The Name Giver

In book 1 Idi finds out the lady of Treffernon lake can tell him his real name. We start book 2 going to the island to find her and his name, which he thinks will lead to his identity.

Chapter 1 �" The Name Giver

            “I don’t want you to go.”  Idi looked down at Katrina’s tear-streaked face and just for a moment wondered if he was doing the right thing.  “Don’t go,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around his waist and clinging on to him like a limpet.  Idi held her head tight against his chest and looked to Marcus with pleading eyes.  The journey from Havenshire to the lakes had been quiet and uneventful and the three of them had talked about everything under the sun, except for the fact that there was a chance Idi might not come back, after seeking his name from the Lady of Treffernon.

            A cold wind swept through the valley; a continual force that seemed to want to drive them away, beating against their skin with its icy gusts.  Marcus looked up at the turbulent sky; the black and grey clouds whipped into a frenzied swirl yet never moved from their stance above the island.  It was a bad omen, a warning to strangers, and Marcus turned back to Idi searching for the right words that would persuade the lad not to go.   

            “I can give you a new name.  You want a long name?  Well how about Christian?  No?  What about Timothy or Jonathon?  Do you want to know about yourself?  Well, you are a good and honest man, a magician and a healer.  You’re Katrina’s pa and my son.  That’s who you are.”  He had used his arms to emphasize every word he’d said but now he let them drop down to his sides.  Idi’s face portrayed his determination and Marcus’s speech had not changed his mind.   

            Idi looked at the small rowing boat moored to the shore, rocking as the choppy surface of the lake slapped, and then withdrew, from the sandy shoreline.  Inside he battled between the honour of being called a father and a son and the ingrained belief that he was worthless.  The love he’d received from Marcus and Katrina had healed so many scars from the past’s name calling and bullying, but he still didn’t really know who he was or why he’d been born.  There was nothing else he could say to them, no words to explain the multitude of feelings he had that hadn’t already been said a hundred times, so he gently unclasped Katrina and held her towards Marcus.

            Marcus reached over and pulled Katrina to his side and she buried her head in his soft tunic and continued crying.  Idi took a concentrated look at the two of them, inwardly imprinting the image of them onto his mind: if he died today then he would take this memory with him.  He took a few steps across the grass-filled sand and climbed into the boat.  Looking under the seat he could find no oars and was just about to get back out again, when the rope that tied the vessel to the shore uncurled itself from the rock and eerily retracted, falling in a neat coil by his feet.  With no other warning the boat lurched forward and, wobbling violently, Idi sat down quickly, reaching out to grasp the sides.  It was being pulled along by an invisible current and Idi felt his heart give an irregular thump in his chest as he realised there was no turning back.

            Marcus watched the boy (who had become like a son to him) until it strained his eyes to focus anymore, then he gave himself a shake. 

            “Katrina, love,” he said and she looked up at him with swollen red eyes.  “We need to make a fire so that Idi can find his way back to us.”  Katrina wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, straightened her multi-coloured tunic, gave a huge sniff then, pushing up her chin, looked at Marcus and said.

“Then let’s get cracking.”

            Idi watched the shore until he could see it no longer then turned with a sigh of resignation to face the island that was fast approaching.  Would the Lady of Treffernon give him his name or would she strike him down?  He tried to stay calm but the beating of his heart had quickened and his hands were shaking.

            From the shore, the island had looked rather small but as the boat sped ever closer he realised it was quite large.  The broccoli-like appearance of the island from a distance revealed itself to be a multitude of trees, so closely grown together as to almost give the appearance of one humongous tree.  The turbulence of the lake came to an abrupt halt as he neared the island’s shore and the boat glided into the cove on a glass-smooth surface that reflected the image of the trees so perfectly it looked like a mirror. 

            The boat bumped softly against the sand and Idi stepped out on slightly quivering legs.  A quick sweep of the beach showed him this was a tiny cove: rocks and boulders to each end and nothing but trees ahead.  Only one way to go, then.

            He took a few steps across the silver sand and stopped.  He shivered, having the distinct feeling he was being watched.

            “Hello!” he called through cupped hands.  The sound seemed to fade away instantly and Idi called again in a louder voice.  “Hello!”  No answer came so he took two steps forward then found his legs didn’t want to do any more.   His brow furrowed as he searched the dense, tree-lined beach: every rustle of a leaf sent his head spinning to seek out the noise but still he couldn’t see anyone.

            “I’ll just wait here, then?” he called in a questioning tone.

            A slight shimmer of colour caught his attention and he peered into the trees, concentrating on where he thought he’d seen something.

            “Another one!  Phish wish.  Why won’t they leave me alone?”

            “Hello!” Idi tried again.

            “What do you want?” came back a croaky, and decidedly cranky, voice.

            “To know my name.”

            “Why, of course you do.  They all want to know their name.”

            “Can you tell me mine?” Idi asked, taking a step further up the shore.

            “Stay where you are boy!  No one comes into my woods.”  This was a clear demand in a louder tone and Idi quickly took a step backwards.

            “Sorry, I’ll stay here.”

            “Pwah!”

            “Can you help me?  Please?”

            “And why should I help you?”  Idi paused before answering, carefully recalling everything Sebastian had told him.

            “I want to know who I am so that I can be a better person and help others.”

The response he received was a quiet chuckling: not quite what he had hoped for.

            “Words are easy, boy.  Anyone can say what they think someone else wants to hear.  What if I tell you that I don’t believe you?”  Sensing he was about to be rejected, Idi took two steps forward and then fell on his knees.

            “Please tell me who I am.  From birth I have been called ‘Idiot’ but that’s not who I am �" I know that much.  But I need to know more.  If I have a real name I can believe in myself.  The Oracle, Oleanna, says I am to save ‘The One’, but Marcus says to be able to release the full potential of magic within me I must first know myself.  How am I ever to do that if I don’t even know my name?”

            A long silence followed and Idi stood up again and waited.

            “Hello?” he called again.  Please don’t be gone.

            An old woman stepped out from behind a tree and regarded Idi with a questioning, screwed up, wrinkled-filled face.  She leant on a thick-spiralled stick and walked awkwardly towards him.  Idi found it hard not to stare at the way her body seemed disjointed and leant too far to the right so that she appeared as if she were about to topple over.  She came to a stop in front of him and turned her tilting head around so that she could peer closely at him.

            “When did you see Oleanna?” she asked in a quiet voice.  Idi went red.

            “Well, I didn’t actually see her.  Marcus saw her and he told me what she said.”

            “Phaa!”  The woman turned and started walking back across the sand.

            “Please,” Idi begged, “help me.”

            The old woman ignored him and carried on up the beach, muttering under her breath something about her peace being disturbed.  When she reached the tree-line, she stopped and turned back to look at Idi.   She raised her hand and pointed at him.  Idi heard the sound of wind howling in the trees and felt the cold as it flew towards him.  Dread fell on him as he thought his end had come.  I’m sorry, Katie.  The wind stopped.  Cautiously, Idi opened one eye and looked at the old woman.  Her hand had dropped and she was staring at something next to Idi.  Slowly, he turned his head downwards to see what she was looking at.

            A magpie stood on a stone next to him.

            “Pica pica,” the old woman whispered.  The magpie, as if to acknowledge her, nodded its head twice, jumped off the stone it stood on and took to the air.  The old woman’s head snapped up and she raised her thin eyebrows at Idi.

            “Tea!” she said and turned to walk through the trees.  Just as she was about to disappear into the thickness of the woodlands she looked back over her shoulder at him.

            “Come on, then.  Don’t dawdle.”

            Not sure at all what had just happened, Idi came out of his disappointed shock and ran up the shore to the trees.  After checking he was following her, the old woman continued her lop-sided walk.  They hadn’t gone far through the coppice when it ended abruptly revealing an open landscape and Idi stumbled to a stunned halt.  The sun was shining over the clearing and the temperature had changed from a cold, autumn day to a lovely, warm spring day.  The daisy-filled grass was a lush green and soft underfoot.  Birds tweeted merrily in the branches and the short-tempered old hag started humming!  They stopped in front of what Idi had assumed was a pile of fallen logs.  However, closer inspection showed the logs were living trees still rooted to the ground.  They all grew towards one another until the branches were intertwined, forming a perfect space in which someone could live. 

            “I’ll heat some water, then,” the woman said, placing a pan on a tripod that stood over a small fire burning near the living tree-house.

            “Sit,” she said, pointing to a tree stump near the fire.  Idi sat.  I don’t get it.  Why am I here?  Is she going to tell me my name?

            When the herbal tea was ready she gave Idi a cup and then took one herself and sat down on the log opposite.  The log was huge and had been carved out to make a chair.  It also had a ledge to the right of the seat so that when the woman sat down she was able to rest her crooked body on the shelf.  It had obviously been made especially for her to support her misshapen body, but Idi also marvelled at the beauty of the carpentry as the whole thing was carved into flowers.  They sat in silence with the strange woman staring at him until Idi felt uncomfortable.

            “Are you going to tell me my name?” he asked timidly.

“Yes.”  Idi straightened his back and a huge, shocked smile spread across his face.

“I do have a feeling, though, that you won’t be best pleased.”

“I will.  Thank you so much.  You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Unfortunately, I think I do.  But before I tell you, I ask something of you in return.”

Idi’s heart sank.  What on earth could a magical woman want from him?

“What is that?”

“A little bit of your time.”  Idi’s smile returned.  That’s an easy thing to give.

“Yes, but it is also a very precious thing to give.”  Idi turned beetroot red as he realised she could read his mind and before he could help it, darted back in his memory to try and recall if he had thought anything unkindly of her.  The woman chuckled.

“I think you should stop referring to me as ‘that old woman’ or worse, ‘the hag.’  My name is Yakira.”  Heat was radiating from his cheeks and Idi rushed into conversation to hopefully distract from his embarrassment.

“How do you know people’s true names?”

“To be honest, I don’t always know.”  Her lined face crinkled even more as she cackled into her shaking shoulders.

“Is that why you kill most of the people who come to you then, because you don’t know their names?”  The laughing stopped.

“I don’t kill anyone,” she snapped, then added reflectively, “well, not intentionally anyway.”

“But some people don’t return from the island and it is said that’s because you killed them as they didn’t have a pure heart.”  She lifted her frail, age-spotted hand and scratched her head.  Some of her long, thin, grey hair came away in her hand and she sighed as she pulled the hair from her fingers and let it fall to the ground.

“The birds like my hair, they line their nests with it, but to be honest I would much rather it stayed on my head.”  She sighed again then looked back at Idi with a serious face.

“After a few unworthy seekers returned home and told everyone that I had given them names with grand meanings, I started telling those whose name I couldn’t see, that if they went back and said I had given them one I would come and strike them and their family dead.  I believe, rather than return and let everyone think they were nothing special, they simply crept away and started a new life for themselves somewhere else.”

“So you didn’t fling them off the island and kill them in the lake?”

“Well, those who weren’t given names couldn’t return in the boat you see so, yes, I would call the wind and fling them into the lake.  Unfortunately, I did hit a couple of them too hard and they didn’t resurface, and I think that maybe a few couldn’t swim, so I suppose that is partly true, but not entirely.  I never meant any of them to die, and let’s be honest I never invited any of them to the island, so if they had stayed away they would be fine now, wouldn’t they?”  Idi had dreamt of this moment all his life and he couldn’t wait any longer.

“What’s my name?”

“First, I will have your time.  Now tell me everything that you know about Oleanna.”  Idi started talking.  He wasn’t sure where it all came from but words poured from him.  Yakira would ask a simple question and he would respond as if reciting an entire book.  He was quite amazed at himself, he hadn’t known that he’d taken in so much detail, or how suddenly apt he was at describing everything so precisely.  Eventually he became aware that his throat was dry and sore and that his chin, for some strange reason, was aching.  He groaned as the realisation of the pain took a slow, steady hold on his mind.

“Your name is Lon.”