“Not at all. I hope you will be staying for a while.” He began to get up.
Rhapsody came to him, forestalling his attempt to stand, and sat on the bench beneath the ash tree. The stone was cold, causing a shiver to race through her. “What was the song you were singing?”
“Ah, that. It’s a healing song intended for the plants, a piece of lore passed down from the Filids of Serendair. I use it to help some of my medicine garden through the nastier weather, keep it healthy. The more fragile plants I keep inside, of course, but there is only so much room, after all. Besides, Mahb here likes the music, too.” He patted the ash tree beside him.
“Mahb?” It sounded like the Serenne word for son.
“Yes, yes, he looks after the garden, keeps away any man or beast or malevolent spirit that might bring it harm, don’t you, old boy?” Llauron looked the young tree up and down, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Confidentially, I don’t think he likes Khaddyr much,” he said, his eyes twinkling. Rhapsody smiled wanly. “Now, perhaps I could impose on you to add your lovely voice to my own, and do the plants some real benefit.”
Rhapsody looked surprised. “Excuse me?”
“Now, my dear, don’t be modest. I can tell you are a Singer of great skill, perhaps even a Namer, yes?” She blinked; the chilly wind blew over her body, suddenly moist with sweat, causing her to shiver. “When you speak, you make the day a little brighter by the sound of your voice. It’s really quite beautiful, my dear. I can only imagine how you sound when you sing. I hope you will not leave me guessing much longer. Come, favor my plants with a song.”
The dilemma of what to do next tied a substantial knot in her stomach. Llauron had already guessed something critically important about her. To deny it would be to lie, to dodge, to be rude. She sighed silently.
“If you’d like,” she said at last. “But I don’t know the song you were singing. Why don’t you begin, and I’ll join in when I have learned it.”
“Fine.” Llauron went back to his work, singing the odd song again. The pattern became obvious to her after a few bars, and tentatively she began to sing along, correcting the flaws in his musical line. As he noted the changes Llauron matched her, and when he was carrying the melody correctly, she threw in a harmonic line for good measure. When she looked back down at the medicine garden the plants appeared somewhat healthier, though the exact nature of the change was hard to detect.
Llauron nodded approvingly. “Excellent! I was right, wasn’t I, my dear? You are a Namer.”
Rhapsody looked off into the distance to avoid meeting his eyes. They were bright blue, with a sharp edge to them, and she knew if she wasn’t careful he would size her up even further. “I did achieve that status, yes.”
“I thought as much. Well, thank you. That should keep the garden quite nicely, at least until the end of this thaw. Come, let’s go inside. You’re cold, and I’m finished here anyway.” He rose with more agility than his age suggested and led her into the house through a back door.
The door opened into a vast kitchen, with an enormous hearth and brick ovens enough to feed an entire farm’s hands easily. A copper hook hung over the fire with a kettle steaming away. Llauron warmed his hands in the steam and then swung the kettle out, removing it from the hook with a thick, clean rag.
“I was expecting you might want some tea,” he said, filling a china pot that had been left on a central table. “Are you still feeling worn out from your journey?”
“A little.”
The Invoker smiled. “Well, then, we’ll just mix you a tea with some properties to revive you a bit. Have you ever taken mim’s lace internally?”
Rhapsody shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Llauron turned away and walked to a large storage cabinet, pulling forth many small sacks of loosely woven burlap. “I’m not surprised; it’s indigenous to this area. What about spring saffron?”
It suddenly occurred to her that Llauron might be using his tea inventory to isolate the place from which she had come by her knowledge of the herbs. “Whatever you’re having is fine, I’m sure,” she said hastily.
“Well, then, I think we shall mix some of that with dried orange blossoms, sweet fern, and raspberry leaves.”
“You have raspberry leaves in winter?”
“Yes, in the glass garden. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, indeed. This smells wonderful, by the way.” She picked up the steaming cup Llauron set before her and followed him through a door in the kitchen into a structure that adjoined it.
Three walls of the room were made of glass, with a strange hearth in the center. The bottom of the hearth was filled with stones that glowed red with heat, over which two large copper kettles hung, filling the air with steam.
Between the kettles was a large iron brazier filled with granite-like stones, also heated red-hot. A metal cone hung from the ceiling above, dripping water slowly onto the coals, where it hissed into vapor. As a result, the room was heavy with warm moisture, which served to keep alive the thriving plants that filled the glass garden in rows, one on top of the other.
Rhapsody walked between the crowded banks of plants, enjoying the sense of false summer. She looked up at the dripping machine that was spattering droplets of moisture into the air. “What a fascinating device.”
“Oh, you like that, do you? Rather ingenious, I would say. I wish I could take credit for it, but it was my father who designed and built it as a gift for my mother. She loved orchids and other hothouse flowers.”
“You have some very interesting plants in here.”
“Well, as I said before, you’re more than welcome to stay here and learn the lore of the Filids, if you wish. There are many aspects of nature worship that I think you might enjoy, having a propensity for some of them already. I will tend to many of your lessons myself; it will be a nice break from my work.”
“I don’t want to take you away from your duties, Your Grace.”
The Invoker smiled. “Nonsense, my dear. The nice thing about being in charge is that you get to say when you can leave. And do call me Llauron, you’re making me feel old. So, what will it be? Can you stay? Or do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
Rhapsody looked up into the twinkling blue eyes that were watching her intently. An uneasy feeling came over her; it was as if Llauron could see inside her. Even the scholars at the music academy were not able to tell a Namer from his or her speaking voice. That this pleasant, elderly man seemed to know things about her that he shouldn’t made her feel even more vulnerable than she had that morning under the Tree. Still, she was here to learn more. She might as well be gracious about it.
“No,” she said finally. “There’s nowhere else I need to be, not for a while, at least.”
24
After breaking fast with the repast Vera had left out for them, Rhapsody and Llauron walked out through the gardens and across the wide field behind the keep to the stable where the Invoker kept his horses.
Gwen had arrived prior to their leaving the house, with a new pair of leather boots and soft woolen leggings for Rhapsody. They were a little large, but wrapped her feet in warmth and kept them dry, and she thanked the house servant gratefully.
As best as she could tell, despite the size of the house and the importance of his position, the Invoker only had the two women servants aside from the guards. Rhapsody had known minor nobles in Serendair who had kept far more than that, and it made her think well of him. Llauron looked after himself, for the most part, a unique and pleasing trait in the head of a religious order.
The stables were cleaner than most houses, with cobbled floors lined in thick straw and old rugs. It was easy to see why; Llauron’s steeds were among the most magnificent she had ever seen. Some were war horses, sleek and rippled in their musculature, while others had been bred according to their breed and their bloodlines, making fine riders and dray horses. Rhapsody walked up and down between the stalls, clicking to them
the way her father had to his horses, and finding Llauron’s steeds to be equally responsive to the soft sound.
“Do you see one you like, my dear?” Llauron asked with an approving smile.
“I like them all.”
“Yes, but you can only ride one of them. If you’d like to meet Lark, we’ll have to travel a bit. The herbery is on the other side of the forest clearing, several leagues from here. What about the strawberry bay? He’s gentle.”
Rhapsody nodded, and Llauron signaled to the stablehand. “Saddle him up, please, Norma, and Eliseus as well; we’ll be heading out shortly.” He took Rhapsody by the elbow and led her back out of the stable into the biting wind.
While they waited for the horses, Llauron raised the hood on Rhapsody’s cloak as if she were a child. “It’s probably best for you to keep this up, my dear, the wind is brisk.” He followed suit with his own, then turned as the door to the stable opened and Norma came out, leading the bay and a roan with glossy mane, neatly plaited.
“Ah, there’s my boy now; good morning, Eliseus.” The horse snorted as if in reply, thick vapor issuing forth from his nostrils in the cold wind. “Well, then, Rhapsody, let’s be off to the herbery.” They mounted and rode off, Rhapsody following him over the fields to the woodlands.
This is where the herb gardens are maintained,” Llauron said as they approached a wide meadow, visible past the glade through which they had ridden. “As nature priests we practice a good deal of herb lore, both in medicinal and spiritual uses. Oh, and cooking; I despise bland food.”
Rhapsody chuckled and slowed the bay to a plodding walk next to Llauron. Riding through the forest had been pleasant, primarily owing to Llauron’s knowledge of the terrain and the well-maintained forest paths that scored the ground, even in the snow. It seemed as if they had traveled the distance in no time.
The Invoker stopped before a large brick cottage with a thatched roof on the edge of the meadow. He dismounted and held out his hands to Rhapsody, but she shook her head politely and stepped down without help.
“This is where Lark lives, the herbalist who is responsible for maintaining the order’s herb stores and gardens,” Llauron said. He knocked briskly on the door. There was no answer. A moment later a voice called out from across the field near an area gated off with a large wooden fence.
“Your Grace! We’re out here.” Rhapsody turned to see a tall woman, dressed in thick trousers and a tunic-like shirt, waving to Llauron. Llauron raised his hand in acknowledgment.
“That’s Ilyana. She’s in charge of planting and training the acolytes in farm lore. Shall we go and meet them?”
“By all means.”
They stepped carefully around the sleeping beds of herbs that lined the fields for miles around until they found the cobbled path, buried in the snow. As they approached the fenced area two women came around from behind it.
One was Ilyana, whom she had seen a moment before. The other was a slight woman, with a long dark braid down her back, held in place by a kerchief. Her face bore the signs of middle age and a life lived outdoors, and something else: she was Lirin.
Unlike Rhapsody’s mother, who had been a Skysinger, of the Liringlas, a people noted for their blond or silvery hair and rosy complexions, Lark was Lirindarc, like those who had lived in Sagia’s wood, a dark, leather-skinned people with the same slim build and angular faces as the Liringlas, but with black or brown eyes better suited to the filtered forest light.
Rhapsody’s throat tightened at the sight of her, as it had earlier when she had seen Gwen. There were Lirin here; Llauron had made reference to their existence the night before in a place the Cymrians had called Realmalir, now known as Tyrian. She was not alone in her race.
Llauron stretched out his hand and brought it to rest on the woman’s shoulder. “Lark, this is Rhapsody. She’s my guest for a while, and a bit of an herbalist herself.”
Rhapsody flushed at his words. “Oh, not really. I know a little bit about plants, that’s all.” Lark nodded, her face passive.
The tall human woman put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ilyana.” Rhapsody shook hands with her and smiled, noting that a moment later an odd look crossed the woman’s face.
“I’d like Rhapsody to study a bit with both of you, primarily you, Lark,” Llauron said. “She’s interested in horticulture, and I plan to give her a few lessons myself.”
“Is she an acolyte?” Lark asked, her face still unresponsive.
“No, just a visitor. I trust you will treat her with all due respect.” Lark nodded again. “Good, good. Well, please find a place for her and some work clothes. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you, my dear?”
“You did see me when I came in last night, didn’t you?”
Llauron laughed. “Good point. Very well, if that’s clear, I’ll leave you in capable hands, Rhapsody. I’ll be back for you at sunset.”
“She’s not staying in the barracks?” Lark asked.
“No. As I believe I’ve already noted, she is my guest.” Llauron’s voice was gentle, but his eyes glinted in a manner that made Rhapsody momentarily uneasy. “I expect you know that I would not waste your time with anyone who might not be a friend to our cause, Mother.” Lark nodded again, stone-faced.
“Cause?” Rhapsody asked uneasily.
Llauron and Lark exchanged a glance; then the Invoker turned to Rhapsody and smiled.
“The preservation of the forest and the Earth, the care of the Great White Tree. I have not characterized you unfairly, have I, my dear? You do respect nature, do you not?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Good, then all is as it should be. Goodbye, Mother; you as well, Ilyana. Enjoy your studies, my dear.” Llauron walked back down the path to his horse, mounted, and rode off, waving.
The three women watched him until he reached the forest and had ridden out of sight. Then Ilyana put an arm around Rhapsody.
“You came last night?”
“Yes.”
The two Filids looked at each other. “Then it must have been you that all the commotion was about,” Ilyana said. Lark turned around and headed back to the fenced area.
“Commotion?” Rhapsody asked, her stomach going suddenly cold.
“Yes, scores of villagers from the east showed up in a rabble at the foot of the holy forest last night. Llauron had to address them all in the middle of the night and send them home. I had no idea what to make of it. Apparently they were seeking the return of someone they felt had been taken from them.”
Icy claws clutched Rhapsody’s stomach. What did the villagers think she had done that made them chase her this way? She hadn’t been there long enough to do anything but meet Khaddyr before he whisked her away. Surely they couldn’t be blaming her for any crime that had occurred.
Then she remembered her horrific appearance when she had come out of the forest. Perhaps they thought she was some kind of evil spirit, responsible for someone’s death or illness, or farming woes. She pulled her cloak a little tighter about herself.
Ilyana saw her nervousness and drew her closer to her side. “Don’t worry, darling, they’re gone. And they won’t be back. It’s clear Llauron plans to protect you, and if that’s the case, you can be certain you’ll be safe. Come on, you can help us rake over the compost heap.”
For more than a week Rhapsody came each day to study with Lark. The herbalist rarely spoke, unless she was talking about plants. It took some time for Rhapsody to realize that she was innately shy.
When she was pointing out herbs or methods to care for them, however, Lark became animated, a growing excitement entering her voice. She was a wealth of knowledge on the subject, and Rhapsody took copious notes, scribing Lark’s teachings onto parchment that Ilyana had provided.
They generally spent the hours when the sun was directly overhead, or days when the weather was too rough to brave the gardens, in Lark’s cottage, drying herbs and blending them together for medicinal uses and sweet-smellin
g sachets. The scent of the cottage was heavenly, and Rhapsody did not mind the long hours of painstaking work, enjoying the opportunity to absorb the lore. Occasionally she sang for Lark, Lirin songs that her mother had taught her, though Lark did not understand the tongue.
After ten days, Ilyana had claimed her, taking her on long rides over the vast fields in which the Filids toiled, even in winter, preparing them for spring planting. The faithful to which the Filids ministered were largely farming communities, and Ilyana had told her that the religion encompassed more than half a million known followers in the western part of the continent, a number Rhapsody found staggering.
By far the most interesting were the planting and harvesting rituals, rites that blessed the newly tilled ground and the fruit of the farmers’ labor prior to it being gathered. The ceremonies that the Filidic acolytes studied were in the language of her homeland, the tongue Rhapsody had spoken as a child. The Filids called the language Old Cymrian, a thought that filled her with ironic sadness. Did that make her, and Achmed and Grunthor, Old Cymrians?
The thought gave birth immediately to an even more desolate one. They were not, in fact, Old Cymrians, but their ancestors. Given how long ago in the history of this place the Cymrian Age had been, it seemed as if Time had forgotten all about the three of them. When it remembered, it would undoubtedly be back to claim them.
At the end of the first month Rhapsody was handed over to Khaddyr again. The priest was the master of the healing arts, a talent he seldom let anyone forget, and though he could be somewhat pompous, Rhapsody found him to be a clear and skillful teacher, imparting his wisdom in a way that she could assimilate easily and practice immediately.
After two weeks of tending to the patients in the hospices that Khaddyr managed, she went on to Brother Aldo, who was also a Filidic healer, but of animals. She enjoyed learning from him; he was gentle and soft-spoken, and had a manner that quieted even the wild animals in his care.
Finally, she was sent to Gavin, the somber, silent chief of the foresters and scouts, the armed men she had seen when Khaddyr first brought her to the Tree. These men traveled the wide land, sometimes serving as guides to the faithful along the Cymrian Trails, two series of markers that commemorated the journeys of the First and Third Cymrian Fleets after they landed, which Llauron had referred to on her first night with him. Apparently very few people followed the Trails now; instead, the pilgrims came to worship at the Tree.
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