today, I wish not to give you so much information that your brain explodes. That would never do. It would be horribly messy.”

Robin stared down at his hands. They looked very normal to him. Utterly unremarkable. Not in the least like the hands of a magical creature from another world. His nails were a little dirty.

Phorbas rapped his knuckles on the table, bringing the boy back to himself.

“Enough history for today,” he said, clearly noticing Robin’s shell-shocked expression. “Revelations aside, we have other matters to attend, and our time here in the Netherworlde is limited. On to other, more interesting things.”

He walked to the table and gestured expansively with his arms at the odd mish-mash of clutter on it.

There was a small bowl filled with loose earth, a jug of water, a closed lantern, and a black pouch tied with a silver drawstring.

“I am to teach you the Towers of the Arcania, the seven disciplines of magic,” the satyr said.

“The what?” Robin looked up, confused.

“There are seven areas of magic,” Phorbas explained. “They are known as Towers of the Arcania.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Earth, air, fire, water, darkness, light and mana.” He raised his eyebrows. “Every Netherworlde child begins learning these disciplines from a very early age, so I’m afraid we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We’re talking about real magic, right?” Robin said.

Phorbas nodded. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

He waved a hand over the water jug. “Water.”

The contents of the jug sloshed a little, and then to Robin’s astonishment, rose up out of the container and floated across the table, a slow wobbly bubble. It hovered, a translucent globe, just above the pot of earth.

Phorbas made a complicated looking hand gesture, and, as Robin stared, the blob of suspended water began to rain, like a small cloud, watering the pot of earth, until there was none left hanging in the air at all.

The satyr passed his hand over the pot. “Earth.”

There was a creaking noise, and a green shoot sprang out of the wet earth. Robin watched as it twisted and sprouted, growing at alarming speed, until a miniature tree stood there, tiny leaves unfurling slowly.

Phorbas flicked his hand towards the tiny quivering tree.

“Air.” A tiny, localised whirlwind sprung up out of nowhere, making the pot totter on the tabletop. It shook the tiny branches, tearing the miniscule leaves away and sending them spiralling up into the air, so much green confetti.

Phorbas raised his hand again. “Fire.”

The leafless tree burst into flames, making Robin jump. It blackened and shrivelled under the heat, until it was nothing but a lifeless wizened stump. When the flames died away, the satyr put the pot to one side. He smiled at Robin’s rapt attention, and indicated the closed lantern.

“Darkness,” he whispered. The flame inside extinguished immediately, plunging the entire room into near blackness. The only light was that of the moon, filtering in softly through the tall window.

Though he could not see his tutor’s face, Robin heard him say. “Light.”

A small orb, like a tiny watery sun appeared in the palm of Phorbas’ hand, illuminating the room again. He opened the lantern and tossed the orb inside, where it stuck to the wick like a shining marshmallow.

“There you have it,” he said happily. “A small demonstration of each of the Towers of the Arcania. I have not demonstrated the seventh tower, spirit, or mana as we sometimes call it, as that is very advanced casting indeed. We need not come to that yet. I shall be tutoring you in the first Tower, Air, and we shall go on from there.”

“And you’re going to teach me how to do this?” Robin asked, incredulous. “I mean, I can really do all this stuff?”

“Yes. You have the inherent skills. I am here to help you discover and control them.”

Robin looked confused. “So how come I’ve never done anything magical before? Even by accident?”

“Aha, I was coming to that!” Phorbas said happily. He picked up the black pouch, shaking it in his hands.

“You see, Master Robin,” he explained. “Back when the Arcania was whole, anyone could do magic at the drop of a hat. But with the Arcania lost, the energies are now harder to harness. Where once the magic flowed like music and we were able to pick up the tune with ease, with the Arcania lost and fragmented it is as though the radio is untuned. There is only static, and to pick up even the faintest signal one must have an antenna.”

“It is almost impossible for any of us to channel our energies into casting without using a mana stone.”

“What are manner stones?” Robin asked.

“Not manner,
mana
,” his tutor said. “Mana is raw magic that has been refined and put to an object, tied in to a physical body that is. Every single one of us, Fae or Panthea, has a mana stone. And they are each different. We have found in the last twelve years that mana is best channelled through gemstones. You will note that mine…” He indicated the large sparkling gem in the hilt of his dagger, “… is an orange garnet. You must now choose yours.” He held out the pouch for Robin.

“How do I know what kind to choose?” the boy asked doubtfully, placing his hand in the bag.

“Every mana stone is unique,” Phorbas said slowly. “Each has different properties, different strengths. It is less of a choice and more of a discovery. This is a great rite of passage for anyone from the Netherworlde, Master Robin. This is the key to unlocking your magical potential.”

Robin could feel cold hard objects inside the bag, clattering and rolling over his fingers. The pouch from the outside only seemed large enough to hold three or four stones, but there seemed to be many, many more inside. Robin made a few grabs, but the stones seemed to roll and slip out of his grip.

“Stop trying so hard,” Phorbas said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Let your stone come to you.”

Robin relaxed his hand. The stones in the bag rolled around of their own accord, and then something slammed into his palm. His hand was pushed out of the pouch by some unseen force, and the drawstrings closed themselves tightly with a faint
swoosh
.

Robin turned over his hand and opened his fist.

He was holding a smooth gemstone, roughly the size of a flattened egg, oval and slightly narrower at one end. Cloudy, grey-green and shot through with flecks of silver which caught the light from Phorbas’ lantern, it looked like a thunderstorm frozen in a rock.

His tutor took a small, quick breath, frowning. Robin looked up. “Did I do it wrong? Is that bad?” he asked a little nervously.

“No,” Phorbas said quietly, peering intently at the mana stone. “No, there is nothing wrong. But your stone. It is very, very rare you see. It is seraphinite. Hardly ever found.” He stroked his beard, looking at Robin wonderingly. “Very curious indeed.” He noticed Robin staring wide-eyed at him and seemed to gather his thoughts. “But it is the stone you have chosen, and it is the stone that has chosen you. Welcome to the world of magic, young sir.”

The seraphinite stone felt very warm in Robin’s palm. It made his fingertips tingle.

“Now that I have this, I will be able to do magic?” he asked, looking up at Phorbas. He held out his hand to pass the stone to his tutor, and was surprised when the goat man flinched away.

“No, no, you keep it, my young student. It is yours and yours alone. It is very bad etiquette to touch the mana stone of another. It is a very personal object.” He looked a little abashed. “Your aunt will show you how to bind it so it can hang around your neck. While you are learning, it will do to keep it close to you at all times. The two of you need to get to know one another.”

Robin slipped the stone into his pocket. He felt an odd tingle as it left his hand.

“To answer your other question,” Phorbas said brightly, gathering up the objects on the table. “No, it does not mean you can do magic now. A mana stone works a little like a focus. But merely possessing one is not sufficient for casting. The Towers of the Arcania must be learned, like any other skill. Your first lesson will take place tomorrow morning.” He tucked his knife into his belt, and passed a list to Robin, his manner suddenly brisk and cheerful.

“Until then, I have a few books you will need for your studies. I’m sure your aunt will be able to show you where in Erlking you can procure them.”

He looked toward the window. The moon had disappeared behind a low cloud. “And now, I think you should run along,” Phorbas said distractedly. “Your aunt specified you were only to remain here, on the lip of the Netherworlde, long enough for me to tell you what I have. It is not … safe … for you here.” He guided Robin by the shoulders back to the door. Robin looked half-longingly over his shoulder past the trees and biting foxgloves at the slim window and the world beyond it. Phorbas noticed Robin’s gaze, and frowned at him most seriously.

“Your aunt has asked me to tell you in no uncertain terms that the Netherworlde is strictly off limits. You are never to come here alone. You are not to enter the Netherworlde through this or any other station. Lady Eris is dangerous, and there are many things involved here which you do not yet understand.”

Robin almost laughed a little at that. He barely understood any of this. It was madness, all of it. They passed through the doorway, swapping cool moonlit cobbles for warm, sunlit carpeting. Robin felt inexplicably smaller on this side of the doorway.

“Off with you then,” Phorbas flapped his hands. “Your first real lesson will be tomorrow morning. I shall instruct your aunt as to the details.”

Robin turned and stared at the corridor, at the bright morning of Erlking Hall stretching before him innocently as if the last half hour had never happened. As though his entire world had not just been turned upside down. For a moment, he hadn’t a clue what to do next. What on earth did you do when given information like this?

He frowned. His parents hadn’t died in a glider plane accident. They had been killed in a war in a world he had never known about. Gran had known all this. She hadn’t told him anything. She had kept such huge secrets from him. She hadn’t even been his real grandmother.

He couldn’t confront her now. That was one of the problems with being dead. But he could confront Aunt Irene.

Chapter Seven –
Newly Nonhuman

The conservatory at Erlking was immense, a giant greenhouse fashioned from three storeys of shimmering, cool glass, each pane so old its surface was filled with frozen ripples. Black wrought iron made the space into a pretty cage. It was here, among the giant tropical plants and hairy banana trees, that he finally located Great Aunt Irene. It was hard to remain as angry and confrontational as he had felt earlier, distracted as he was fighting off huge leafy fronds and grasses.

She was sitting on a stone bench at the intersection of one of the many winding avenues between the plants, leafing through a pile of old papers in a cardboard folder. She looked as though she were balancing her chequebook – although some of the papers looked even older than she did, discoloured scrolls with large lumps of ancient-looking wax seals. Other documents seemed not to be paper at all, but vellum and papyrus, and Robin was sure that he glanced a sheet which appeared to be a tax return printed on animal hide.

Aunt Irene was wearing half-moon spectacles and a harassed expression.

Robin stood beneath the leafy bowers of a nearby tree for as long as seemed polite, dappled in the bright autumn sunshine, waiting for her to look up. It was very quiet in the conservatory, with nothing but the distant tinkle of hidden fountains and the occasional burst of birdsong. His was still reeling from all that he had been told. He couldn’t think how to begin.

Eventually she looked up, after placing all of the papers slowly back into the box in careful order.

“Good afternoon, Robin.” Her blue eyes regarded him sharply.

“I’m not human,” he said, rather more angrily than he had intended.

She removed her glasses, letting them rest around her pale neck on a fine silver string.

“Is that so?” she said levelly.

“You know,” Robin said, feeling his face go hot. “You knew already. You hired my tutor. Did you know he was a faun?”

“He is a satyr,” Irene corrected him politely. “Fauns are blue, troublesome and leave thumbprints in the butter. Satyrs are altogether more civilised.”

“So you do know,” Robin said, feeling a strange combination of relief and horror.

She smiled her brief smile at him. “I see you have had a most illuminating morning. Forgive my seeming cowardice, Robin. I thought it best if I let your new tutor tell you some of the history of our world, the Netherworlde, before we spoke together properly. I thought he might explain better than I could that—”

“You know … what I am?” Robin cut across her.

Irene nodded, not unkindly. “Yes, Robin. I know all about you. I didn’t know your grandmother, as I told you, but I knew your parents. They were good people. Long before the troubles with Lady Eris and her followers threw the Netherworlde into turmoil. Long before they sent you here.” She waved a hand around her. “To the human world I mean, not to Erlking obviously. You have never been here before.”

Robin nodded and swallowed hard. “You’re … not exactly … human either, are you?”

“That is correct. I am not human. I am Panthea,” Irene confirmed. “We are not truly related, you and I. I have taken your surname and the role of your great aunt in order to be able to have you live here with me. Human laws are quite fiddly about these things. I thought it simplest. I take it your tutor has instructed you on such. He, as I’m sure you have already noticed, is also Panthea, one of my people.”

“Eris’ people,” Robin blurted, regretting it immediately.

Irene gave him a long thoughtful look. “It is very important that you understand this, Robin,” she said patiently and firmly. “Not all panthea are the enemy of the fae. You are amongst friends here, I can assure you. We all, fae and panthea, lived in peace together for a very long time before the war.” She stood, placing aside her paperwork. She was much taller than he was. “There are those amongst the panthea, many of us, who still oppose Lady Eris and her wicked rule. We wish an end to the persecution and a restoration of the balance. We are the strong and the foolish. I am one of those, though I would not readily say which.” She smiled oddly. “I suppose we are ‘rebels’, or so Eris would call us. I am afraid you are unwittingly a conspirator to a company of outlaws.”

“I … I didn’t mean…” Robin began.

She waved her hand airily. “Erlking was once the most powerful bastion of faeriekind. The very home of King Oberon and Queen Titania themselves.” She fixed Robin with a stare. “It was entrusted to me by them, before their disappearance. I am the steward of the fae court, if you will, keeping Erlking from Eris’ hands until…” Her blue eyes glittered as she looked over him. “… Well, until hope arrives. If the King and Queen of the Fae trusted me, please believe me when I say that you can trust me.”

“Lady Eris wants this place?” Robin mused, looking around at the sunny arboretum. “I don’t understand. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice and all, but why would she care about one house when she rules all the Netherworlde?”

“Erlking was once the seat of the fae court and holds many, many secrets. There is knowledge here and much power, which she would pay dearly to get her hands on.”

“Why has she never tried to take it from you, if she wants it so badly?” he asked.

“Oberon and Titania set
me
as the guardian of Erlking for a reason,” she replied, which didn’t really help clear things up.

“May I ask,” she continued, a hint of curiosity in her voice. “I assume you have now chosen a mana stone. What is its nature?”

Robin fumbled in his pocket and brought out the large, egg-shaped stone. It swirled and glittered with light. Just holding it seemed to calm him. “Phorbas said it was called…”

“Seraphinite,” breathed Irene, her eyes widening a little. “Why, I have not seen such a stone in years.” Her eyes flicked to Robin, and he thought he sensed a veiled approval, maybe even pride, from the old woman. “You are as full of surprises as we are, Robin,” she said.

“How come…” he began hesitantly, but trailed off.

She inclined her head. “What is it? Speak freely, Robin.”

“I was just wondering … Most of my life, I’ve had the truth hidden from me, no sign of magic. How come all of a sudden I’m learning it? Why all this now?” He slipped the mana stone back into his pocket. “Because Gran died?”

Aunt Irene regarded him inscrutably for an eternity before answering. Eventually, to Robin’s surprise, she placed a thin, warm and firm hand on his shoulder.

“Because things have changed of late, in both worlds,” she said sadly. “Lady Eris has discovered you exist. It is impossible to impress upon you the gravity of what this means. You cannot know what Eris is capable of.” Irene’s eyes roamed Robin’s face, and he thought, for a second, he detected a look of pity. “She has heard whispers of a changeling, and she would like very much to get her hands on you.”

Robin resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably under the old woman’s hand and her steady stare.

“This is to do with my inheritance, isn’t it?” he said. “What you said last night.”

Irene nodded. “It is best to arm yourself with the skills of the Towers of the Arcania and begin your lessons. It is no longer … prudent … to leave you without defences.”

She gave another of her fleeting half smiles.

“After all,” she added, in a lighter tone. “It is magic, you know; you may even enjoy it.”

* * *

Aunt Irene was right. If nothing else, Robin had to admit, deep down, that he was excited. He wanted nothing more than to find Henry and tell him what had happened. But how was he going to go about explaining everything? Would the older boy even believe him? He didn’t want to lose the only friend he had left.

As it happened, he had plenty of time to worry about this, as Henry didn’t come up to Erlking until after school. He arrived at around half four, still in his school uniform, with his tie messily undone and his shirt hanging out of his pants. Robin was sitting on the front steps, passing his new mana-stone from hand to hand, alternating between excitement and worry.

Henry waved at him idly as he crunched across the gravel. “What are you doing out on the front steps, then?” he called out. “Shouldn’t you be down at the bottom of the garden under a toadstool? That’s more the style for your lot, right?”

Robin’s mouth fell open. “W-what?”

Henry grinned. “That’s where you’re supposed to find fairies, isn’t it? Or is that racist? I don’t want to be accused of stereotyping, after all.”

“F … f…” Robin said uselessly. Henry grinned at the his dumbfounded expression.

“You … know?” Robin asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Henry said sheepishly. “Look Rob, I’m really sorry; I wasn’t allowed to talk to you about it until today.”

Robin was still staring at him.

“I wanted to, really I did, but I wasn’t allowed,” Henry said urgently. “I hate sneakiness, me.” He looked at Robin critically. “I have to admit, you don’t look very magical to me.”

“Are you fae as well? Or panthea?” Robin spluttered. “Are you from the Netherworlde?”

Henry laughed out loud. “Me? Not likely, I’m from Yorkshire.” He grinned at Robin’s wide-eyed stare. “Thoroughbred Human through and through. Same as my dad. Not a drop of magic in either of us.”

“Then how do you know about…”

“Drovers have always worked for Erlking. My dad’s been in the service of your aunt since he was my age. Trust me, grow up around here and you kind of notice it’s not exactly normal. We had a pixie stuck in the chimney last Christmas, stupid bloody thing.” He grinned. “And the old man had a right to-do with a couple of redcaps last summer. Pilfering his cabbages. Vicious lot. Bite your knees off if you let them, or so I’m told. I’ve never actually met one. Dad had to get your aunt to put horseshoe wards up all round the allotment to drive them off.”

Robin sat down heavily on the steps. His head was spinning.

“My dad’s told me all about the Netherworlde,” Henry said, sounding fascinated, “when I was younger. I thought it was all just fairy tales, you know? Then I discovered it’s not. It’s about as real as it gets.” He looked a little embarrassed “I’d give my right arm to go there. I know my dad’s been once, ages ago. I’ve never even seen it though, not a glimpse. Never met a real faerie either … Well, not until yesterday, I mean.” He punched Robin in the arm affectionately.

“This place is going to drive me absolutely mental,” Robin said quietly to himself.

“Well, you’ll fit it perfectly then, won’t you? Fantastic,” Henry replied bracingly, in his matter-of-fact way.

They walked around the grounds for a while, Henry pumping Robin for every detail of his day. He was amazed to hear that Robin’s new teacher was a satyr, and was beside himself with jealousy that Robin had been through the red door to the Netherworlde. “We’ve got to obtain the key from Hestia now,” he said, walking idly around the lip of an ornate fishpond. “I mean … I’ve been dreaming of a way to get a foot in the Netherworlde since I was a nipper. Just ten minutes … in another world, can you imagine? It’d be ace.”

Robin pointed out he was not allowed in the Netherworlde, about everyone there wanting to grab him, and, you know, possibly kill him, but this didn’t seem to deter Henry much. He spent much of the afternoon hatching elaborate plots to get the keys off the old housekeeper.

It was only later that Robin remembered his reading list. “Does this place have a library?”

“Yeah, sure. I think…” Henry pulled a face. “Not exactly the biggest draw of the place, y’know. Not with all the other stuff to mess about with. Like, there’s this staircase from the kitchen which leads up to the cellar and down to the attic. And I found one room somewhere in the west wing once where the wallpaper changes pattern depending on your mood.”

“Yeah, well, I’m supposed to find the library and get some books before my first lesson tomorrow.”

“Bloody hell! Your tutor doesn’t waste time, does he? What are they for?”

“Magic lessons,” Robin said, and couldn’t help but grin. The excitement bubbled up inside him again.

“Oh man…” Henry screwed his face up. “That’s so much cooler than trigonometry.”

“I’ll never find the library,” Robin said, rolling up the list again. “It took me long enough to find my bedroom last night. I need a trail of breadcrumbs in this place.”

“Come on then, I’ll go with you. I’m starving anyway. We’ll grab some food from the kitchens on the way.” Henry pulled the other boy to his feet and they set off inside the cool building, intrepid adventurers in search of arcane knowledge and sausage rolls.