On Wings of Magic (Witch World: The Turning)

by Andre Norton

  By the time she finished sweeping, Ranal had a pot of water heated for her, and had begun preparing a meal from their own supplies and a couple of birds someone had snared. “No sense in letting you do all the work,” he said, grinning. “You go and wash up. Ladies always like to do things like that.”

  She accepted the water with a grateful smile. “The one who gets you will be a lucky woman,” she said. “Now if only the owner of this house had left some soap.”

  Nevertheless, when she had washed the top layer of grime off her skin, she felt much better. She went back to the little room, now cozy and cheerful with the fire and the smell of cooking food, heated more water, and used it to repair the children's appearance as best she could.

  “Stop! We'll just get dirty again,” Mouse said.

  “If I listened to arguments like that,” Eirran said, as she scrubbed the back of Mouse's neck, “you'd have been caked with filth from head to foot ever since you could walk.”

  “We just about are,” Cricket said impishly.

  Eirran smiled contentedly as she dealt with one set of grubby hands and face after another. “I think your giggle-box has turned over!” she said. She gave Star's face a final wipe, and was rewarded by seeing even that solemn little person dissolve into gales of laughter. That set off the others. She was happy the children seemed to have recovered so well. And the others were also regaining their normal composure—all except for Yareth. He alone seemed subdued, burdened by thoughts and feelings he would not—or could not—express.

  The house was empty of all furniture, and the single cupboard bed still standing was unusable. Even the ropes that had once supported the straw mattress had vanished—probably stolen—long ago. That night Eirran slept on the floor, rolled up in her blanket, close to the banked embers of the fire. Mouse snuggled up against the crook of her body, with one of the other girls—she couldn't turn over to see who—wedged against her back. But much as she relished having her child so close, knowing as she did that these moments would end all too soon, she longed to be lying in Yareth's arms instead.

  II

  At dawn the next day, the travelers cleared away all traces of their occupancy. Loric had repaired the broken shutter, and when they left they closed everything neatly again, tying the front door as securely as they had found it. By mid-morning they had descended from the foothills and discovered a small village. It was so small, it boasted of only a single all-purpose shop to serve the needs of nearby hill farmers. But Eirran welcomed the sight as another woman might exclaim over a gigantic port-town bazaar.

  Her recent encounter with near-cleanliness had set up a longing in her that now came close to becoming an obsession. She longed to be free of road-grime, to be back in women's clothing again and out of men's garments that pinched so abominably in the waist. But most of all, she wanted a bath all over, and clean hair. “Soap!” she exclaimed.

  “Food,” Dunnis said. He grinned. “We're about out of everything. Wouldn't want to starve between here and Es City.”

  “And these children eat like pigs,” Hirl said. He hugged Flame affectionately. “Who has coins?”

  “I have a few.” Ranal rummaged in his saddlebag and brought out a small pouch. “Good thing I hid this and the stablekeeper back in Alizon didn't have the wit to search our belongings before he learned we were spies.”

  Loric nodded. “That ought to buy us everything we need. Chances are the storekeeper here bargains in kind most of the time. I'd bet he doesn't see two coins from one year's end to the next.”

  “Well, he can have the whole bag if he has something sweet for sale. I haven't had anything sweet since we left Es City.”

  “We will conclude our business quickly and be gone,” said. His severe tone and manner put a damper on the men's banter.

  “Yareth,” Eirran said in protest.

  He turned his falcon's eyes on her. “Es City is just the midpoint of my journey,” he said. He looked at Mouse, who rode with Eirran. “I am eager to be in my own home again, with my child.”

  Our, Eirran thought. She gritted her teeth to keep from making a sharp remark that would not help matters a bit. Our journey, our home. Our child. Only she isn't ours, not any more. Oh, damn that Falconer upbringing of yours that turns you cold and selfish at the most inopportune times. If you weren't in such a mood, I could help you ease the disappointment that you are bound to know when we get to Es Castle and you learn that only your wife will be accompanying you back to your home.

  Resentfully, hiccupping again, she hovered in the background while Yareth” conducted his business with the storekeeper. There wasn't much to look at—tack for horses, both riding and plowing; sacks of unground grain; a few bags of dried fruits and vegetables; some crockery bowls, slightly cracked and gathering dust and fly-specks on a top shelf. A barrel of salted meat gave off a sharp smell that made Eirran's stomach lurch queasily.

  Nevertheless, the travelers were in no position to be overly choosy or fastidious. Their supplies were far too depleted for that luxury. With crisp efficiency, Yareth made his selections from the storekeeper's wares, even to some of the salt meat that hadn't yet gone off altogether. Dazzled by the quantity of coins he was offered, the man threw in a bundle of honey-straws for much less—he claimed—than the usual cost. Eirran stepped forward.

  “Yes, lady?” the store-keeper said. “Is there something special I can do for you?”

  “Soap,” she said. “Please. Hic!”

  The man frowned, thinking. “What's it used for?”

  The notion that somewhere in the world there were people who did not know about soap astonished Eirran. Even in Blagden, every woman guarded her soap recipe jealously. And in Es Castle it was an amenity as commonplace and as unremarked upon as the water that flowed at a touch, and the light globes in every hallway. “Why, you use it for washing!”

  “Oh. Like clothes, or cooking pots. We mostly use fine scouring sand hereabouts.” The man's face cleared suddenly. “But my wife has a mixture she makes out of froth-plant. Regular as can be, every new moon, she rubs it on herself and then rinses it off. Would that do?”

  “Oh, yes!” Eirran exclaimed in relief. If froth-plant grew locally, she could manage, but she didn't want to have to stop and search for it—not given Yareth's present mood. “How much—hic!—is it?”

  He scratched his head. “Well, I don't know. It doesn't seem right, somehow, to charge for something you can gather yourself. Tell you what. I'll go and get it, and you take it as thanks given for your good patronage.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you finished?” Yareth said. “Is that all you want?”

  Even if the storekeeper had had a case of trinkets to catch her fancy, Kernon's borrowed money-pouch had never had any coins in it. And in any event, she had lost it long since—pilfered, she expected, when the Hounds had been hustling their prisoners down to the dungeon. “Yes. I'm ready to go now.”

  “Good. We'll be outside.” He turned and left. The other men and the little girls trooped out after him.

  The storekeeper returned from his errand in time to overhear their conversation. “That stern-faced fellow your husband, is he?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Well, all I can say is, good luck to you.” He put a leather bag full of thick liquid in her hands.

  “I've a question.”

  “If I can answer, lady, I will.”

  “We stayed last night in the most, er, peculiar dwelling—”

  The man's face lit up in comprehension. “Ah, yes. That could be none other than old Ostbor the Scholar's house. Long dead, you know. Had a helper living with him for a while. Stayed on after, then she went away. Can't remember her name. Nobody ever goes near there anymore. House is said to be haunted.”

  “But it isn't. It's a wonderful house. It needs to be lived in, that's all, by someone who will love it and care for it.”

  “Perhaps,” the storekeeper said skeptically, “but it would have to be someone
moving in from outside. Nobody local would dare.”

  “That's a pity. It's a wonderful house, full of surprises.”

  The storekeeper rummaged a curtained niche, coming out at last with a small sack that seemed to be filled with pebbles. “For the little girls,” he said. “Sugared nuts. Don't let them eat them all at once. You're a good woman with a kind heart.”

  “Thank you,” Eirran said. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  She put the delicacies away, hurried out and put the cherished bag of froth-plant essence into her saddlebag. Then she climbed into her saddle. She could hardly wait to see the children's faces when she began sharing out the nutmeats, as a reward for allowing themselves to be scrubbed clean the night before they all went riding back in triumph into Es City.

  III

  The Guardian might not have moved at all, for all the difference between this audience and the last time Eirran and Yareth had been in her presence. They were in the small room again, with what might have been the same fire burning on the hearth, and the same light streaming through the single window. Only this time the room was considerably more crowded. Their daughter was with them, as well as the other five children.” Their four companions had left them at the gatehouse, to return to their barracks; Eirran found that she missed having them with her, to act as a kind of buffer against Yareth's uncertain moods. And her own, she had to admit.

  Now Yareth stood straight, tall and Falconer-proud. “I promised I would return your fledgling Witches to you, if they were alive. And here they are.”

  “And, as I promised, you have my everlasting gratitude.” She glanced from Yareth to Eirran, and Eirran thought she saw a hint of a smile touching the Witch's stern lips.

  “Then our business is concluded.” He turned to Eirran and Mouse. “Come. We are going home.”

  Mouse took a step forward. Her young face wore an expression of resolve, and Eirran's heart thudded at how much, at that moment, she resembled her father.

  “No, Papa,” she said. “My home is here now.”

  Eirran almost reached out for Yareth, hoping to stave off the angry explosion, or—if she couldn't—at least to direct it at her and not at her child. But to her astonishment, Yareth bowed his head, and his shoulders slumped as if he were impossibly weary. “I had feared as much,” he said. For the first time in her life, Eirran heard a note of defeat in his voice. Then he looked up at the Guardian. He made a visible effort and his shoulders straightened once more. “You have won. I don't know how, but you have won. You have taken my daughter from me. May you have joy in your victory.” Then he turned and strode out of the chamber.

  “Forgive him, lady,” Eirran said. “He is distraught. He lost his falcon, Newbold, in the fighting. And now this… .”

  “I know,” the Guardian said kindly. “Be gentle with him. He will need you in the days to come.”

  “Would that it were true.”

  “It is, Eirran. Believe me.” The Guardian's mood shifted. “It was a most unpleasant surprise to learn that there were still Kolder alive in our world. You and your husband may have put an end to them at last. For that mighty accomplishment alone, we are deeply in your debt. The animal that bore you to Es City waits for you now in the outer ward. It is laden with a few gifts, tokens of our gratitude. Please keep, as our gift also, the weapons and armor you used, and the horse you have ridden on this adventure. It is so little payment for the great deeds you have done.”

  A second Torgian! Unheard-of wealth, and so casually bestowed! And even more gifts. Eirran stammered her thanks.

  “It is nothing,” the Guardian said with a shrug. She smiled mysteriously. “There are gifts, and there are gifts.”

  Eirran didn't know how to respond to that.

  The Guardian fingered the blackened silver setting that had once held a milky gray-blue stone, and twined the chain around her slender fingers. “Most extraordinary, the way they used the Jewel against that Place of Power in Alizon Ridge. Most extraordinary. And most extraordinary also the form the Shadow took in that Place of Power. The Great Falcon. Could that be something from Falconer history that they will not speak of?”

  “I don't know, Lady,” Eirran said. “I did hear Weldyn call on the Great Falcon the way some men swear oaths. But Yareth never mentioned the name until after he had been in Weldyn's company for a time.”

  Yareth. She couldn't tarry much longer. She turned to Mouse. “I will not burden you with any tears of farewell,” she said. “I said my goodbyes, I think, on our way back here. Just be good, and obedient, and learn all there is to learn.”

  “I think all of these girls are going to be outstanding pupils,” the Guardian said.

  “Goodbye, Mama,” Mouse said. Then, a little girl again for, perhaps the last time in her life, she flung herself into her mother's arms for a last kiss and a tremendous hug. The other children clustered around her as well, as if she substituted for their parents in this final farewell.

  “Goodbye, goodbye,” they said.

  “Pleath, Eirran.” Lisper tugged at her sleeve and she bent down until she was on a level with the child. “I'll mith you and Yareth, too. I could thay both your nameth without any trouble at all!”

  “And I'll miss—I'll miss—” Abruptly, Eirran got to her feet and rushed out of the room. She had promised Mouse no tearful farewells, and unless she left then, and there, she would be unable to keep her word.

  She had expected him to be far down the road toward home by now. To her surprise, she found Yareth waiting for her, holding Dorney's reins. The gentle old gelding was laden under an enormous bundle of goods—the “few gifts” the Guardian had spoken of. Without a word, he handed her the reins, and she fastened them to her own saddle. Then they rode slowly out of the castle, through Es City, and onto the road to the east.

  She was unwilling to disturb his silence, being disinclined herself to aimless chatter. After a time, she scarcely noticed it. Too much had happened since she had followed him along this same road, seeking the child the Witches had taken. A child no more. Whether it had been the kidnapping, the harrowing experience under the Kolder machine, the incredible manner in which Mouse and her sisters, untaught and unknowing, had drawn Power through the borrowed Jewel and saved them all from the Shadow—or whether it was the fact that Mouse was, indeed, a born Witch—she was no longer a child, for all that she was just six years old.

  Eirran glanced at Yareth, wondering what he was thinking. Newbold's death and Mouse's loss had been hard enough on him. Had the death—or worse—of his brother Falconer affected him more than he had shown? There had been bad blood between them at the last, and she would not have mourned overmuch if the two of them had fought it out and Weldyn had fallen at Yareth's hands. But suppose Yareth had been the one who had fallen—

  A sudden surge of nausea at the thought brought bitter fluid flooding into the back of Eirran's throat and she had to swallow hard to keep from being sick. Strange, she thought. It has all been so very strange. I wonder if I will ever understand it all.

  IV

  They kept to the main road on this journey back home, though it was a longer route. It seemed just too much effort to go cross-country. In a few days, they came to the Great Fork where the road split, one branch leading to Lormt and the other turning south, toward Blagden. Eirran could see the outlines of the towers of Lormt gleaming cool and remote in the distance. Perhaps now, she thought with a sigh, there would be time for her to go there for a few months and study, as she had always wanted to do. Yareth wouldn't miss her. He had scarcely spoken a dozen words to her since they had left Es City.

  A wild cry echoed from the sky. Eirran looked up, alarmed. A small black speck, hardly bigger at that distance than a sparrow, came hurtling down toward them. As it dropped closer, the white “V” on its breast became visible and belatedly she realized what she was really seeing.

  Startled, Yareth just managed to get his fist up in time for the bird to land on it. Ecstatic falconsong came pourin
g out of his throat. But the bird just cocked its head, as if puzzled by the sounds. Yareth switched to the eek-ik-eek speech he used to speak in casual “conversation” with Newbold. And the bird answered.

  Yareth turned to Eirran. “This is a wild falcon!” he exclaimed delightedly. For the first time in far too long, he laughed. “It's a fledgling, born from one of the ones who escaped the destruction of the Eyrie during the Turning!”

  “Oh, Yareth!” Eirran reached out to lay her hand on his arm and the young bird bated, as if annoyed or upset at her proximity.

  Yareth stroked the falcon's head gently and the bird grew calmer. “Sssh,” he said. “Get used to her. She's a friend. And what is your name, my fine fellow?”

  “I can't believe what I am seeing—you, with that bird on your fist!”

  He glanced up at her. “It's been bred in them for centuries to find one of us and bond with him. All of this young one's nestmates are gone, fallen to beasts and other birds when they were still in the eggs, or chicks unable to fly. He has been terribly lonely.” The little falcon screeched something and Yareth made eek-ik-eek noises in return.

  “What did he say?”

  “His name. He wants to be called Boldwing.” Yareth smiled reminiscently. “After the falcon before him. I wonder how he knew.” He stroked Boldwing again. “He's completely untrained, of course. I'll have to work with him quite a lot.”

  Eirran closed her eyes thankfully. Oh, Guardian, she thought. Could this be your gift? If so, you could never have found anything more suitable, or more desperately needed. Now, perhaps, all will be well with my Yareth once more.

  Without either of them saying anything, they picked up their pace. Finding the fledgling had broken through Yareth's dam of silence. He spoke mainly of inconsequentials and what they had found, however, still not ready to talk about what they had lost. The wounds were too recently scarred over for that.