The Truth About Noussoir
Part 6. Of Brothers and Sisters
“Actually, Malachie, he could pass for your brother.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Seriously, chéri, if it weren’t for the albino skin, he would look like a younger version of you.”
Malachie took a closer look at the young man lying in the bed. Peering through his obsidian shades, Malachie could almost visualize his own features in the youth’s face. Malachie remembered he once had a portrait done years ago, when he was about the youth’s age. He wondered if it ever survived the trip from Laterre. It would make an interesting study.
“So what did they say was wrong with him?”
“The physicians say he is suffering from exhaustion and exposure,” Suzanne replied, very officially. “ Apparently, by the state of his clothes, he has been wandering the wilderness for weeks now, living off wild plants and scraps of food.”
“So they were able to talk to him?”
“Not really. He doesn’t really speak. More of babble. They say he has the mind of an infant. They couldn’t explain why.”
Malachie became lost in his own thoughts. Absent-mindedly, he reached for a dull ache in his side, an old injury from a hunting incident about a year ago.
“Is he...?” he began to ask.
“No, he’s not a werewolf,” reported Suzanne, anticipating Malachie’s question. “Nor any kind of lycanthrope for that matter.”
“Bien...”
“He’s no a spellcaster either,” Suzanne added. “The physicians were quite thorough with all the tests, magical and mundane.”
“Of course. Of course...” Malachie replied, inattentively, rubbing his side, commenting on either the excellent quality of the physician-mages of Morlay or on the strange youth’s lack of magical ability.
Suzanne moved towards the bed and gingerly sat beside the sleeping youth, careful not to wake him. She looked at the lad’s serene restful expression, a radical change from when he first appeared to her. Then, Suzanne turned to look at Malachie, still intently gazing at the young man.
Although not a spellcaster, Suzanne believed she had one kind of magical power, and that was to read those eyes behind the obsidian shades.
Sometimes, she felt this was pure serendipity, or even Malachie letting his thoughts be apparent and obvious to her. But other times, Suzanne was so sure about this magic that she would confidently finish sentences for him, or give answers before he even asked the questions.
This was one of those times.
“You are wondering what we should do with him?” Suzanne said. It was more of a statement than a question actually.
“Bon, oui...” Malachie answered noncommittally. Suzanne knew she was right.
Suzanne looked at the sleeping youth. She gently brushed some of the tousled brown hair from his forehead, revealing his clean handsome face.
“I say, we keep him here at the château until he is well...”
Malachie did not move. To Suzanne, this meant he assented.
“And then, maybe...”
Suzanne had not even finished her suggestion, when Malachie suddenly stood bolt upright to protest. Apparently, the magic worked for Malachie as well!
“Suzanne, this is a serious matter! He is not some wolf-cub we just find in the forest and decide to keep as a pet!”
“We are not keeping him as a pet!” argued Suzanne, gently but firmly. “We are keeping him here are part of the family.”
Suzanne paused. The air was still and tense for a moment. Then Suzanne, decided to speak her mind.
“Why not as your younger brother?”
Suzanne had issued a challenge, which like her crossbow, she would not fire if she weren’t absolutely sure to hit her mark.
Malachie turned away from the bed, trying to take stock of the situation. A stray though crossed his mind: It was a good thing that Sephora was not half as sharp as Suzanne, or his pelt would have long been hanging above her fireplace.
Suzanne knew she had made her point. Like a proper hunter, she knew not to press her quarry too much, lest he feel cornered at fight back in desperation.
She stood up and slowly walked towards Malachie, sweetly, almost seductively embracing him from behind.
“I know what you are thinking,” she began. “You are a Prince of Glantri now. There is much at stake. But in your heart, you know this is a good thing.”
Suzanne felt Malachie relax in her arms. She knew he was being coaxed to her side.
It was time for her coup de grace.
“I know you have a great desire to have a family. That is why you have made me your ‘sister’...” she said.
The bedchamber was quiet.
Malachie had turned to face Suzanne and for a moment, Suzanne could not fathom what lay behind those obsidian spectacles (She thought the magic was lost!).
But Malachie smiled his wolfish grin, and said, “Yes, I am becoming quite fond of the lad... strange as he is.”
Suzanne smiled and kissed Malachie, then hugged him.
After the embrace, Malachie said, “But if this youth has the mind of a child, we need to educate him...”
“I will teach him,” Suzanne answered promptly.
“Quoi?”
“My dear brother, you are taking this charade too seriously. You forget that my real mother was a school teacher.”
“Mais, oui! But didn’t she die when you were but a child?”
“Bon, it is in my blood!” Suzanne replied. “Besides, after her, my father taught me everything I know, and you don’t seem to have any complaints on how I turned out.”
Malachie had no answer to that. Only Suzanne could ever best the White Wolf of Morlay in these arguments. And it was not because he let her.
“Bien, what do we call the lad, ma chérie? Does he have a name?”
“Eh, je ne sais pas. I suppose we shall have to give him one.”
“François? Ou Étienne?”
“Non, pas Étienne! Richard! Ou Christian.”
“Non, non, Édouard!”
“Nou... Nous...” said a voice from behind them.
Malachie and Suzanne turned. The lad was wide-awake and sitting up in bed, facing them.
“Noussoir,” he said simply.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Epilogue
