Page 3 of The Seventh Swan

"Where might I speak with him?"

The boy pointed back down the mountain. "Green house with the yellow shutters. My father hates them, the shutters, but my mother adores them."

"A tale as old as time, to be sure,"

he replied with a smile, and flipped the boy a small coin just to see him cheer with joy, causing the sheep to bleat in annoyance at all the ruckus.

He reached the green house with the charming yellow shutters as a couple came out bickering congenially about what they would be purchasing in town the next day.

Like their son, the couple stared at him in shock, but Saveli politely ignored it as always.

"You are the ranchers who own the golden sheep on the hill minded by a boy with curly red hair?"

The man drew himself up. "That is us, my lord. What need have you of sheep?"

"A fleece, the finest one you have, at least four clicks in weight, if possible, washed and prepared for spinning, delivered to the Althaus manor no later than tomorrow night. I can pay in coin or magic."

"Come and have your pick, then,"

the man said. "We just finished preparing several last night, ready to be taken to market tomorrow. We have seven of a quality that would please you, I think."

Saveli dismounted and removed his leather riding gloves. "Show me, then, please."

They led him to the barn, where at least fifty fleeces were neatly arranged in stacks that seemed organized according to quality. One stack was covered by an enormous sheet, and this they removed before stepping back so he could examine them.

Soft, the softest wool to be found, with a fine gold color that made the fleeces highly prized—and high in cost. These seven had a faint, barely-there rainbow sheen as well, making them all the more valuable. Once long ago, only royalty were allowed to wear this wool. "Do you get people who buy this often?"

"Not often, no. We have more use for the generic wool that goes to hunters and woodsman and others who must brave foul weather. We were astonished to get these seven."

"I will take them all,"

Saveli said. "One to the manor, the other six I would like shipped to my home."

They gasped as he gave the address, which was so very far away, and bowed low. He handed the man several gleaming coins and the woman a small packet of seeds. "In spring, plant these in the window boxes of your home, all four sides, and no harm shall ever cross your threshold. I thank you for the wool, gentle folk. Blessings upon your hearth."

He left while they still stood gawking and sputtering, mounting his horse and riding off for the forest to gather more of the components needed. Strawflower, cheerful and bright in their meadow, two bundles. Anemone, six perfect blooms, sweetly fragrant, the violet of a sky just beginning to turn twilight.

The last item he found on his way back to the manor, flowing over the side of a charming blue fence as a woman worked in the vegetable garden occupying the other side of the yard. She looked up as she heard the horse, inhaling sharply at the sight of him, standing up to awkwardly brush dirt from her hands. "Can I help you, my lord?"

"These geraniums… I have need of six of them, blooms in perfect condition. Would you trade them, mistress, for a packet of sweet pepper seeds?"

"Yes,"

she said immediately. "For that you may take all the flowers you need and want. They grow in abundance, and grow back in greater abundance."

"My thanks."

He took nine of them, six for his current use and three to dry for future use, and handed over the promised seeds. "Blessings on your garden, mistress, and be well."

Back at the manor, the fleece had already arrived, waiting in the hall, admired and discussed by Lady Celina and a woman who looked much like Lord Althaus. Like Lady Celina, she had hands that were badly gnarled and scarred, red and slightly swollen from always being sore and made worse by use.

They looked up as they heard him, and Lady Celina smiled in greeting as Lady Agathe gaped before recovering herself. "Welcome back, my lord. We were just fawning over this beautiful wool you had delivered. Fit for a princess, it is."

"I know of one who would certainly agree with you,"

Saveli said dryly. "She's not getting it, though. I require it for weaving and knitting a spell."

He held up a hand against the inevitable. "Not for Lord Oskar, his spell will require quite different materials, should he ever wish for me to make it. Lady Agathe, I presume?"

"Yes, Sorcerer."

"Will you be here for breakfast?"

"I…"

she shared a look with Lady Celina and then said, "My husband and I could linger another day, if that is your wish."

"I would be grateful if you did. Now if you will forgive me, I must to work, for it will take me all the day and night to craft this spell."

Two spells, actually, though more accurately one spell done twice. "I will see you both at breakfast."

He gathered the wool, soft and warm to the touch, and returned to his room. He put away most of his clothes, until he only wore his shirt and breeches and a pair of worn slippers he favored for this work. He called for a cup of coffee and light meal, and once that was consumed, he lit all the lamps so he would not have to stop to do it later and finally bent to his work.

The first step was preparing the gathered flowers, stripping the petals and then reducing them to still smaller pieces that were worked into the wool during the final step before he sat at his wheel to spin it into yarn.

He stopped when his body ached from holding one position for so long and sunlight had long given away to moonlight. Leaving the finished yarn on a table, he drew on his midnight cloak, tucked his feather in his hair, and headed out.

Oskar stood by the bank of the pond again, standing beneath the draping branches of a weeping willow. He looked away from the water at the sound of footsteps. "You again."

"My sister and brother often say those very words in that very tone,"

Saveli said with genuine amusement. "As a child, I liked to bring in frogs and snakes and enormous spiders. Good for gardens, not good for houses, apparently."

The barest hint of a smile flitted across Oskar's lush mouth before it settled firmly back into its usual, careful nothing.

Saveli did not trouble him further, for sometimes the greatest comfort was found in someone willing to share a silence. Moonlight danced across the water, occasionally scattered further by the movement of brazen insects or hungry birds.

"What is that feather in your hair?"

Oskar asked abruptly, causing startled birds to retreat momentarily. "How did you make it glow like that?"

Reaching back, Saveli removed the feather lying against his hair. It was large, not quite as long as his forearm and hand together, fanning out wide at the base, the barbs fading from deep red at the top of the shaft to all the colors of a rising sun at the base, with a series of concentric diamonds in the middle of the wide fan base. The ends were downy like the afterfeathers, and once upon a time, it would have sat pride of place in a great, long tail as beautiful and glowing as a bonfire on a winter night.

"It is the primary tail feather from a phoenix, gently plucked just moments before the phoenix's head was cut off. It glows entirely on its own. Phoenix are prized for many things, mostly their song, but also for the way they glow at night and provide guidance to those who most need it."

"Why would somebody kill a creature like that?"

"That is a long story, perhaps for another night. Would you like to hold it? This feather is my most prized possession, given to me by my beloved uncle."

He offered it and, after a moment, Oskar gently took it to examine more closely, running his fingers over it with the gentlest touch.

"It's nearly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,"

he said, and slowly handed it back. "My swan feathers do not look nearly so glamorous."

He curled his right hand around his metal arm, then dropped it and seemed to withdraw. "Goodnight, sorcerer."

"Goodnight,"

Saveli replied softly, watching him go as he returned his feather to his hair.

Nearly the most beautiful thing, and Saveli had to agree, for the forlorn, aching man standing beneath a tree of melancholy and lost love was more beautiful by far, and he would be lovelier still when sadness was no longer tearing him apart.

Alas, that beauty was meant for fathomless lakes and endless skies, and not for a sorcerer tied to the earth.

Sighing softly, he returned to the manor and obtained another quick, light meal from the kind kitchen staff before heading for his room. Once he had eaten, he settled into a comfortable chair by the fire and set to his knitting, not stopping until all four gloves were done, and his own hands ached from being worked for so many hours.

He washed and bathed and dressed for breakfast, then gathered up the gloves and headed off.

In the dining room, the two women stood at the windows talking quietly, clearly too curious to sit and eat. Althaus did not struggle so, happily eating his porridge and a plate heaped with eggs and meat and toasted bread slathered in more jam.

"Good morning, Sorcerer,"

Lady Celina greeted, her gnarled hands tangled together in front of her.

"Your hands,"

he said, "why did no one ever heal them?"

Lady Agathe's mouth twisted. "We tried three different healers, and they all said that true repair would not be possible because of the magic that made them this way."

Lady Celina gave a bitter laugh.

"The man who made Oskar's arm offered to make us hands as well, like the legendary Queen Silverhands herself, but we refused because ugly and mostly useless they might be, they are still our hands."

That laugh again, that for a second sounded like a sob. "Then like a twit I said, of course you should cut off his wing and replace it, why wouldn't he want that?"

"You did not cut off his arm, Your Grace, only eagerly agreed to an action that should never have been taken. You are not blameless, but the true blame lies with an unethical healer who knew better than to do something so drastic without first speaking with his patient. Healers refuse to heed the words of loving, misguided family all the time. He should have refused to heed yours. That is all there is to it. Between how Lord Oskar was treated and how three healers failed the two of you, my opinion of them is quite low right now. I would like their names and addresses before I leave, if you do not mind."

"I'll get them to you today."

He crossed the room to join them at the window, as Lord Althaus stared on, silent and pensive now, all interest in his food lost. He presented one pair of gloves to each of the women.

"Wear these, starting now, for three days and three nights. Do not take them off, or even pull them off slightly just to scratch an itch. When they fall apart and fade away on their own, the magic will be done. It is true that your hands will never be as they were before. You will always carry scars, they will always ache, especially in the cold weather. A sacrifice was made and a sacrifice cannot be undone, but the suffering was never meant to be this deep. Three healers failed you, and for that I am sorry. Wear the gloves as I've bid, and in three days and nights your hands will be muchly improved."

The women started crying, pulling on the gloves without hesitation before hugging him tightly, tears soaking into the dark purple tunic he'd chosen for the day. Althaus rose from his seat and gently took his wife and sister to get them seated at the table with cups of coffee. "It really will help? I do not doubt you, Sorcerer, it is simply..."

Saveli smiled. "I understand. It will help, on my family's honor. Now if you will forgive me, I did not sleep last night, so I will go rest now."

"Take some food with you,"

Althaus admonished. "You are skin and bones, Sorcerer. Does anybody in your life keep you fed?"

"They try, when I am around for them to do so. Magic consumes a great deal of me, and I travel more often than not. Thank you for your caring. Do not remove the gloves, even slightly, remember."

He took the tray of food and coffee and returned to his room, where he barely finished eating before he was crawling into bed and falling right to sleep.

His dreams were filled with wings as black as night, fanned out across a moonglow pond as they filled with the wind and lifted high into the sky and were lost.

He woke feeling bereft, and pulled on his beloved midnight cloak, his feather in his hair, as he ventured out.

It was early yet, for visiting the pond, the sun still setting, turning the water wine dark and scattered with flashing gold. The pond was occupied this time, as Oskar swam back and forth, occasionally dove deep, as though looking for something he would never be able to find.

Eventually, Oskar climbed out of the water. Saveli took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he averted his eyes, keeping them on the water as he felt the weight of Oskar's stare. Eventually, he left, and Saveli was left alone by the shore of the pond that was slowly turning black as the sunlight faded. The moon was not as full tonight, set on its waning path now, but it was still bright.

The cold air grew chillier still, but he remained where he was, until the creatures that favored night had all come out and the winking of fireflies had long faded, and a familiar form reappeared beneath the weeping willow. Saveli ached to join him there, but Oskar seemed determined to keep his own company, no matter how heavy it grew.