Child of the Prophecy Read Free Page B

me," he said quietly, and the voice was his own. I forced my eyes to flicker sideways, though my heart shrank at the thought that the man standing by me might be this wizened husk of my fine, upright father. And there he was, the same as ever, dark eyes fixed on mine, hair still curling glossily auburn about his temples. I turned back to the mirror. The face was changing again. It wavered for a moment, and stilled. This time the difference was more subtle. The hair a shade lighter, a touch straighter. The eyes a deep blue, not the unusual shade of dark purple my father and I shared. The shoulders somewhat broader, the height a handspan greater, the nose and chin with a touch of coarseness not seen there before. It was my father still; and yet, it was a different man.
     
    "This time," he said, "when you take your eyes from the mirror, you will see what I want you to see. Don't be frightened, Fainne. I am still myself. This is the Glamour, which we use to clothe ourselves for a special purpose. It is a powerful tool if employed adeptly. It is not so much an alteration of one's appearance, as a shift in others' perception. The technique must be exercised with extreme caution."
     
    When I looked, this time, the man at my side was the man in the mirror; my father, and not my father. I blinked, but he remained not himself. My heart was thumping in my chest, and my hands felt clammy.
     
    "Good," said my father quietly. "Breathe slowly as I showed you. Deal with your fear and put it aside. This skill is not learned in a day, or a season, or a year. You'll have to work extremely hard."
     
    "Then why didn't you start teaching me before?" I managed, still deeply unsettled to see him so changed. It would almost have been easier if he had transformed himself into a dog, or a horse, or a small dragon even; not this—this not quite right version of himself.
     
    "You were too young before. This is the right age. Now come." And suddenly he was himself again, as quick as a snap of the fingers. "Step by step. Use the mirror. We'll start with the eyes. Concentrate, Fainne. Breathe from the belly. Look into the mirror. Look at the point just between the brows. Good. Will your body to utter stillness . . . put aside the awareness of time passing ... I will give you some words to use, at first. In time you must learn to work without the mirror, and without the incantation."
     
    By dusk I was exhausted, my head hollow as a dry gourd, my body cold and damp with sweat. We rested, seated opposite one another on the stone floor.
     
    "How can I know," I asked him, "how can I know what is real, and what an image? How can I know that the way I see you is the true way? You could be an ugly, wrinkled old man clothed in the Glamour of a sorcerer."
     
    Father nodded, his pale features somber. "You cannot know."
     
    "But-"
     
    "It would be possible for one skilled in the art to sustain this guise for years, if it were necessary. It would be possible for such a one to deceive all. Or almost all. As I said, it is a powerful tool."
     
    "Almost all?"
     
    He was silent a moment, then gave a nod. "You will not blind another practitioner of our art with this magic. There are three, I think, who will always know your true self: a sorcerer, a seer and an innocent. You look weary, Fainne. Perhaps you should rest, and begin this anew in the morning."
     
    "I'm well, Father," I said, anxious not to disappoint him. "I can go on, truly. I'm stronger than I look."
     
    Father smiled; a rare sight. That seemed to me a change deeper than any the Glamour could effect; as if it were truly another man I saw, the man he might have been, if fate had treated him more kindly. "I forget sometimes how young you are, daughter," he said gently. "I am a hard taskmaster, am I not?"
     
    "No, Father," I said. My eyes were curiously stinging, as if with tears. "I'm strong enough."
     
    "Oh, yes," he said, his mouth once more severe. "I don't doubt that for a moment. Come then,