Wizards Daughter

"Yes, very true," Nicholas said. "He goes on to detail the actual building of Wyverly-at great boring length, I might add-and the workmen he'd like to kick in the arse. Ah, he appears to have an obsession with this rear part. All right, here we go. Now he writes about what happened to him the previous year when he lost everything in the Mediterranean, his ship, his cargo, his crew, yet he was saved. He writes, I knew something wasn't right. I was lying on my back and I couldn't move. A single light shone directly onto my face, but it wasn't a strong light so it didn't blind me. The light was strange, all soft and vague, and it seemed to pulse like a beating heart.

…I don't know who or what this being is, but I indeed promised to pay my debt so that I would continue living. … A young girl appeared in front of me, her hair streaked with sunlight, loosely braided down her back, eyes blue as an Irish stream, freckles across her small nose, a sturdy little girl with narrow hands and feet. She threw her head back and she sang.

"What did she sing, Nicholas?"

He saw that she knew well what the little girl sang.

He read:

I dream of beauty and sightless night

I dream of strength and fevered might

I dream I'm not alone again

But I know of his death and her grievous sin.

He looked up at her. Neither said a word. He knew she also realized she was the little girl. Rosalind whispered, "Then what does he write?"

A child's voice, sweet and true, it called forth feelings I hadn't known were in me, feelings to break my heart. But those strange words-what did they mean? What male died? What female's grievous sin?

…She spoke again; this time her words rang clear in my brain: I am your debt.

She said slowly, "I don't suppose we can escape it now. I was the little girl and whoever, whatever it was who demanded Captain Jared pay this debt-whatever this debt is-I'm it."

37

They gathered up the remains of their picnic and rode silently back to Wyverly. Nicholas felt the fear in her, just as he felt it in his own gut. He didn't like it and sought to distract her. He spoke of their tenant farmers and the repairs he was making on their cottages, the new equipment he'd provided for their fields. He was nearly hoarse from talking so much when at last they were sitting again in the library, both of them looking over at the earl's chair. It remained perfectly still, and hopefully vacant.

Rosalind said, "I wonder where our ghost goes when he's not in this room."

"Don't be afraid," he said abruptly.

"That isn't possible," Rosalind said. "I've never felt such fear, not since I was eight years old, woke up to hear I'd nearly died, and couldn't remember who I was. Worse yet, I still don't know who I am. I only know I am a debt." She slammed her fist on the chair arm. "What bloody debt?"

Suddenly, one of Captain Jared's songs was clear in her mind. She recited the verses slowly aloud.

At last the girl comes home A girl who never belonged To her is owed the debt Well met, my lad, well met.

The little girl nearly died The monster nearly won The debt was paid by another But the race must still be run.

How could she remember the words so clearly, so easily? She looked up to see Nicholas studying her, his fingers steepled.

"Yes," he said, "I remember them as well. It all began when a being whose identity we don't know, whose identity Captain Jared never learned either, a being who saved his life, took him to this unidentified place, told him he had to pay this debt because, as this being told him, Ihave sworn not to meddle. It is a curse that I must obey my own word!"

"What being would promise not to meddle, Nicholas? That is what a magic being does-it meddles, it plays, or it devastates. And I am the debt, yes, I will accept that though I was also seemingly the debt over two hundred years ago, the debt Captain Jared was to have paid, and how can that be? Who was he to pay a magic debt?

"I don't know anything of a debt, I don't even know who I am. All I know is that wretched song. It's always been inside me, you know it was the first thing out of my mouth when I finally began to speak after Uncle Ryder brought me home.

"I don't know who the monster is in the song. Obviously it was Uncle Ryder who saved me. The race must still be run. So it's still there, the monster, the mystery, the need to pay the debt, whatever it is.

"And then after you came, we found Sarimund's book, the Rules of the Pale. Or rather Grayson did. What does that wretched book have to do with anything? Why can I read it and not you or Grayson? Who cares about this red Lasis who kills the Tibers in fire pits? None of this makes any bloody sense and I'll tell you, Nicholas, I'm very sick of all of it."

She jumped to her feet, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at the old earl's chair. The very heavy chair tilted a bit, then settled again.

"Oh, go away, you miserable old fright! I didn't strike the chair hard enough to make it move. I am a normal female person now, not some sort of planted dream from hundreds of years ago. Am I a wizard's debt, for God's sake? A wizard who's sworn not to meddle?"

The chair tilted again, then settled.

They both stared at it. Rosalind growled deep in her throat and threw the other pillow at Nicholas. He snatched it out of the air six inches from his face. "Sit down, sweetheart. It's time-" His brain closed down a moment. No, he had to say this, he had to tell her the truth now. No choice.

"Time for what?"

"It's time I was completely honest with you. It's time I told you who I am and what I know of this."

Something was very wrong here, and she knew she really didn't want to know. But there was no hope for it. Her heart jumped, then begin to thud, slow hard strokes. She sat beside him and clutched his arm. She said, her mouth so dry she could barely form the words, "What do you mean, who I am? You actually know something? Tell me who you really are. Tell me what is going on, Nicholas."

He took her hand in his began stroking her long fingers. He stared into the empty fireplace as he said, "I was eleven years old when I first dreamed of you. You were a little girl, ski

"I finally told my grandfather about the dream after I'd dreamed it a half dozen times. Always the same, always your face, your voice, that haunting sad song.

"To my astonishment, Grandfather told me he'd had the same dream as a boy but it had simply stopped when he'd been about sixteen, but he'd never forgotten it or you or the sense of failure. He said his father had told him the same thing, but he'd never understood the debt either, and his dream had stopped also when he'd been a young man. It was as if, my grandfather said, whoever or whatever had brought on the dreams had given up. My grandfather supposed it went all the way back, although exactly how far he didn't know, and it always came to the eldest son and he always dreamed that dream, but then, as he gained years, it simply stopped. But not the feelings of loss, the feelings of something vital left undone.

"I asked him about my father. Had he dreamed the dream? My grandfather told me my father was the second son and he denied any such dream, as did his older brother, the first-born son.

"And so it came to me. Then he recited the words of the song, looked at me sadly. 'I never did a thing, Nicholas, never did a thing because I didn't know what to do, like all the men in our line, I suppose. But now it is your turn. It is up to you to pay the debt, if the debt finally appears.' He told me he believed the little girl had somehow been out of time, and surely that was beyond a man's comprehension, but he knew she would appear when it was right for her to appear, and not before.