by Sharon Shinn
TWO days before they left for Ghosenhall, their first stop on the summer circuit, Kirra and Donnal took a much shorter excursion to a site in the interior of Danalustrous. Kirra was very tired of pomp already—before her trip had even begun!—so she changed herself into a brush lion and loped alongside Donnal through the flat green countryside. They were careful to skirt the farms and small towns that fell along their route, but now and then they spotted riders from a distance, or farmers working in the fields. Twice they startled hunters stalking through the occasional stand of trees. A sight to dumbfound anyone privileged to see it—a sleek golden lion pacing side by side with a white-faced wolf—but no one in Danalustrous would be amazed. No hunter in Danalustrous would lift his bow, no farmer would run back to his house crying of abominations. That’s the marlord’s shiftling daughter and one of her mystic friends, they would say to themselves or their companions. Even those who distrusted mystics, even those who feared them, recognized Kirra in this guise. No one would lift a hand to hurt her.
At least in Danalustrous.
It took most of a day of hard running to make it to their destination, a place that only Donnal had been before. It was a small, broken building deep in a stretch of untouched forest situated very near the center of Danalustrous. Kirra could not imagine there had ever been any kind of trail to lead people to the site. She slipped slowly from animal shape to human as they came to a halt outside it.
“You, too,” she said, her hand on the back of Donnal’s neck. “Just for the afternoon.”
Moments later, he stood beside her dressed in drab country garb, his beard as neat as if he had trimmed it the night before. Arm in arm, they slowly stepped through the rubble and into the building’s remaining foundation.
They were deep enough in the woods that not much sunlight broke through the tree cover to illuminate the small space. There was even less light because it was early evening and the sun was already close to the horizon. Not that there was much to see, for the whole place was essentially a ruin. Kirra could tell that it had once been roughly square, maybe twelve feet by twelve. What walls remained stopped shortly above her head, so she guessed the ceiling had been low; if there had ever been a floor, it had all rotted away. Three sides of the building were open to the elements, leaving behind only partial walls and tumbled stones.
The fourth wall was completely whole—and marvelous. The entire surface was an intricate mosaic of dozens of colors and hundreds of images. Birds of all descriptions crowded each other through the opal sky; the emerald hills and onyx woods were inhabited by a fantastical menagerie of beasts. Kirra saw deer, rabbits, foxes, lions, snakes, squirrels—even an animal or two she did not believe ever existed—worked into the stone tapestry. The detail was astonishing, the workmanship exquisite. She stood before the wall, utterly silent, her hand upraised but suspended in midair. She wanted to touch those smooth, flat stones, but she could feel the power emanating from them, as tangible as heat. More respectful—less dangerous—to merely look.
“It’s beautiful,” she said at last. “It makes me want to pray.”
Donnal nodded. He was standing beside her, but now he pivoted to survey the rest of the space. “I’d suppose that was the altar,” he said, pointing to what could have been the front of the building. “Probably used to be a window right behind it. I’d guess it was positioned to catch the morning sun—light up the whole mosaic. That would be a sight.”
Kirra turned beside him and slowly they began strolling the whole broken perimeter. “Why does no one ever speak of her?” she wondered. “The Wild Mother. Senneth’s one of the only people who ever talks of the old gods.”
“And there’s more of them whose names we’ve forgotten,” Donnal said. “How many, I wonder? And what were their powers? And will we be sorry we’ve neglected them?”
Kirra smiled a little. “How many? Twelve, I’m guessing. Why else choose twelve for the number of Houses to be established in Gillengaria? But I can only name a few. The Wild Mother. The Pale Mother. The Bright Mother. The Dark Watcher. And the only one we know much about is the Pale Mother. I don’t even know what symbol the wild goddess might take as her own. We know the Silver Lady resides in moonstones. Senneth wears that gold charm, so I’m guessing the Bright Mother loves gold. But what about the goddess who watches over shiftlings like you and me? What emblem does she choose? What could I carry to ensure me her protection and to let her know that I consider myself her own?”
“Maybe you should learn more about this feral goddess before you start giving her your blind worship,” Donnal said, a note of laughter in his voice. “She might require blood sacrifices on a regular basis. Violence and death.”
She stopped to look at him, or what she could see of his face in the fading light. “I don’t think so,” she said softly. “You must be able to feel it, too. This is a place of peace, where all the animals of the earth can come together in harmony. She loves them all, protects them all, as far as they can be protected.”
“She gives them claws and teeth and the ability to kill,” Donnal reminded her. “She is not a mild goddess.”
Kirra gave him a glittering smile. “I have not been so mild myself these last months. I think I am glad for the fierceness the Wild Mother puts into the hearts of her creatures.”
“Maybe she has been watching over you all this time without you even knowing.”
They found a section of half-formed wall at right angles to the mosaic and settled themselves on the ground, leaning against it. The peace of the shrine was so deep that Kirra did not want to leave. She sat with her back against the rough stone, her right shoulder leaning against Donnal’s, her left hand idly sifting through the loose soil of the ground, and she merely listened. From the forest, crowding so close, she could catch intermittent sounds—the patter of squirrels’ feet as they leapt from branch to branch, the munch of mice as they tried the taste of their gathered seeds, the brush of wing feathers as birds darted through the air. There must be water somewhere not too far away; she could hear the sleek splash of fish and the hoarse conversation of bullfrogs. Something large and stealthy prowled nearby—a wolf, she thought—she could sense its intentness, its absolute focus. She caught the rapid rhythm of white paws tapping against the ground and smiled a little. A hare escaping the attention of the hunter. From every direction, the scents of early summer pressed down on her, full of green promise and floral abandon.
“This is odd,” Donnal said in a low voice. “I can’t—Usually I have to be in animal form before my senses are so sharp.”
Only then did Kirra realize how distinctly she had been hearing sounds and catching odors that were too subtle for most humans. She felt a slight shiver pass over her. “It’s this place,” she said. “It’s the gift of the Wild Mother.”
Donnal nodded and didn’t answer. Kirra listened a few more moments to the questioning call of birds and the industrious work of the squirrels before she turned to Donnal. “Do you think anyone would have the same experience, coming here?” she asked. “Would hear what we’re hearing—smell what we can smell?”
“No,” he said at once. “Only shiftlings. Only those under the wild goddess’s protection.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“She has put her hand on you.”
“On you as well.”
He shook his head, a small smile almost hidden in his beard. “I am one of the gifts she presented to you.”
She held up her left hand and he met it with his right hand, and they sat there a moment with their fingers interlaced.
“You could choose to make your life something other than the shadow of mine,” she said at last. “You could go study with other mystics in Ghosenhall, as Cammon has. You could offer your service to some lord who would value your abilities for espionage. You could travel across Gillengaria in any shape you choose, man or beast, lead any life you wanted. I wouldn’t stop you. You are free to go.”
His fingers tightened slightly
; he smiled at her. “Ah, but marlord Malcolm might have a few words to say about that,” he said, a teasing note in his voice. “He bound me to your service when I was ten years old. He has never released me. A Danalustrous man always serves the House of Danalustrous.”
“I would release you,” she said. “If you wished to go.”
“I will only leave you if you want me to.”
“I cannot imagine that day ever coming.”
“Well, then,” he said.
They were silent a few moments longer, Kirra both comforted and saddened by that last exchange. She had been twelve when Malcolm Danalustrous found Donnal, the only other shiftling he knew of in the region, and brought him to Danan Hall to train with his daughter. She could remember only a handful of days since then that Donnal had not been at her side, in some form or another. He was her second self, he was her guard against darkness, he was her safety and her memory and her tether to the world. She knew that nothing could harm her if Donnal was nearby—and still alive. Yet it was a burden sometimes, that absolute devotion; she had inherited from her father a formidable sense of justice. Donnal had given himself to Danalustrous, so Danalustrous owed him something in return, and she knew these scales were out of balance. Donnal gave more to her than she did to him. He seemed content, but in his place, she would not have been. In his place, she would have moved on long ago.
The thought of life without Donnal by her side was terrifying.
Feelings too complex to try to sort them out. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the rough rock. Donnal had released her hand, and now she toyed with the dirt again, breaking up small hard clumps of soil with her fingers. Tiny rocks she tossed aside, then she dug again, deeper, making a small hole in the floor of the shrine. The dirt was cold against her fingers, as if even high summer sun would not penetrate long enough to warm it. She wondered how far down she would have to go to find water.
She encountered another small rock, this one encrusted with mud but smooth against her fingers when she idly scraped away the layers. Not a rock, then; maybe one of the tiles from the mosaic, fallen out over time.
She brought it up to examine it in what was by now gray twilight. “Look at this,” she said in a soft voice, sitting up straighter and working with more energy and both hands to clear away the grime. “I think it’s—look at this.”
Donnal lit a taper, using a small dried branch for fuel, and held the light closer for them both to see. The firelight revealed both the shape and material of the tiny object in her hands. It was a young lioness, no bigger than the first joint of Kirra’s thumb, caught in the act of a flat-out run. She had been carved out of some kind of dense, chatoyant stone of striated golds and browns, and her fur seemed to ripple and move in the flickering flame. On either side of her perfectly shaped head, tiny sapphires had been set to indicate her eyes. A minuscule ruby marked her mouth.
“Look at that,” Donnal echoed, his voice admiring. “The blue-eyed lion on the hunt. That’s you.”
Kirra touched the jewel at the mouth. “Wearing Danalustrous red, no less.”
“I think the Wild Mother heard you ask for a token.”
Another chill up the back for that, but still Kirra couldn’t bring herself to lay aside the small charm. It was so beautiful. The stone felt so silky on her palm. And there was something—a tickle of power, a frisson of magic. When she held it, she could almost feel it glitter against her skin. “So you think I should take it with me?” she asked in a low voice. “I don’t want to desecrate a shrine.”
“I think you would insult the goddess if you left it behind.”
She closed her fingers over the striped stone. “I really want it. Maybe if I left an offering behind?”
“A lock of your hair,” he suggested.
Kirra paused a moment to consider that; the mood of the temple seemed benign. “Do you have a knife?” she asked.
In a few moments, Donnal had cut an inch of curl from her head and she had buried it in the loose dirt before the mosaic. The gesture seemed small but welcome. All the stone animals on the frieze seemed to exude goodwill.
“Do you want to find something for yourself?” Kirra asked. “If we look, something else is bound to turn up.”
He shook his head. “Not today. Maybe I’ll come back sometime.”
She sighed. She didn’t really want to leave, but if they spent the night here, it would be late on the following day before they were back at Danan Hall, and they were scheduled to ride out the day after that. It was dark already, at least inside the forest; they needed to cover some miles before they curled up to sleep.
“We’d better get started, then,” she said.
“Where do we go when we leave Danalustrous?”
“Ghosenhall first. Then Kianlever.” She searched his face, what she could see of it now that he had blown out the taper. “You’ll come with me?”
He made a small bow. “Serra,” he said solemnly. “Where else would I go?”
CHAPTER 11
A DAY and a half later, a small party rode out of Danan Hall: Kirra, Melly, two guards, and Donnal, who had chosen to keep the form of a black dog. Kirra had been gloomy when she learned that Casserah expected her to sit in a coach the whole way, since she was more used to riding horseback or following the track on her own four feet. However, she cheered up considerably when the morning brought with it a chilly, determined drizzle. Even Donnal chose to ride in the coach.
The roads between Danalustrous and Ghosenhall were excellent and well traveled, passing over fairly flat land or easily navigated hills. All along the way were inns used to serving the nobility. A far cry from her last few journeys, Kirra thought, when she had slept in the open most nights, and in barns and stables much of the rest of the time.
Melly was a practical and efficient young woman, seeing to Kirra’s comfort without much fuss, though she pitched a fit at one of the inns when there wasn’t enough hot water for Kirra to take a bath.
“I can wash up well enough with a couple of pitchers of cold water,” Kirra said, amused. “Does my sister usually throw a tantrum when the innkeepers don’t meet her every demand?”
“Serra Casserah is always most gracious,” Melly replied in a stiff voice. Kirra interpreted that as meaning the casual Casserah really didn’t care that much if everything was exactly in place. “But Danalustrous must be treated with respect. Honor is due to the House.”
Despite her notions of what kind of respect should be shown to a serramarra, Melly was a pretty good traveling companion, Kirra found. She would make ready responses if Kirra had idle observations to offer about the countryside or the weather, and was willing to talk about her sisters and her little brothers when Kirra asked questions about her family. But most of the time she was quiet, wrapped in her own thoughts or thinking ahead to what clothes must be washed out at the next stop, Kirra supposed. She treated Donnal like a favored pet, which either meant she knew how much Malcolm Danalustrous valued his dogs or she knew who Donnal really was.
She never once called her mistress Casserah in private or Kirra in public, and Kirra had a healthy respect for both her intelligence and her devotion by the time they finally arrived at Ghosenhall. A short ride through the bright, crowded streets of the royal city, and they arrived at the palace compound. The warm granite and tall turrets of the palace were guarded by high walls and a visible ring of guards.
Casserah Danalustrous, of course, quickly made it through the various checkpoints and was welcomed at the door by the king’s steward himself. Milo bowed very low while servants began unloading luggage from the coach.
“Serra,” said the portly man as he straightened up. “It is good to have you here. We so rarely see you at the palace.”
“I know,” Kirra said in Casserah’s voice. She had dozed through the last stage of the journey, but she was wide-awake now, energized with the anticipation of playacting. It had all been very easy up to this point; she had to be extremely alert from her
e on out. One of the things to remember was that Casserah never made unnecessary conversation. Short answers, just complete enough to avoid being rude, characterized her sister’s speech. Still, Kirra thought even Casserah might add a phrase or two to that bald statement. So she said, “It is good to be here.”
Milo motioned her escort to the care of palace guards, then led the rest of them through the gorgeous hallways of the palace. “We have reserved a suite for you in the eastern wing,” he told her. “A handful of other guests are staying with us as well. There is a dinner tonight—not very fancy—and then in two days, a much larger banquet. We hope you will attend both of these.”
“Of course.”
Her suite, when they finally arrived, was restfully appointed in soft blues and golds. Melly would have not just her own bed, but a small room all to herself.
“It is acceptable for my dog to stay with me?” Kirra asked, gesturing at Donnal, who had soundlessly accompanied them through the corridors.
Milo didn’t even glance down. “Of course, serra.”
