Like spokes on a wheel, corridors led off the beehive chamber. Magpie followed his guide along one past leather or woven curtains that served the bearkin for doors. Each of the curtains was beautiful and unique in its pattern of beads, paint, quillwork, or embroidery. He could not guess how far each of the passageways extended, but his guide stopped at the eighth room on the left and held aside the exquisite blue-painted curtain.
“This shall be yours for the time you are with us, Master Eremilandur,” Tirteva said. He had Magpie’s saddlebag over his other arm. He set it on the ground beside a pile of furs that was obviously meant for a bed. They were too far underground for windows, but a hole in the packed-earth ceiling brought a refreshingly cool breeze inside. “If you have need of anything, it is yours for the asking. Good night to you, and welcome.”
“Thank you for the hospitality,” Magpie said. He sat down on the bed to take off his boots and sank halfway into the cozy heap. His thoughts could not help themselves: they turned to Inbecca, and hoped that he would justify the sacrifices she had made for all of them. If he could no longer hope to be her husband, he would be as true a friend as he could be. He would make certain Tildi reached her goal. The book must be put out of the way of ordinary people, and as soon as possible.
For Inbecca’s sake, he would do whatever it took to accomplish that goal. No matter how unpleasant the trek that lay ahead of him, he thought as he pounded a depression in the soft bedding to fit his body, she had the more distasteful task. She, who had sacrificed all her future for a cause she hadn’t known existed until she had seen the Great Book for herself and the havoc it could wreak.
“I hope I’m as strong as you, my love,” he whispered.
Faces flew at Tildi, shouting demands at her. Sometimes they wore the blue-and-white habit of the Scholardom; sometimes they were bareheaded. The one that frightened her the most was the man with eyes like rainbows. He darted at her, shrieking in an unknown tongue, then his face pushed out and became a werewolf’s snout. They all sounded angry, and the anger was contagious. Tildi found herself shouting back. She felt as if she would explode with the fury within her. She had to protect the book from its enemies. Everyone wanted it. Everyone wanted her to make something change into something else. In her mind, human beings twisted and mutated until they were trees, sheep, giant fish, or anything but what they were. And once they had changed, they were unhappy. They all shouted at her. Their hollow, haunted eyes were fixed on her. Instead of feeling compassion, she was angry.
“Stay away from me!” she shouted. “You have what you want! You don’t like it, but you chose it! Let me be!”
“Tildi! Stop!” A sharp rap on the back of her hand interrupted her. “Open your eyes! Now!”
She obeyed. Serafina sat on the puffy bed beside her. In her hand was her staff. The green jewel at the end glowed, casting the girl’s sharp cheekbones into relief.
“Look what you have done,” the wizardess said sternly. “What were you dreaming?”
Tildi gawked at the chamber. It ought to have been dark except for the few runes of the plain walls, floor, and handsome door cloth, but it was filled with glowing words. Knobs and other freakish excrescences that had not been there when she fell asleep protruded from the walls. The floor had erupted in layers like a broken pastry. Over their heads, the book flew around the room like a frightened bat.
“I don’t know!” Tildi said, watching in bewilderment.
“Then just make it stop,” Serafina ordered. “The disturbance is spreading throughout the settlement. A cluster of roots just flew up through the center of the bonfire above. It was alive, and in great distress. Jorjevo and the others are trying to bring it under control and comfort it.”
“Stop it? How?” Tildi held out her arms, and the book flew to them. She held it to her, and the voices clamored at her all at once. They sounded like her nightmare.
“You are in control of it. Whether you know it or not, you are changing runes in your sleep. Why now? What has happened? Tell me! What was the last thing you remembered before you went to sleep.”
Tildi felt lost and miserable. Her first impulse was to snap at Serafina. She was shocked at herself.
“I . . . I hardly know. I was happy then. This is the first time that I have really been able to rest since I have had the book. I thought about Edynn. I miss her dearly. I wanted to grieve for her, but I was so tired.”
“We all were,” Serafina said reassuringly. “Thank you for your care.”
“I’ve been frightened all of the time since then.” Tildi allowed her memories to unroll like the scroll itself, trying to recall her thoughts. “I didn’t mean it to, but my fear started to turn to anger. I couldn’t help myself. I am so angry that I could just go back and kill them!” Serafina put her hand down on Tildi’s fists. The book wriggled like a live thing. The walls moaned, and more protrusions appeared as the runes altered. “It’s not like me, but I have never lived like this in all my life. They threatened me, and I couldn’t do anything back!”
Serafina tightened her grip and forced Tildi to look into her eyes.
“Stop, Tildi. Stop. You’ll do us all harm. Take a deep breath, now. Obey me! I am your friend.”
Tildi stared into the wizardess’s eyes. At first their darkness fed the hot temper she felt rising, but gradually the steady gaze doused the flames in her soul. From pools of night, they seemed to become like the peat-colored meres that lay at the edge of the deep forests of her home. She almost heard the soughing of the wind as it played in the trees. The tension in her shoulders loosened. Tears began to drip down her cheeks. Serafina gathered her close. Tildi was grateful for the strong embrace. The dreams receded to a bad feeling at the edge of her mind.
“I am so sorry to cause trouble,” Tildi said miserably.
“You have been through so much, it would be unnatural if you didn’t react in some way. The book amplifies your desires. You wished destruction, and the runes began to change as you willed them.”
“Did I kill those roots?” Tildi asked. “I didn’t mean to bring it to life.”
“No one expects you to command your thoughts even in your sleep, Tildi,” Serafina said, a tiny smile on her face. “It isn’t your fault.”
“May we enter?” a deep voice asked from behind the door cloth.
“Come in,” Serafina said. “She is all right now.”
The comfortable room seemed suddenly tiny as four of the massive bearkin crowded in. Magpie and Rin, looking child-sized in comparison, came behind them.
“Are you well, little one?” Rin asked, curling up on her knees beside Tildi’s bed. “We heard so much noise, and things began to happen.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it,” Magpie said. “It was worthy of the greatest theatricals of the finest troupes in the world—I don’t criticize you, Tildi. I only wish I could have made such impressive effects when I was a troubadour! And you did it in your dreams.”
He meant to make her laugh, but she felt more foolish than before. Tildi looked at them helplessly. “Won’t I be able to sleep ever again?” she asked.
Jorjevo sat down upon his massive haunches, but his broad snout was still so high up that Tildi had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“Sleep is not your enemy, child. You have been ill-treated, and with so much pain in your soul, it is little wonder that you crave to release it. We bearkin were able to calm the pulses of the earth somewhat, though we could not undo everything that you did. You must be ready to go on, not keep looking back. Time will heal those wounds, but it will continue unless you let go of that which troubles you. Tomorrow—hmm, it is nearly tomorrow already!—we shall help you. I have already sent for the wisest of my kin.” He gave Serafina a summing look. “You and your friends can make use of the chance to heal.”
“What will you do?” Serafina asked.
“We will gather together for a dance. To involve the entire body makes the spirit follow along until it can fly free on i
ts own. The ritual will bring her peace. For now,” Jorjevo said, turning to Tildi, “I can help you to rest for what remains of this night. Will you trust me?”
Tildi saw no guile in the warm, syrup-colored eyes. “I trust you.”
“Good. Lie back, then.” She obeyed, and he laid the top pads of two of his enormous fingers on her eyelids. “Until tomorrow, child.”
Chapter Fifteen
here was something about the bearkin, Tildi thought, snuggled between two cubs twice her size the next day in the great stone circle, that made it impossible to be gloomy for long. Not that they talked one’s ear off; in fact, they were silent as often as they spoke. If you didn’t feel like talking, it was just as comfortable to sit near them. When at last you decided to get up and do something else, you felt as though you’d just had a good conversation, even though none of you might have said more than “pass the wine.” It was restful. No one had any expectations of her, and no one showed disapproval for anything she did or said.
Tildi had rested well, and rose feeling happier than she had since the morning before her brothers had been killed. She could not be completely content or at peace, though. She was aware of the undercurrent of anger that had so surprised her the night before, and so were her hosts. She saw the rage worked into her own rune like a thread in complex embroidery, and wondered why it had not been visible before, or why she had not sensed it. Most likely, as Serafina suggested, she was so busy being afraid that there hadn’t been room for other emotions. There was no sign of the unfortunate root creature that she had summoned accidentally into life.
Everyone seemed to know about her nightmares. They made sure she was never alone. Serafina did not hover over her, for which Tildi was grateful, though she kept an eye on her from wherever she was. Tildi often felt eyes on her. All of her friends were keeping a protective watch. She was glad they couldn’t see her thoughts. How many miles had they traveled to reach this spot? Who knew how badly damaged the road was behind them, or if she had accidentally left any animals deformed in her wake? She located a rune she called forest in the book, and sought to keep it intact, though her current company made it difficult to concentrate.
Her companions, Vidavo and Ohtakiva, were very young children, the equivalent of perhaps five or six years to smallfolk. They liked to rest their big heads on her shoulder, when they talked to her, which made her fold over like a pillow, but they were friendly and warm. Ohtakiva, a precocious female, had a terrible sweet tooth, and kept nibbling honey crystals from a bag made of preserved leaves that she kept on a cord around her neck. She was always careful to share, though Tildi had a suspicion, confirmed by the baby bearkin’s rune, that she would have enjoyed eating them all herself.
“Wouldn’t you like another?” she asked, offering yet another glistening golden shard. The visible sign on it only made it look more appealing.
“No, thank you for your generosity,” Tildi said. “I’ve had plenty, and I’m full of breakfast. Why don’t you eat them for me?”
Ohtakiva grinned, showing rounded baby teeth. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, giggling, her voice deeper than the biggest man in Clearbeck. “I like honey, but I like to share.”
Vidavo paid little attention to social niceties, and snagged the sweetmeat out of his friend’s paw. He crunched it, looking smugly satisfied.
“I’ll eat them for you, Tildi!” he said.
All about the clearing, more and more bearkin kept appearing in between the rustling greenery, embracing those who were already there, and waving to others who were still approaching. The space seemed to fill in with furry bodies. Tildi thought she would be crushed, but they always seemed to leave a little room for her and the book. The rune she was protecting kept altering slightly. She had to keep redrawing it in her mind to prevent accidents.
“Look at that!” Ohtakiva exclaimed, pointing. Tildi looked up in alarm. Had she missed a line of the intricate pictogram? “That’s great-grandsire’s sister’s daughter Neva. I bet she brought me some more dried fish. She says they are to help my coat grow sleek. I don’t like dried fish. They are smelly, not sweet.”
“My relatives used to bring us nourishing foods we didn’t like,” Tildi said with a smile for the memory. “My father’s aunt liked to make us a big pot of shin soup in the winter.”
“How many of you are there?” Ohtakiva asked.
“We were five, but I’m the only one left,” Tildi said, keeping the smile intact. Vidavo, with the frankness of children, pushed his companion with a heavy paw.
“She doesn’t want to talk about it. Don’t ask.”
The girl looked abashed, holding her paws over her square snout and peeping out between her fingers. “I am sorry, Tildi.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Tildi assured her, patting her between her furry ears.
Tildi became aware of a humming that seemed to come from deep underground, and the more bearkin who arrived the more intense it grew. She thought that she had heard such a sound the night before, but it was less a tune than a sensation. Booming, humming, pounding like the sound of a big drum, all seemed to come from the earth itself. Her whole chest thrummed with the power of it. It wasn’t frightening, but it did overwhelm her to the point where she couldn’t sit still any longer. Her two young companions seemed to catch the excitement. They rose to their feet and started to rock from foot to foot. They pulled Tildi up, and she fell into their rhythm. It felt natural and right, as though it were her own heartbeat she heard. A rune came into being at the heart of the clearing, thirty feet above the circle of chair-stones, and grew as the intensity of the rumbling grew. Power was building here. Tildi felt awe for her hosts and their easy acceptance of magic.
“Come, now, children,” Jorjevo said, appearing before them. He held out his giant paw to Tildi. In his other hand he had her knapsack.
“What is that for?” Tildi asked, closing her fingers around a single pad.
“For the shedding of the past,” he said. “Come, smallfolk. Dance with me!”
He led her on an intricate path through the swirling, bounding group. Among so many towering beasts, Tildi quickly lost sight of her two small companions. She kept the book close to her side, fearing one of the others might touch it by accident in such a crowd.
Unlike feasts in the Quarters, there was no formal beginning to the dance. It just began once there were enough bearkin present. She felt magic building. The very air hummed. She was enwrapped by the sensation. Jorjevo looked back at her and smiled.
Though the pace of dancing was not rapid, her legs were so much shorter than Jorjevo’s that she had to take three to each one of his. She found herself flushed and out of breath before they had passed before the tallest chairstone three times.
“I can’t keep up,” she panted. Her piping voice was lost in the chanting and humming, but Jorjevo had heard it.
“You are trying too hard,” he said, looking back at her. “Let yourself follow the pulse. Hear it. Let your feet follow it. You are working against yourself.”
“How?” Tildi asked.
“Like this—ta thum ta thum thum. Ta thum. Ta thum thum. Simple. Come on!” He turned in a slow circle.
Tildi tried to emulate his footsteps, but her hand slipped from the bearkin’s pad. He took one more pace and vanished into a sea of fur. “Wait for me!”
She chanted the spell that made the air solid beneath her feet, and climbed high enough to see the faces. There were too many, and they looked so similar. Was that Jorjevo, a quarter turn away from her, bowing to pass under the joined hands of two honey-colored females? Or was that him, cavorting in the center of a ring of eight at the heart of the clearing? It was all so confusing. If she kept on dancing, could she catch up with him?
As soon as she left the ground, she noticed that the complex rhythm lost its focus. She lost her step and became confused. The pattern of cascading steps taken by each dancer in turn seemed random. She didn’t know where to put her feet.
The huge bearkin began to bump into her, rumbling apologies but carrying on with the dance. The voices in the book, immediately on guard for her well-being, began to mutter. She saw the rune above their heads start to twist and change.
“Stop it!” she ordered the voices. They sounded confused, but the unnatural winding of the rune’s strokes halted. She was responsible, but she had no idea how to make it the way it was before. She hoped no one would be harmed because of the change. The voices began to protest in her mind. Tildi grabbed the book and held tightly to it. She crouched in a ball in midair with the book on her lap and squeezed her eyes shut. She must find a safe place. More bearkin cannoned into her, scooting her through the air like a stone on ice.
“Hold on, little one!” Rin’s voice said. She felt hands catch her around her rib cage. She opened her eyes to see the centaur’s wry grin as she set the smallfolk girl on her back. “They are all so big, they forget the rest of us cannot withstand their love-taps!” Her hooves cavorted to the beat. Tildi realized the moment she touched Rin’s back, the music made sense again. She crumpled with relief. The voices stopped their clamoring. “They can charge through trees and rocks for days, but the rest of us must stop.”
“Now, don’t say that,” Lakanta chided her, whirling and capering beside the centaur with surprising ease. Her cheeks glowed a becoming pink. “Some of us can keep up just fine. I’ve never taken part in this particular festival before, but I’ve never sat down before they did.”
“Where is Serafina?” Tildi asked.
Rin craned her neck and peered through the crowd. “There!” She pointed. Tildi stood up and held on to Rin’s mane to see. The wizardess gripped the hand of the black-furred female leading her, and Magpie held tight to her trailing hand. Serafina looked solemn, concentrating hard on cutting the right figures, but the prince beamed with delight. If he made a mistake, he didn’t let it bother him. Tildi tried not to let it bother her that the two of them seemed content together.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 28
