by Tanya Huff
Crystal shook her head. What an unusual man. His gratitude seemed truly to come with no strings. And Dorses appeared to want her around only because, for some unsaid reason, she liked her. Did everyone she’d met today play a very deep game or were they actually aware of her as a separate being, not necessarily evil because she was a wizard and not some thing to take advantage of because she had power? Had she stumbled on a small pocket of crazy people? Or perhaps, her expression grew slightly wistful, had she found the last of the sane?
Lord Death stood in a corner of the room and watched Crystal’s face, wishing he could read her mind to see what prompted such a soft and dreamy look. She wasn’t aware he could be with her unseen and he had no intention of telling her. If there were dead or dying present, she always saw him, but at other times he often chose to just spend time invisibly watching.
He was pleased to see he’d been right about Dorses. This woman could accept what Crystal was. He’d thought as much when he’d urged Crystal to heal that young man, knowing what it would take out of her, knowing it would throw her on the mercy of the innkeeper. The wizard needed to spend more time with people and less time brooding about her future. Brooding would lead her nowhere good.
He wished she’d confide in him about what had been bothering her lately. He wanted to help but didn’t know how. Perhaps she’d say something to mortal ears. Once it was in the open he’d be able to do something.
The pleasure faded as he considered Raulin. It was so easy to forget Crystal had a mortal heritage as well and he greatly feared she now found herself in the company of one who would appeal to that side.
He didn’t want to understand the pain he’d felt when the mortal touched her.
He was Lord Death and pain was not a part of that.
He looked up and the pine branch died.
* * *
The next morning, Crystal left her room, wandered down to the kitchens, and astounded the innkeeper by not only suggesting a new way of doing turnips, a staple in the local diet, but by then preparing the dish herself.
Dorses, knowing Crystal’s background as both princess and wizard, for who in that part of the world did not, assumed it was something she’d learned in the dozen years since the defeat of Kraydak, made a note of the recipe, and asked no questions.
Crystal, thanking the vegetarian centaurs for teaching her at least one skill that served some purpose in the mortal world, offered no explanations. She had no wish to underline differences, not when she felt so content.
While they worked, the two women talked, and firmed their tentative feelings of friendship.
When Ivan came in from morning chores, he brought a dried and delicate wild rose, found perfectly preserved, mixed in with the summer’s hay. Wordlessly he presented it to Crystal, accepted her thanks with glowing eyes—few wizards’ had ever been so bright—and pink with pleasure, watched her wind it in her hair where it slowly softened and lived again.
The afternoon, Crystal spent with Raulin. He made her laugh with his wild flattery, and she felt herself beginning to respond to his obvious interest. In his own way he was as single-minded as those who saw only the wizard, but it was a single-mindedness she couldn’t help but appreciate. It was a nice change.
Although he never mentioned it, his accent told her he came from the Empire. She wondered how he’d managed to survive the long years of Kraydak’s rule with his good nature intact.
That evening, she lay on her bed, listening to the sounds rising up from the common room, one hand gently stroking the velvet petals of Ivan’s rose. Dorses had asked her to come down, but she hadn’t the courage to face the locals and risk their almost certain fear and rejection.
* * *
“There,” Nad sat back on his heels and beamed down at his handiwork. He’d just set new andirons into one of the common room’s giant hearths and he was pleased with the way the design looked. “You see,” he said, “they’ve got ta be large enough ta carry the load but not so large young Ivan here can’t move them out ta clean the ashes like. And as this is a public place,” he looked up at his audience and smiled, “then best make ’em easy on the eyes.”
Crystal grinned back and tucked one foot up under her on the bench. With both hearths unlit, the room was far from warm. “They’re certainly very pretty,” she agreed. “I’ve never seen irons shaped like stag horns before.”
“Stag horns!” Dorses snorted from behind the bar where she was counting stock. “All I asked was that they be thick enough not to melt out of shape and he brings me stag horns!”
“Actually, they don’t look very thick,” Crystal said softly to Nad, not wanting to get him in trouble with the innkeeper and her quest for durability. “Are they likely to melt?”
“Nay.” The blacksmith’s brow puckered and he scratched at the bald patch on top of his head. “But they may sag a tad the next time we have a cold snap and some stonehead overloads the fire.”
“That would be a definite shame.” She slid off the bench and onto her knees beside him. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” Nad waved a hand, puzzled but gracious.
Crystal leaned forward and lightly touched both antlers. The iron flared a sudden brilliant green. “No fire built in this hearth can affect them now,” she explained as the glow faded. “They’ll always be as lovely as they are today.”
“Well, I’m much obliged,” Nad’s broad features were rosy. Praise always made him blush, for he could see the flaws he’d left even if no one else could, and this was high praise indeed. “That’s a right handy trick.” He gave her a sly grin. “Can you straighten nails?”
She laughed and held out her hand.
The nail Nad dropped on her palm had certainly seen better days. It was bent not once but twice, and touched with rust as well.
She held it gently by the head and stroked the index finger of her other hand down its length. No green glow answered. The nail turned cherry red and melted into slag.
“Good thing we were on the hearth.” Nad observed philosophically.
Crystal stared down at the tiny puddle of molten metal. She didn’t understand; the power had begun to answer, then it had twisted off as if responding to another call. She wiped suddenly sweaty hands on her thighs. “That’s . . . that’s never happened before.”
“Idiot,” sneered a voice in her head.
“You shouldn’t get upset about it.” Nad grasped her shoulder lightly with a warm and comforting hand, misinterpreting Crystal’s bleak expression. He liked the girl. Let others argue the mortality of wizards—and they had been for the three days this one had been at the Nugget—she was kind and she was beautiful and that was enough for him. He loved beauty and tried to put a little into everything he made; from pickaxes, to plows, to andirons. “I couldn’t have used that nail agin anyway, not bent as it was,” he continued, smiling sympathetically. “I guess you were still fired up.” His blunt chin pointed at the stag horns. “From doin’ t’other.”
“I guess.” She managed a small smile in return because the blacksmith looked so upset at her distress. She wanted to accept his explanation. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the nail, it was such a small thing, and she could easily believe she’d used too much power. Foolish, for attention should be paid to the smallest of power uses, but not frightening. Except for the voice.
“Well now, look who’s comin’ down ta join us,” Nad got to his feet and extended a massive hand to Crystal.
She took it and stood, fortunately enough taller so that Nad’s huge shoulders weren’t blocking her view.
Slowly descending the stairs, placing each foot firmly but with care, was Jago. He’d been shaved, his hair washed and rebraided, and no trace of his injuries was apparent, but knuckles showed white in the hand that gripped the banister and his gaze never rose from his path. Raulin followed closely behind, his expression as proud as if he�
��d taught Jago to walk.
“Well, you certainly look a sight better than you did,” Nad boomed, striding forward to meet the brothers at the foot of the stairs. “Just tryin’ out the new pins are you.”
“Yes,” Jago said shortly. He was out of banister and it was a good five feet to the nearest bench.
Nad looked at Jago, looked at the open space he must cross, and understood the hesitation. “You’ve nothin’ ta worry about, them legs of yours are as good as new.”
“I know that,” Jago’s tone was polite, but only just barely.
“I’ve been telling him the same thing,” Raulin put in. “Not that they ever were much . . .”
“Raulin . . .”
“And it’d not be polite to let the lady wizard think you didn’t trust her healin’,” Nad added.
Jago’s lips narrowed. “It’s not that, I . . .” He trailed off, unsure how to explain.
“It’s just you saw your legs,” Crystal said gently, stepping into his line of sight. “Before you lost consciousness you saw and you knew what you had to look forward to if you woke. And no healing can erase a memory like that, not if the Mother-creator Herself had been the healer. You know your legs are whole, but you can’t believe; not quite, not yet.”
“Yes.” He nodded, both with respect and relief that someone understood. “That’s it exactly.” He took a deep breath, avoided Raulin’s reaching hand, and walked to the bench. Then he sat, visibly unclenched his jaw, and smiled up at his brother. “What do you mean they never were much?” he demanded.
Below his mustache, Raulin’s smile was identical. It was the one feature they held in common. “I meant in comparison, of course.”
“I think,” Nad turned a beaming face on Dorses, who watched from behind the bar, “this calls for a drink.”
“Not surprising,” the innkeeper said dryly, “you think everything calls for a drink.” But she filled five tankards with ale and joined the others at a table.
Crystal studied Jago’s face while he drank, and when he lowered his tankard he caught her at it. He met her eyes as forthrightly as his brother had, his own holding neither fear nor suspicion, only a cautious reserve. Raulin had laid himself open for her taking; Jago only acknowledged that she could. His eyes were a very dark violet and he was among the handsomest men Crystal had ever met. She looked away first, found Raulin studying her, flushed, and ended up staring into her ale. This showed all the signs of becoming very complicated.
“. . . certainly the most excitin’ night we’ve ever had at the Nugget,” Nad was saying. “As if you three weren’t enough, we found at closin’ time old Timon had already left with Lord Death.”
“What”?
“Oh, nothing ta worry about,” the blacksmith hastened to explain, “he had ta be ninety if he was a day. Just his time.” He took another drink of his ale. “Still, the Nugget’s not likely to see another night like that in a hurry.”
“Nor want to,” Dorses said emphatically.
“Now I don’t know about that,” Raulin drawled, winking in Crystal’s direction. “Everything turned out for the best.”
Jago raised his tankard to his brother. “Next time you distract the brindle.”
“Brindle tried to eat me, I’d choke him.”
“You’ve always been hard to swallow.” Jago’s tone was light, but his face had tensed. It didn’t take a wizard to see memories crowding up against the banter.
“Dorses?” Ivan stuck his head in from the kitchen. “It’s near sunset and the biscuits aren’t . . .”
“Near sunset? As late as that?” Dorses leaped to her feet and scooped the tankards from the table. “Put the dry ingredients together, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ivan’s head disappeared.
“You lot can stay or go as you please,” Dorses told them, dumping the tankards behind the bar and heading for the kitchen. “But sunset’s when I unbolt the doors. Crystal, if you don’t mind, the fires, we’ve not much time . . .” And she was gone.
Crystal, if you don’t mind, the fires . . . She turned the words over in her mind, oblivious to the others in the room. Crystal, if you don’t mind, the fires . . . Of all her many acquaintances, over all the years, only the old Duke of Belkar had treated her power as though it was a useful tool.
“Lady?” Jago’s worried voice brought her back to the Nugget’s common room. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she turned the brilliance of her joy on him. “I’ve seldom been better.” Crystal, if you don’t mind, the fires . . .
She waved a hand at the new andirons and they disappeared beneath a load of wood. She turned to the other hearth, found the wood already laid, pointed a finger at each and said, “Burn.”
A flare of green and both hearths filled with flame.
“She’s good with fires,” Nad confided to the brothers as the room began to warm.
“Ah,” sighed the voice in her head.
It sounded pleased, but Crystal was too pleased herself to notice.
“Will you stay a while and enjoy the fruits of your labors?” Raulin asked, more than one invitation apparent in his voice. “Seems like a pity to waste such heat.”
Pleasure faded and Crystal headed for the stairs. “No,” she said without turning, “I can’t.”
“Crystal . . .”
A murmur from Jago cut off Raulin’s next words, and she escaped to her room.
* * *
“I have had it with this!”
Crystal glanced up from the potato she was dicing. “Had it with what?” she asked.
“This!” Dorses glared at the disassembled pieces of the water pump. “Nothing but trouble and Nad’s off at the mine today.” She rubbed at her forehead, leaving a smudge of rust behind. “I don’t suppose you could fix it.”
“Sorry.” Crystal shrugged. “But pump repairs were never something they taught me.”
Dorses sighed. “I didn’t think so.”
After the incident with the nail, the strange and sudden twist, Crystal was hesitant to use her power on the pump, but neither did she want to let Dorses down. “Perhaps I could look at it anyway.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” the innkeeper admitted standing aside. “I’m out of ideas.”
With her index finger, Crystal pushed a metal ring along the counter. It clinked against a stubby cylinder. The wizard took a deep breath. There had to be almost twenty bits and pieces of metal spread out in front of her and she had no idea of what to do with any of them. She wanted desperately to repay some small part of Dorses’ kindness.
Her left hand lifted a tiny bolt and fitted it into the plate in her right hand. Crystal bit back a scream. Her hand had moved; she hadn’t moved it.
“Crystal? Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she managed, watching her fingers screw two totally incomprehensible things together. Dorses must not find out what was happening. Her right hand attached something to the pipe at the top of the pump. She couldn’t bear it if this pushed Dorses away, as it must. Her left hand placed a second piece on the first. Her mind still seemed her own, but her hands moved at another’s command. Strangest of all, behind her surface terror stood a wall of competence and calm.
“Relax,” suggested a voice.
“React,” sneered another.
The first voice was new, but the second she’d heard before.
With a sharp snick of metal against metal, her hands fixed the rebuilt cap onto the pump, tightened the collar, then fell limply to her sides. For a very long moment, they burned and itched with the not exactly unpleasant sensation of returning blood, then that faded and they were hers again. She raised them to her face, studied the palms, turned them over and studied the backs. Fortunately, the feeling of calm remained, distancing her still from what had just happened.
“You didn’t cut yourself?
” Dorses was a little worried; Crystal stood there so quietly, staring at her hands.
“Uh . . . no.”
“Let’s see what . . .” The innkeeper moved around the wizard’s motionless body. “Mother-creator, you’ve rebuilt it!” She grabbed the handle and began to pump vigorously. “Let’s hope it wasn’t in pieces long enough for the pipes to freeze.”
“Do they?” Crystal asked, only because she felt she must say something.
“Chaos, yes. Once the cold weather sets in, Ivan’s up every couple hours in the night keeping the water moving.” A cough and a sputter and a splash of cold liquid shot out the mouth of the pump. Dorses smiled in satisfaction. “I hate having to melt snow,” she confided to Crystal. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Crystal opened her mouth, unsure of what she was going to say but uneasy over taking credit for something she hadn’t done. To her horror, words spilled out without her willing them. “Consider it a gift from the goddess.” And the calm disappeared.
“Think highly of yourself, don’t you,” Dorses laughed, still facing the pump, not seeing the fear that robbed all power from the wizard’s features. “I’ve a barrel of beer that could use a blessing then; it’s going skunky.”
“Maybe later . . .” Crystal choked out, and fled. For one of the few times in her life, she thanked the centaurs for their insistence on emotional control—although for them control meant denial—drummed over and over into the child she had been until it became almost second nature to hide what she felt. Those lessons served her now, keeping all the terrified bits of her together and moving.
“Crystal?” Dorses turned, but the kitchen was empty. She wondered if she should follow. Had she said something wrong? But the soup boiled over on the stove, and once that was taken care of the pies needed finishing, and the moment for following passed.
Up in her room, Crystal lay in the center of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped tightly around her head, and her hair a silver veil over all. Only her lips moved. Over and over they formed a denial, of the voices that whispered and roared and of the knowledge of what those voices meant. “No, no, no, no. . . .”
