by Andre Norton
“I did not know, I still do not understand what I can summon. When I am faced with the need I turn to the mirror—I have no other weapon. But I can only fight when battle is offered—heal when there are wounds—see when there is great need. Then—I am not sure of what I do to summon power—it moves in me and I know that I will have an answer—but even that answer I cannot foresee.”
“You are then like a novice in the arms court who is not sure of her weapons. You must depend upon fortune in part—” he returned slowly. “Yet when you come into danger your strength answers. And whatever power the Dandus priest held must now be broke—”
She thought she knew what was in his mind and ventured to put it into words:
“They swear to me,” her voice quavered, for she believed that with her words she was going to destroy his faint hope, “that your ensorcellment cannot be broken save through Lotis.”
His lips twisted. “And she is far away for wishing me well. So be it.”
He straightened a little, his shoulders squared, as one who had received an order dividing him from hope.
“It now matters concerning my father.” Resolutely he put aside any other thought. “He will not take lightly the revolt of the landsworkers against his men. He prides himself on strict justice and obedience to authority—”
“No matter what the authority?” Twilla interrupted. “Perhaps though he was under some temporary bonds to the Dandus and those now be broken—”
He had taken up a cake, was crunching it between his teeth.
“If—and if and if—” he said. “Answers will come in time.”
Someone paused beside Ylon—Fanna stood there.
“Outlander, Lord Oxyle would speak with you—it is of importance.”
Twilla moved to rise also but Ylon flung out a hand. “Let me go without leading strings, Healer, I must learn to walk my own paths!” His voice was heated as he arose.
She watched him turn and go, and knew that he must resent also the touch which Fanna offered now and then to keep him in the proper way. She blinked and blinked again. She was a healer and part of the burden of such a calling was that one could understand another's pain—at least in part. Her presence to him now was a burden he could no longer stand.
27
TWILLA OPENED HER eyes to the curve of the petal overhead where she lay again in the flower bed. She had feared that sleep would bring dreams birthed by the trace of evil lingering in her memory. However, she brought none such shadows with her out of sleep.
There was no night or day here, but there was a comfort in seeing a wisp of the silver mist float within the room—that was at least an assurance that Lotis was not still making trouble here.
She went from the bed to the pool in the adjoining chamber, washing away the languors of that deep sleep. Folded across a stool she found waiting, not the bedraggled clothing she had shed, but a fine white chemise and a robe of the palest green—the green of newborn, first of the season's leaves. Standing were also the soft boots worn by the forest dwellers which molded themselves to foot and calf as another skin, and a girdle of silver mesh studded with pale green stones, buckled with a clasp which represented the living silver green Catha had hailed as the forest's heart.
There was a mirror on the wall, many times larger than the one she wore and Twilla stepped before that to study her reflection. Her features were no longer masked by the inflamed and puckered skin of her past disguise, but had a pallor she found strange. The loose hair trailing down to her shoulders also seemed—though that might be due to some flaw in the substance of the mirror—to have taken on another darker shade than the dull brown it had always been—now it was close in hue to the dusk of a summer evening.
Certainly she could not match the chiseled beauty of the forest women, but she was far from ill-looking. What would Ustar have done had she stood so at that lottery? Twilla gave a shiver—she was well out of that!
If—if there somehow could be peace between the forest and the open land—if Lord Harmond might be immobilized along with his men until they had a chance for defense. As Ylon she was counting ifs. Ylon—for him to remain in darkness—
Twilla's lips thinned. The struggle with Lotis was not over. And—she was a healer—she must hold that belief. For every ill, even rank ensorcellment, there must be antidote. Perhaps one lay in that treasure house of learning so long hidden.
Behind her the mist swirled thicker. She turned quickly to face Karla—and Catha.
“Well risen, Moon Daughter,” Karla said. “Is all well for you?”
“Is all well for all of us?” Twilla countered. She had noted with surprise that three of the small-flying lizards were clinging to Catha's shoulders, while Karla carried a plump bag.
“You speak of ‘us,’ yet you are not forest blood.”
Twilla could not guess what lay behind that.
“No,” she answered slowly, “in that you are right—I am no kin.”
Standing beside her Karla drew Twilla back to face the mirror. “Look deeply, with your heart also.”
Twilla studied their two reflections. In the mirror there was no difference between the pallor of her own skin and that of Karla's, all the brown weathering had faded. But then she had been out of the sun since she entered the forest land. What else—did Karla suggest that they were alike in more than that and robes they wore?
“I do not understand,” she admitted at last.
Karla laughed and Catha echoed her. “Ah, Moon Daughter, she you look upon is different. See!” She swept her hand across the wall mirror and the passage of that erased what Twilla studied.
Now—startled, she retreated a step, studying the new reflection. Yes, there was the weather-roughened skin and that cruel ugliness she had wished upon herself. The unkempt hair was much lighter in shade—like last season's hay.
“That face—I summoned and then dismissed. But—”
“You have eaten of the roots, drank the life blood of the great trees. Thus you have taken into your body what maintains us—becoming kin if not by birth. Even if you return to the outlands that tie remains.”
Both Karla and Catha were watching her as if expecting some denial. However, as a healer Twilla could understand. What was eaten, drunk, absorbed into the body—yes, even among her own people that caused change.
“You find this hard to believe?” Karla prodded.
“This is true of Ylon also?”
“The outlander lording? Yes. Whether or not he believes it he is now a part of the forest. Now, Moon Daughter, tell us, what manner of women were those by the devil fire who stood and watched the little one near sent to her death?”
“You saw also they were under guard,” Twilla's chin lifted a fraction. “They are women in bondage. Did they not rise against the soldiers when the priest died? I believed that I could leave Wandi with Leela—I learned to trust her when we were brought here unwillingly to be wed to men we had never seen.”
“And why were you so constrained?” Catha asked sharply.
“They—those who ruled—discovered that if a man was wed he could not be ensorcelled by forest power—such as that Lotis used on Ylon.”
To her surprise Karla laughed. “So, if a man had a wife for bedding he could not be bound? Yet these women were brought unwilling, is that not so? Can they now be contented with their lot?”
“I do not know. Those brought were of many different natures. Leela was a fishergirl and she was tied to one she seemed to find satisfactory, or so she said when she gave Ylon and me aid to reach here. I cannot tell how the others I know fared.”
“Thus,” it was Catha who took a part in the conversation, “there could be dissatisfaction—even dislike among these women, a secret wish for freedom?”
Odd that they were pressing her on this point as if they had some reason beside curiosity alone.
“And we saw,” Karla continued, “that given the chance they turned even against armed men.”
Twilla looked from
Karla to Catha. “What do you want from me?” she asked a little sharply.
“This—here are women who have been forced into lives they have not chosen. I do not know how customs are over mountain,” Karla replied. “But among our people there is always free choice, of either season partners or life bond. No woman of the kin would consent to mate against her will or desire—”
“With us below this is also true,” Catha nodded vigorously.
“Perhaps some of those who came,” Karla continued, “did find mates to their taste—by fortune's chance. However—if there exist among them a greater number who bear inner hate and fear—even as they attacked the soldiers at the fire could they not be induced to hinder all men's plans even in small ways?”
Again Catha nodded in agreement.
“Ylon,” Karla went on, “has been with those of the council who remain loyal—for several followed Lotis and we know nothing of what she may be brewing, since she has strong wards. Now it is our thought, we women, above and below, that we must also prepare. Ylon has spoken of machines of war—iron—against which we might not be able to stand. Understand, Twilla, we do not war except to defend ourselves. We shall not storm their dwellings with the powers we can raise, unless they bring us to a bitter ending. We want nothing which they have—only peace.”
“People fear what they do not understand,” Twilla replied. “They speak of you as demons because they have seen the effects of such ensorcellment as was laid on Ylon, and what other evil seed their Dandus priest might have sowed—be sure he did.”
“We need time,” Karla said. “The under people labor at their forges without stopping, new smiths standing to take the places of those who are worn out. They fashion the nets, but perhaps those shall not be done soon enough. So—it is the outland women we hold in mind. You alone have knowledge of them—some of them. In what manner can we approach them?”
“For what reason?” Twilla demanded.
Karla stooped to pick up the bag she had put on the floor. She opened it and brought out something small, hidden in her fist. Then she looked to the under woman as if for support. Catha nodded. One of the flying lizards took wing and hovered over them.
“Lotis bound Ylon but that tie was of her will alone. Here is something else.” Karla opened her hand. Resting in her palm was a small locket-like artifact made of gold filigree and from it there came a faint wafting of perfume.
“Let a woman wear this and she can bend a man close to her will. Its power is not long lasting but if enough of these outland women have such and want peace, their mates will find it is not in their minds to draw weapons either.”
Twilla's hands crossed on her own mirror. There was logic in this—even though a part of her shied away from such mage work. Perhaps Leela had found her fortune-sent husband to her taste. But Twilla was sure that many of those arbitrary matings had not been happy ones. It was true that the women, unarmed and alone, had risen against the soldiers—something she would not have believed possible had she not witnessed it.
“Are you offering me a task?” she asked.
“Yes,” Karla said.
“This is a matter decided upon by Oxyle and the council?” Twilla persisted.
Karla glanced away so their eyes no longer met. “No—they speak of weapons and open war. We seek another means toward peace.” She held out her hand as if willing what it held into Twilla's grasp.
Twilla found herself accepting the locket. It was a trinket which certainly appealed to the eye. Any woman would be attracted to it.
“This forms a binding such as that laid upon Ylon?” She must be sure of that.
“No,” Catha's answer came quickly and emphatically. “It does not bind as does the power. Rather it will make men listen. They will heed the words of their mates.”
Twilla believed that the under woman spoke the truth as she knew it. She glanced again at her reflection in the wall mirror. Leela, Rutha, the others who had ridden in the wagon with her would know her. However, those who had come earlier would not. Also she knew very little about the plainslands—would all the women, except those who had been in the village, be scattered once more to the farms? To travel to each—that was impossible. Leela might supply her with aid, that farm was closest to the forest and perhaps she could get news to help her do this. Do this? Had she already in her inner mind decided to play the part they were urging on her?
Let her be taken and she—her thoughts shuddered away from what might be her fate.
“Win us time,” Catha urged softly. “You have,” she pointed to the mirror Twilla wore, “a mighty weapon. Already you have proved that many times over—and you are one of the same blood as they. To you they might listen—”
Twilla looked again at her reflection. “I cannot go among them in these clothes.”
“For that we also have the answer. When the outlanders first came and brought their axes of killing iron within the wood we met them with power. Some of them lost all memory of us and those we sent free into the open lands. Some, because of some fault of their natures, died. We have the supplies they abandoned and among those is extra clothing.”
“Died?” Twilla centered in upon that portion of Karla's story. “Killed by your power?”
“Only because there was that in them which the power fed upon. Why some outlanders are so burdened we cannot tell. And that kind of power does not pass beyond the fringe of the forest—we cannot use it for open attack.”
“You have stolen wits and memory.” Twilla faced the other squarely. “Those you freed went out to become un-men—which is what their kind name them. They are held in aversion and hatred because of the mark you set upon them. Now you offer me this,” she held up the locket. “Can you give blood oath that this will not strike in such a fashion?”
“Moon Daughter, it will do no more than we have told you—it will help the women to influence their men. All life will fight to protect their homes. We did no more than they would have done if they had had such powers.”
“I am a healer,” Twilla answered. “I will not carry any curses to those who have done you no wrong.”
“Blood oath, Moon Daughter—” Karla brought out of her sash a silver-bladed knife, pricked her finger until a drop of blood gathered there. “By the blood which is life, I do swear to you that these amulets carry no more with them than we have said. Will you not give a chance to the women you know, one perhaps for freedom from fear?”
Belief had been forced upon her. Though Karla's mentioning of those who had succumbed to the power shook her.
What if, by some chance, some discovery made among the records Oxyle had found, they had or would find a way to use the blighting power beyond the forest's limit?
Yet—her thoughts strung together swiftly—that knowledge could also be put to use. That Lord Harmond would be sending against the forest all the forces he could raise she had no doubt. That he might be brought to any truce meeting she also doubted. But he was one man. And she still remembered very clearly that action of the aroused women against his guards.
“I will do this much,” she promised. “I shall go to Leela—if she has returned to the farm. I will find out what I can—”
“And put to judgment what is the spirit of the women?”
“As far as I can, yes.”
“Come—it is already dusk aloft and you would travel the easier by night!” Karla waved a hand and a coil of the mist curled through the air toward them, encompassing them, hiding all else from their sight.
Then they were standing in a room filled with chests and one of these Karla selected, pressing a spot upon its lid and then raising that. Within were folded clothing which she shook out quickly and hung on other of the boxes.
Most of it was too large, made for brawny workmen. But the girl was able to sort out tight hose of dull brown made for some boy, a shirt of checkered brown and yellow somewhat faded, and last of all a leather jerkin which was a tolerable fit. She changed quickly, smoothing out the robe she s
o cherished and what went with it, sitting down to pull on calf-high boots which were an almost perfect fit.
The mirror was again hidden against her skin and Twilla tightened a belt from which hung an empty knife sheath and a small pouch.
“Good!” Karla eyed her transformation. “But to hide the hair,” she groped in the chest again to bring out a knitted cap large enough to cover the hair Twilla bundled into it.
“You are as like to one of those tree killers,” Karla commented, “as if you had appeared at the same birthing! Come!”
Again the mist served to deliver them to the very edge of the fringe. Out on the open fields before them there were still the blackened patches left by the fires which the forest winds had extinguished, and that bare scar where the great fire had burned. Twilla had no guide except memory—somewhere well beyond that scarring perhaps a little to the west—must lie the farm where she had sheltered with Ylon.
There was a flutter in the air, and something whirled about her head. By the reflected light of the mist which still hung behind her Twilla saw a small scaled body, a gap-jawed head.
“Sister in power—” Twilla started. She looked quickly around. Catha stood there and on one shoulder rode another of the small lizard flyers, her wrist supported the third.
“These little ones,” the under woman said, “have a place in our plans. But they must learn what they shall face. Take them with you—no, do not think that they shall betray you by their strangeness,” she said as Twilla started to shake her head. “They have their own ways of remaining unseen, save by the one they travel with. And you shall find them useful after their own fashion also.”
Twilla was dubious but she did not doubt Catha believed in what she said.
“This is necessary?”
“For what we plan, yes,” Catha assured her.
So under the shadows of the deepening night Twilla left the forest, not alone for the lizards soared over her or came to perch on her shoulders at intervals.
How far Leela's homestead lay she had no idea. All she remembered now was that it had taken her and Ylon a night's full travel to reach the forest. The moon tonight was the smallest slice in the sky, of little service for light. The cloaking darkness did not appear to bother her trio of small companions and she saw one deftly snatch a moth in flight, savoring its capture.
