Sorcerer's Son

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Book: Read Sorcerer's Son for Free Online
Authors: Phyllis Eisenstein
Tags: Fantasy fiction
Delivev. They had a tacit agreement between them that this one topic was not to be examined closely, but Cray could not help speculating, could not help measuring his life against the one he imagined his father had known. He could not remember when he had first vowed to be of his father’s kind and not his mother’s. He could not remember when he had first realized that he wanted his father to be proud of him.
    The forest around Spinweb had few visitors. Its only hunters were Cray and his mother, and because they used magical nets that captured prey and carried it to the castle without human help, the forest dwellers had no fear of human beings. In his rambles, Cray had found deer to eat from his hands, and squirrels and rabbits to climb upon his lap and nuzzle him. His pony, too, had never frightened them, but before his great gray horse they now scattered, and all he saw of woodland creatures was an occasional rustle of leaves in the undergrowth. He had no hunting plans, for his saddlebags held food enough and more for the whole round trip of six days, but he would have liked the companionship, however brief, of a deer or two. Instead, he had only a pack of spiders, and they were scant company, hiding in his boots, beneath his collar, behind the rolled brim of his hat. He held one on his finger for a time, but it didn’t care for the breeze of his horse’s motion and soon scuttled to the shelter of his sleeve. A couple of birds had followed him at first, flying around his head, lighting on his shoulder, but they had turned back before the morning was half gone. At noon he stopped at a spring, letting Gallant drink while he filled his flask; then he climbed the tallest tree he could find, to search behind him for Castle Spinweb. But it was gone, even its highest spire swallowed by the forest, which seemed to spread out in every direction, unbroken. Cray had never felt so alone in his life. He felt frightened by that, and elated, all at once.
    That night, he camped in a grassy glade, and he set a spider to spin in a clump of rocks. Almost as soon as the web was done, its center blurred, and his mother’s features coalesced upon the silk. They spoke briefly, she wished him good weather and a good night’s sleep, and as her image faded, he caught the glitter of tears upon her lashes. He sniffled a bit himself, but only after she was gone. He missed her as much as she missed him, but not enough to turn him back.
    On the third day, the forest track merged with another, wider one, and he began to encounter signs of humanity: an axe-cut tree stump, an abandoned shelter made of stout branches, rusted horseshoes, a lone, cracked wagon wheel. Soon the road acquired twin ruts where carts frequented it. At mid-afternoon he passed a hunter, the first human being he had ever seen face to face save his mother. The man wore deerskin leggings and a woollen shirt; he carried a longbow slung over his shoulder, and a quiver of arrows fletched with white goose feathers.
    Cray meant to hail him politely, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to ask the distance to the town. He wanted to exchange civilized pleasantries. Instead, he could only wave and ride on quickly. The man watched in silence as he passed.
    The reins felt suddenly slippery in Cray’s hands, the leather wet with the new sweat on his palms, and he tightened his grip. Gallant felt the change in touch and tossed its head. He halted the animal, then turned in the saddle to see if the bowman was staring after him. He was not. He was walking the other way. He had seen nothing worth staring after in a boy on a large horse.
    Cray kicked his mount to a trot. He was ashamed of himself. He had assumed that seeing a human being in the flesh would be no different from seeing him in a web. He had never thought to practice greeting as he had practiced fighting. Now he whispered as he rode: “Good morning, friend. How far is the town, good sir? Fare you well on this fine day,

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