Crucible

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I don’t think Mistress Efanya is all that fond of nature.”

  “You’re right about that,” Sven-August said grimly. “It’s just that having pretty animals is fashionable.”

  Lena scowled. “I hate fashions that put living things in the care of people who don’t know anything about them.”

  • • •

  In its own very peculiar way, getting the fish to swim in patterns according to their colors was challenging, even using Animal Mindspeech.

  “For one thing,” Lena sighed, massaging her aching temples, “they don’t have much mind to speak to.”

  “True,” Maia agreed. “My turn now, Lena. Close your eyes and try to rest your mind—it’s your best chance of getting rid of that headache.”

  “Is Animal Mindspeech difficult?” Sven-August asked. He was sitting next to them with the injured bird. Lena had shown him how to give water to a bird that couldn’t swallow, and now he alternated between dipping his finger into the bowl of water beside him and touching it to the bird’s beak. Even closed, the beak worked as a wick to get water into the bird’s body.

  “Yes and no,” Lena said. “You have to be born with the Gift. After that it’s a matter of training and how well you and the animal can ‘hear’ each other. Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes it’s well nigh impossible. But you don’t have to have Animal Mindspeech to take care of animals. Maia and I are the only novices currently at the Temple who have the gift, but we’re not always the best ones to handle a particular animal.”

  “Good thing, too,” Maia muttered, “or we’d be run ragged.”

  “For example,” Lena continued, “you’re doing very well with that bird. You have a delicate touch and good coordination, and in this case that’s much more important than being able to speak to a bird who is so sick he could barely hear you anyway.”

  “He bit my finger when I first picked him up,” Sven-August said.

  “Oh, they do that a lot,” Lena said. “It’s practically the first rule of bird behavior. They usually don’t mean anything by it.”

  “What’s the second rule?” Sven-August asked curiously.

  “If it’s shiny, it’s a bird toy,” Lena said promptly. “Actually, I think that’s the first rule for crows.”

  “Oh, it is,” Maia said fervently, leaning back and rubbing her head. “Stupid fish.”

  “I’m not ready to go back to them just yet,” Lena said, “but are we making any progress?”

  Maia just shrugged.

  “Speaking of crows,” Sven-August said, “is that the Healer you sent for?”

  A young woman in green robes followed a pair of crows into the garden. “Hello, Sara,” Lena said looking up with a faint smile. Her head still ached.

  “Hello, Lena. I figured Maia was here when crows started flying circles around me, but I wasn’t expecting both of you. What happened to you, Maia?” She knelt next to Maia, running her hands about an inch away from the young woman’s head. “How did you get a headache that bad? You’re verging on burnout!”

  “We’re not the patients,” Lena explained, “the bird is.”

  Sara looked at the bird. “I’ll get to him in a minute,” she said, “but Maia definitely needs help.”

  “Then Lena probably does as well,” Maia said faintly. “We’re taking turns on the same project.”

  “What project is leaving you in this shape?”

  “We’re trying to get the different colored fish to swim together in pleasing patterns,” Lena explained.

  “What? And in Thenoth’s name, why?”

  “Because Mistress Efanya is paying enough to feed every animal in the Temple until spring.”

  “My mother likes fish,” Sven-August said. “Well, at least she doesn’t dislike them. She hates birds, and having live animals in the garden is fashionable, so . . .”

  “I see,” said Sara, and Lena suspected that she really did. “Maia and Lena, no work on this until midday tomorrow at the earliest, and you are both going to drink every drop of the potion I’m going to make for you.” She added very softly, “And I’m going to have a few words with your Prior as well.”

  She turned to look at the bird. “Another bullfinch,” she remarked and asked Sven-August, “Where did you find him?”

  “He flew into the garden about a week ago,” Sven-August said, “and . . .” his voice trailed off miserably.

  “. . . your mother doesn’t like birds,” Sara finished. “We can heal him, but it will take time, and I think he’ll be safer at Thenoth’s Temple than here.”

  “Won’t he be lonely?” Sven-August asked in a voice that suggested that he would be very lonely.

  “No, there’s a female bullfinch already at the Temple, so he’ll have company of his own species,” Sara said. “And there’s no rule that says you can’t visit him there. Maybe the girls can bring you tomorrow morning, since they can’t work on your mother’s project then anyway.”

  The next half-hour was spent finding a suitable box and packing material for the injured bird while Sara brewed a truly vile-tasting potion and watched both girls drink it. She also gave instructions—and two more doses of the potion—to the housekeeper before ordering Lena and Maia to bed for the rest of the day. Lena’s head ached so much that she didn’t even protest.

  • • •

  After another dose of Sara’s potion and a good night’s sleep, Lena and Maia were both feeling much better in the morning, although not better enough to disregard her instructions to stay away from the fish.

  After breakfast, therefore, they asked the butler if he thought Mistress Efanya would object to Sven-August’s accompanying them to the Temple. The butler promptly assured them that the Mistress would have no objection and that he would inform her of their whereabouts if they had not returned by the time she awakened.

  • • •

  Sven-August appeared to fall in love with the Temple of Thenoth as soon as he walked through its gates.

  “I’ve never seen the Peace of the God settle on someone so fast,” Maia whispered.

  “Consider what he’s used to at home,” Lena whispered back. “This must be like being able to breathe freely for the first time in his life. That’s what it was like for me, at least.”

  They took Sven-August to the infirmary, where “his” bullfinch was recuperating next to the female Sara had mentioned the day before. “It’s odd,” he remarked, “that he’s so much more brightly colored than she is. In humans it’s usually the other way round.” Since the female’s breast feathers were light tan, while the male’s were an orange color almost as bright as the dress his mother had worn for her “impromptu” dinner party, he certainly had a point.

  Sven-August really did have a deft hand with birds, and Brother Thomas in the mews was considered enough of a chaperone for Lena, so Maia split off to her other charges, leaving Sven-August to work with Lena. They were both enjoying themselves so much that the bell for the midday meal came as a surprise.

  “You go and wash up,” Brother Thomas told Lena. “I’ll take the lad with me, and he can meet you in the refectory.”

  After the meal, the Prior joined Lena, Maia, and Sven-August and announced his intention of walking back to Mistress Efanya’s house with them. As they walked, Sven-August pelted the Prior with so many questions the girls couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise if they had tried.

  “It’s nice to see him happy,” Lena murmured to Maia.

  “Rethinking your stance on marrying him?” Maia teased.

  “No,” Lena said promptly, and then added, “but I wouldn’t mind having him as a friend.”

  • • •

  They were shown into the drawing room that looked out on the garden—probably as close as Mistress Efanya really wants to get to nature, Lena thought. Mistress Efanya lay on a sofa, leafing desultorily t
hrough a book, but she set it aside and rose to greet the Prior.

  “It was so kind of you to escort my son home,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I enjoy his company,” the Prior replied, “but I have a few things to discuss with you as well.”

  “Certainly,” Mistress Efanya said. “Sven-August, why don’t you join the girls in the garden?”

  The three of them left the room at a decorous pace and then dashed quickly to the garden. Maia must have Mindspoken to Dexter, because he was already there and had cracked open a window hidden from the inside of the room by the draperies. They clustered around the window to listen to the conversation inside.

  “Perhaps we could start with Sven-August’s pet bullfinch,” the Prior said. “It is currently in our infirmary recovering from a broken wing, but it is doing well and should be able to return to your garden soon. It has also found a mate,” he added cheerfully, “so by next spring you will have your very own bellowing of bullfinches.”

  “Bellowing of bullfinches?” Mistress Efanya said faintly.

  “It’s the name for a group of bullfinches,” the Prior explained, “like a ‘school’ of fish. I suspect the name comes from the sound the birds make.”

  “More birds. More horrible, noisy birds.” Mistress Efanya’s voice was so faint the group in the garden could scarcely hear her, but they didn’t have to catch every syllable to know her thoughts on the matter.

  “Speaking of the fish,” the Prior continued, ignoring her comment about the birds, “I’m afraid that there appears to be a miscommunication as to exactly what is to be done with them. The girls seem to think that you want the fish to sort themselves by color and then swim in specific patterns.”

  “Don’t you think that would be pretty?” Mistress Efanya asked. She actually sounded anxious.

  “I’m certain it would be a charming effect,” the Prior replied soothingly. “Unfortunately, it can’t be done. Fish do see color to some extent, but they tend to be nearsighted and rely more on their hearing and sense of smell. Also colors look different in water than they do in air, so what you see when you look at a fish is not what it sees. The girls tried very hard to overcome these problems, but they ran aground, so to speak, on the third problem: for Animal Mindspeech to work, the animal needs to have enough mind for the human to communicate with. I’m not certain that either Lena or Maia knows the meaning of the term ‘give up,’ so they kept trying. And I’m afraid it’s typical of both of them that they didn’t hesitate to summon one of the Healers who works with us to help the bullfinch while ignoring the fact that they both had headaches—something that would have told our more-experienced novices that something was wrong.”

  “Are they all right?” Mistress Efanya asked quickly, doubtless considering the consequences of lasting damage to the King’s ward. “The housekeeper told me that a Healer had been here and ordered both of them to bed, and I told her they were to sleep in as long as they wished.”

  “They are expected to make a full recovery,” the Prior said gravely, “as long as they don’t try to do what they thought you wanted them to do with the fish. They tell me that you have a very nice mix of colors, and that the natural movement of the fish is quite pleasing to the eye. Sven-August agrees with them, but I will be happy to look at the fish to assure myself that their esthetic judgment is not at fault.”

  “That is most kind of you.” Mistress Efanya was doubtless planning to brag to future guests that the Prior of the Temple of Thenoth himself had approved her fishpond. “Um, about the bellowing of bullfinches . . .”

  “That was the other thing I wished to ask you. Brother Thomas, who supervised your son’s work with Lena this morning, was quite impressed. He tells me that Sven-August has a deft touch with birds and that he and Lena work well together. If Sven-August wishes to study and work at the Temple, we would be pleased to have him. Be assured that we do cover academics as well as the care of animals; in fact our novices study the same subjects that are taught to non-Heralds at the Collegium, including healing and music if they show any abilities in those areas.”

  “Would he have to join your Order?”

  “No, of course not.” The Prior chuckled. “We have many volunteers and students who will never become Brothers. Certainly Lena won’t, however long she chooses to stay with us, although I suspect that she will still want to work with us even after she marries. But both she and Sven-August are still young; that’s not something they’ll need to consider now.”

  “I will speak to my son,” Mistress Efanya said. “It sounds like an excellent opportunity for him.”

  “I hope he will think so. Although if he does come to us, I’m afraid that the bullfinches will stay at the Temple. The male seems quite attached to him.”

  • • •

  Maia and Lena returned to the Temple the next day. Despite a severe lecture from the Prior about the undesirability of attempting Animal Mindspeech with an animal with no mind to speak of, not to mention more nasty potions from the Temple’s Healers, they were glad to be home.

  Sven-August joined them a week later. As the Prior had predicted, the male bullfinch chose to stay with him—as did the female bullfinch. By the following spring, the Temple had a much larger bellowing of bullfinches.

  She Chooses

  Michele Lang

  Though full summer had come to the northern lands of Valdemar, Sparrow still felt cold in the shade of Herald Zama’s garden, behind his station at Errold’s Grove. The scent of heal-all, juniper flowers, heart’s ease, and mint soothed her jangled nerves, and golden light filtered through the green canopy of evergreens and flowering mountain laurel trees above their heads.

  Despite the serene surroundings, her heart raced with worry. The fact that she traveled with Brock, her dearest friend and a Herald Trainee too, should have assuaged her fears. They had been sent north on Collegium business, in the middle of their training, direct from Haven. To be chosen for such a journey is an honor, Sparrow told herself. But she still was worried for both of them.

  “Are you sure?” she asked the Herald past the lump in her throat. “Don’t you think we will just make matters worse?”

  “You must go to Longfall,” Herald Zama said again.

  Inwardly, Sparrow groaned. She loved her home village, loved it desperately, and had missed it in the three years since she’d left. But the thought of returning now, under the current circumstances . . .

  Brock reached for her hand, and she found his fingers with her own. He squeezed it gently, saying more than even Mindspeech could have in that moment.

  Sparrow glanced at him, took in the slight smile passing over his thin lips, his sealed-shut eyes, his fine silver-white hair. To an unknowing, ignorant eye, Brock was blind and helpless and Sparrow was his physical and emotional support, she the strong one of the dyad.

  Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Brock meant everything to her, more than she wanted to admit.

  His gentle touch calmed Sparrow, and she concentrated on that steady current of strength as the Herald spoke. A low breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and its soothing coolness brushed Sparrow’s cheek.

  “It’s like this,” Herald Zama said. His homely, freckled face was open and unlined, and his kindly expression made his words easier to accept. “Errold’s Grove is thriving now, and it’s gone from being a dangerous posting to one of the more predictable and peaceful ones. But we are still a border town, and things can change in an instant up here.”

  Sparrow breathed deeply and nodded for him to go on. His words made sense. Longfall was a tiny village even closer to the border than Errold’s Grove, and she well remembered the undercurrent of fear that used to pass through her home when strangers from the north appeared, no matter how friendly.

  “We don’t want to scare people, and we don’t want to conduct a formal investigation . . . not yet anyway, not until w
e get more information about what’s going on. And that’s where you two come in.”

  Brock squeezed her fingers again, but Sparrow couldn’t keep the tightness out of her voice. “Forgive me, but I still don’t understand,” she said. “Brock and I are still in training. We haven’t even gone out for our internship Circuit yet.”

  Zama’s left eyebrow went up when Sparrow said “we.” Her fear kindled into a familiar frustration.

  “No, I am not a Herald, not Chosen,” she said, reciting an all-too-familiar explanation she had made dozens of times in the last few years. “Brock Cloud-Brother is Chosen, but he needs support to rise to his Herald duties. He can’t see . . . I am here to assist him where his Gift cannot help him to maneuver. He often cannot break through the clouds to communicate . . . I am here to help facilitate and act as a bridge between the worlds Brock travels and the ground level where we walk.”

  “Oh, you are a helper. I see. That explains the Healer’s greens you’re wearing, then.”

  Sparrow stifled another wave of irritation. She wasn’t a full Healer and never would be, but that was too complicated a situation to try to explain now. Right now, she had to understand why the Collegium and this brave and wise Herald had decided to send two Trainees into the middle of what looked like a conspiracy to cause unrest in the northern reaches of Valdemar.

  Brock squeezed her fingers one last time and let her go. “I cannot serve as Herald without her,” he said, in his husky, whispery voice.

  Zama looked from one face to the other, sizing them up. Sparrow was well used to that hesitation, a concern that together Brock and Sparrow could not add up to a single, able Herald. That didn’t bother her at all . . . she had grown used to it, and they had overcome such qualms again and again as Brock’s training had progressed.

  What scared her silly was the idea of riding into an ambush without protection. Of course, Abilard, Brock’s Companion, was an immense shield all by himself. Abilard must have sensed her fears, for he whispered quietly into Sparrow’s mind, :Courage.: And she tried her best. But if it was too dangerous for Zama to come to Longfall openly . . .