by T.A. Barron
The High Priestess gave a similar bow to the tall priest. “Lleu, always a pleasure to see you. And your friend Catha.”
He smiled, as the falcon on his shoulder ruffled both wings proudly. “The pleasure is ours, High Priestess.”
“And you, Imbolca?” she asked the other priestess. “I hope you and Mebd are well.”
“We were, High Priestess, until we came across this . . . this wretch of an apprentice.” She pointed accusingly at Elli. “She attacked the Chosen One!”
The cat gave a fierce snarl.
One of Coerria’s white eyebrows lifted. “Did she, now?” She faced the young woman. “It’s Elliryanna, isn’t it?”
“Y-y-yes, High Priestess,” said Elli. She clasped her hands behind her back, working them nervously. “But I didn’t attack her. It was just . . . just an accident.”
“Tell the truth!” yelled Llynia, tearing a thick glob of wax out of her ear. “You tried to humiliate me. Or worse! Tell the truth now, you—”
Coerria lifted her hand for silence. She took a step toward Elli and scrutinized her with those deep blue eyes. For a long moment, there was no sound but the cat’s loud purring.
“No,” Coerria whispered at last. “I don’t think you meant any harm. And if you were going to bump into anyone,” she added wryly, “it’s fortunate that you picked someone with such grace and good humor.”
Llynia was quaking, beside herself with anger. Her eyes, almost as red as the spilled wax, bulged in their sockets. “Aren’t you going to punish her?”
Coerria shook her head, brushing her white hair across her shoulders. “Not for that, no. Why, I’ve bumped into several people myself at this very spot.”
“Bu . . . bu . . . but,” sputtered Llynia, “she could have harmed me.”
“Or killed her,” insisted Imbolca. Her skin tone changed from its usual sallowness to something darker. “It would be an outrage if she weren’t expelled.”
The High Priestess stroked her chin. “You know, if I expelled everyone who did something clumsy, there would soon be nobody left in this compound.” Her bright eyes darted to the small, round creature who was standing by the shrub at the edge of the walkway. “Except possibly you, Nuic.”
The old sprite said nothing, but gave a watery sort of chuckle.
Coerria’s eyes moved back to Elli. “Now, being clumsy is one thing.” Her tone grew more serious. “But skipping Formal Prayers is another.”
Llynia and Imbolca traded glances, and a new look of satisfaction crept over their faces.
Elli lowered her eyes, staring at her sandals.
The High Priestess observed her for another moment, then said simply, “Just try to do better, my child. And you, too, Nuic.”
Elli looked up, surprised. “That’s . . . all?”
The High Priestess nodded. “That’s all.” Then she added gently, “I’ve noticed you more than once in the Great Temple, just you and your maryth in that immense circle of stones.”
“You have?”
“Yes, my child. And I know what you were doing.”
Elli swallowed. “You do?”
“I do. And while prayers are good for the soul . . . so is meditation.”
The two of them simply looked at each other, speaking without words.
“But that’s outrageous,” spat Imbolca. She started to say more, but was silenced by a wave from Llynia.
The Chosen One slid closer to her superior—though her stance was anything but respectful. She glared at Coerria, practically putting her nose in the Elder’s face. “I know you have many important things to deal with, High One. So I’ve not troubled you with the minor difficulties that I’ve been having with this particular apprentice.”
Elli stirred nervously. Was Llynia going to make something terrible out of that incident at the woodworking lodge?
“But you may not know,” Llynia went on with a malevolent curl of her lip, “about this girl’s history. Before she came to the compound.”
Elli froze. She couldn’t breathe. Did Llynia really know? And if she did, would she actually reveal it to the High Priestess? That would ruin everything. Everything!
Coerria gazed at Llynia with such steady ferocity that the younger priestess took a step backward. “I know enough to give her a second chance.”
Elli’s heart swelled with gratitude. She would have kissed the High Priestess if it wouldn’t have been utterly improper.
Llynia’s blue eyes narrowed. “Are you aware that she was a slave, for several years? To gnomes! Murderous, thieving gnomes, who kill humans in their sleep.” She glanced at Elli. “No doubt that’s where she learned her manners. And are you prepared to ignore that, High Priestess? Are you prepared to put all the rest of us at risk?”
Elli’s whole body shook—not so much with anguish that her only chance to be a priestess was now lost, as with rage. Rage at Llynia, at Imbolca—and at those miserable, violent creatures who had kept her captive for nine long years.
“Those gnomes,” she said in a voice shaking with fury, “killed my parents. Both of them. Then carried me away, to their holes underground.” She looked squarely at Llynia. “They took everything from me. My home, my family. Everything but this.”
She whipped off the harp that had been slung over her back. Holding it in one hand, she stroked the side of the maple burl that formed its sound chamber. Through her choked throat, she repeated, “Everything but this.”
Llynia shook her waxen head. Feigning a tone of sympathy, she said, “I am sorry for your misfortune, my dear. Truly I am. But given your background, not to mention your own violent tendencies, you simply don’t belong here. This Society is based on reverence for life, respect for all creatures— just the opposite of where you’ve learned all your values. And I don’t see how this pitiful little harp of yours changes anything.”
Elli’s eyes flashed. “This harp was made by my father. A Drumadian priest.”
At this, Llynia blinked. “A priest of our Order?”
“And a fine one,” declared Lleu. Bending his lanky frame, he put his hand on Elli’s shoulder. “I knew your father, knew him well.”
“You . . . did?” Elli tried to blink the mist from her eyes.
“He was a good man.” With a sharp glance at Llynia, he added, “The sort of man who would have raised his daughter with true and lasting values.” He frowned, then turned back to Elli. “While he could, at any rate. I’m sorry to hear such terrible news. We were good friends, but we lost track of each other after he left for Malóch.”
Elli’s chin quivered. She could only say, “But you knew him.”
The tall man nodded. “Yes, Elli. Well enough to tell you that even my great-grandfather, Lleu of the One Ear, would have thought highly of him.”
“You’re . . . you’re descended from that Lleu? The one who was a friend of Merlin? And Elen the Founder? The one who wrote that book that everyone here carries around?”
“Cyclo Avalon,” he said, grinning. “He wasn’t very ambitious, nor skilled in politics, like some.” He shot another glance at Llynia. “But he did listen well. So the Cyclo Avalon holds everything he ever learned about the seven sacred Elements, about the powers of élano, about portalseeking, and even—”
“Fascinating,” interrupted Llynia with a sneer. “But we have more serious matters to deal with.”
“Yes,” declared Coerria, “like a drought. And a Council of Elders, called to discuss that—and more. Need I remind you, Llynia, that it’s scheduled for tomorrow? We have Elders from all Seven Realms arriving, even now.”
The younger priestess bridled. “And need I remind you, High Priestess, of what you have heard? Are you going to override all our years of suffering at the hands of gnomes— the murders, the thievery, the sacking of Drumadian consulates in so many realms—just because of the sentimental views of one priest? Are you just going to ignore this troublesome girl in our midst?”
All of them turned to the Elder. She gazed back at
them, her face troubled. “No,” she said quietly. “I shan’t ignore her.” Llynia’s eyes gleamed with triumph. She winked slyly at Imbolca.
Coerria straightened, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. Looking directly at Elli, she said, “I’m afraid that I have changed my mind. Forgive me, child, but . . . ”
Elli cleared her throat. “But what?”
“I have decided that, given all this, I must change your situation.”
Llynia gave a confident cackle.
“Change?” asked Elli. “How?”
“I have decided that you need,” declared the High Priestess, “a mentor.”
Llynia’s jaw went slack.
“A mentor?” Elli stole a quick look at Lleu, who beamed down at her. “To help me learn the ways of the Order, you mean.”
“Exactly, my child.” Coerria’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Which is why I’ve chosen the best possible person to teach you—and, I dare say, to learn from you.”
Lleu bowed his head. “I’d be honored.”
But Coerria shook her head. “Not you, my son. The person I choose for Elliryanna’s mentor is . . .” She spun to face the wax-splattered priestess. “You, Llynia.”
5 • Green with Envy
Out of my sight, you worthless wretch!”
Llynia shoved Elli through the wooden gate in the fence surrounding the Baths, three natural hot-spring pools whose waters had been restored by orders of the Elders. Just for today. And just for Llynia.
She took a kick at Elli’s backside for good measure. And though her kick missed its target, her words did not: “Think you had it rough before, do you? Just wait until I’m done. Ha! Then you’ll really know what it’s like to be a slave.”
Elli bit her tongue as she walked across the Baths, the harp on her back jangling roughly. She strode right past the three steaming pools, the rising clouds of lavender-scented mist, the fragrant candles burning everywhere, the lush ferns and flowering vines. But she didn’t notice any of it, nor even the glittering stars above—all the brighter now that starset had happened. Only when she neared the waterfall at the far end did she stop to take in her surroundings.
For at the very top of the waterfall, seated in a cloud of spray, was Nuic. He looked almost like a cloud of spray himself, but for the deep purple eyes that were watching her.
“Hmmmpff. Took you long enough to get here.”
Elli scowled, but not at his typical gruffness. “She made me fold all her clothes—piles and piles of them, the ones she’ll be taking on her big journey. Then she came over, dumped everything on the ground, and made me do it all over again.”
Her fists clenched. “It’s been just two days since she became my so-called mentor, and it feels more like two years. By the elbows of the Elders, Nuic! I can’t take this much longer.” She swung at a lavender-tinted curl of mist that was floating by. “Why did Coerria ever do this to me? I thought she liked me.”
“Hmmmpff.” Nuic’s colors shifted through his vaporous form, leaving unchanged only his purple eyes and the tuft of green hair common to all pinnacle sprites. “Maybe she has her reasons.”
“And maybe I’ll turn into a pink-eyed giant!” she yelled in exasperation.
“Hush, you wretch!” rang Llynia’s command. “Stay back there by the waterfall. And stay silent. I’ll call you when I need you for my facial.”
Elli just nodded. But her hazel green eyes narrowed, as if she’d just made up her mind about something. Nuic noticed her expression . . . but decided not to ask what it meant.
Meanwhile, a large cloud of steam billowed up from the first pool. Llynia had just climbed into the hot, steaming water—and for her, right now, Stoneroot’s months-long drought seemed just a misty memory.
“Ahhhhh,” she sighed, as she sank down into the hot water. This was the first bath she’d taken since before last summer—and the first triple-pool herbal bath she’d taken in her life. First would come the cleansing pool, where she was now; then the water-massage pool; then, finally, the relaxation pool. And all this was thanks to what had happened yesterday at the Council of the Elders. In all her scheming and plotting in advance of the meeting, she’d never dreamed that things would have worked out so well.
But now . . . time to enjoy the bath. She’d felt better right away, as soon as she had removed her greenish brown robe— far too simple a garb for the Chosen One, but just another one of Coerria’s insults that Llynia was forced to endure.
For a while, at least. Her time of triumph was swiftly approaching.
“Open those spigots! All of them!” she commanded the pair of winged faeries at the edge of the pool. Both little men, no bigger than ripe pears, buzzed into the steamy air. They waved their arms frantically, fluffing up the sleeves of their ruffled white shirts.
“Forget about the drought,” Llynia barked. “Haven’t you heard? I am the Chosen One—the next High Priestess. And I have an important journey tomorrow. So do as you’re told.”
The faeries retreated, hovering over the spigots. As they twisted each spigot all the way open, Llynia smiled in satisfaction. Yes, the next High Priestess. She dearly loved the sound of that! Think of all the good she could do for the Order and those loyal to her . . . and all the justice she could bring to her enemies.
She sank deeper and smiled broader. As her lower back submerged in the healing warmth, then her spine, then her shoulders, then at last her neck, she gazed all around. Candlelight, reflected dimly on the spirals of lavender-scented steam, softened her surroundings. She could barely see the glint of stars above, barely hear the gentle rustling of vine leaves, dripping with dew, just above her head.
Why, with all this steam, she almost couldn’t count the number of steps in the cascade that emptied into her pool. But she knew well there were seven, carefully designed and engraved to represent the seven Elements of Avalon: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Life, LightDark, and last of all, Mystery— what Elen had once called “the seven sacred parts that together make the Whole.”
Down that winding stairway of stones, the cascade flowed, pouring into her pool water from the glaciers of Stoneroot’s high peaks. That cool water mixed with hot water from the spigots, drawn from simmering springs that bubbled up from the depths of the Great Tree. And her pool also held a third, very precious kind of water: Through a tiny silver faucet near her head came a thin trickle, glowing with élano, from the fabled White Geyser of Crystillia. Together, these waters produced the perfect balance of temperatures, powers, auras, and nutrients.
The perfect bath.
Llynia stretched out her hand, pressing her fingers into the thick, luxuriant moss that lined every edge of the pool. This moss, she knew, had been specially bred, over long centuries, to maximize its healing oils—which could strengthen sore muscles, mend bruised skin, and ward off fatigue.
Dozens of faeries lifted off from the shelves lining the walls and buzzed about the pool, carrying pouches of scented soap, herbal creams, and magical bubble mixtures. Their translucent wings—tinted silvery green, like most faeries—made that melodious hum that only faery wings could produce. Llynia couldn’t imagine any sound more lovely, rising and falling against the continuous thrum of the cascade.
No, she thought, not even the song of a museo could better this. Besides, no one ever hears museos anymore.
A female faery, wearing a yellow robe that reached down to her ankles, landed on Llynia’s brow. The creature plunged her tiny hands into her leather pouch and pulled out a heap of light brown cream. It smelled faintly of cocoa and cinnamon.
“Ear wash, m’lady,” the faery sang out. As Llynia leaned one side of her head on the moss, the faery began to rub the cream into every part of her ear, inside and out, pushing aside the hair still wet from her latest shampoo. The cream, as Llynia knew, was meant to improve her hearing. But right now she just enjoyed the cool feel of it on her ears, and the gentle massage of the faery’s hands.
Meanwhile, other faeries zipped to and fro through the
clouds of steam. Several carried colorful powders to go into the bath—powders meant to prevent muscle cramps and promote flexibility. Two faeries had almost finished the final scrub of Llynia’s toes, while another pair (with unusually large wings) carried a satchel of herbs to the base of the cascade and dumped them into the pool, causing a sudden foaming of pink bubbles. Yet another faery, a husky little male wearing a bright red vest, landed on the edge of the pool and began stirring a clay pot that contained the facial mud preparation.
Beyond all the bustling faeries, of course, Llynia could see Fairlyn, her maryth. With all her dozen arms, Fairlyn was busily directing every aspect of the faeries’ work. She could be seen everywhere around the pool—and smelled everywhere, too. For while Fairlyn was a tree spirit, she was no ordinary one: She was the spirit of a lilac elm from the legendary groves of the Forest Fairlyn in Woodroot, where the fruited groves and fragrant pathways could be smelled from many leagues away. Many a visitor to that forest returned home convinced that it held the richest trove of smells of any forest in any realm . . . and that the most spectacular smells of all belonged to the lilac elms.
Llynia smiled as Fairlyn reached down a pair of arms and gently swept the pink bubbles over to surround her head and neck. All this, she told herself, is Fairlyn’s way of saying she loves me. And so it was, because the tree spirit had no voice. Instead, Fairlyn spoke through her long, leafless arms studded with purple buds. And through her large brown eyes. And most of all, through her aromas.
Right now, Fairlyn smelled distinctly of wild alpine roses, a sweet and joyous scent if ever there was one. That was good for the faeries, since that showed the tree spirit approved of their work. For the moment, at least. If they ever caught the smell of burning wood (or worse, crushed faery wings), big trouble was brewing.
Llynia sighed dreamily, having placed herself completely in Fairlyn’s care. For like every maryth, Fairlyn had certain special skills. And in her case, those skills happened to make for an astonishingly sensuous bath.
