by Jean Johnson
A grin cracked his lips, showing his mostly straight white teeth; one of his canines sat just a little bit crooked. But that grin confused her, at least until he spoke. Lifting his finger, Aradin waggled it at her. “You are very, very clever to have spotted a potential loophole like that, milady. Well done! Here, hold my staff while we trade places.”
Taking it from him, Saleria watched as he pulled his hood over his head and down to his throat, then tucked his hands into the robe’s sleeves. As the heat of the day had increased, he had pulled the robe shut around his body, no doubt keeping it cool via temperature charms. Now his frame shifted, he straightened, and the taller, broader-shouldered, older figure of Teral pushed the hood back. Giving her a slight bow, he spoke in his smooth, cultured baritone.
“I, Teral of Darkhana, bind unto my powers this vow: I promise I have no intention of stealing the powers of the sacred matrimonial Grove of Holy Kata and Jinga, nor of using those stolen powers in ways which would bring grave harm to yourself, the people of Katan, your Patron Deities, or the rest of the world, save only whatever may be needful in the name of self-defense or the defense of others.
“So swear I, Teral of Darkhana.” This time, the bands of dark blue light were stronger than the silver, though the latter still sizzled from graying brown head to beige-clad toe. Bowing, he straightened and raised one eyebrow. “I trust that will suffice as to both our intentions, Holy Sister?”
She smiled wryly and dipped her head in return. “It will suffice, Holy Brother.” He started to shift the hood forward, no doubt to switch bodies again. Saleria quickly held out his borrowed staff, forestalling him. “Please, stay for a little bit, and walk with me. I am curious about you as well.”
(Go ahead,) Aradin encouraged him. (You’re due some time in your own body.)
(Only because she swears this “Bower” place isn’t dangerous. I’d rather you did all the ducking and dodging,) Teral joked silently. Nodding his head, he accepted the staff and gestured for Saleria to take the lead. “As you wish, milady.”
Now that she had his—their—acquiescence, Saleria wasn’t quite sure where to begin. She started walking again, letting Teral follow a few paces behind. Aradin’s comment about obnoxious questions did raise a point, so she started with that. “I am not at all familiar with the, ah, ways of your kind. If any question I ask is obnoxious, please forgive me in advance, and just let me know it isn’t something you care to answer.”
“Such courtesy is appreciated.” Watching the younger woman’s hips sway with each step, Teral could not only see what Aradin had seen; he could feel their shared body responding to it. (I do believe there are some serious drawbacks to being flesh and blood. At least, where my dignity is concerned.)
(Feels good, doesn’t it?) Aradin teased. It was still his body, and he could still feel the blood pooling at the sway of those hips, but it felt distanced, almost numb, since he wasn’t the one in control.
(Indeed.) Teral smiled pleasantly when the blonde priestess glanced back at them. Her almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones made her look very different from Darkhanan women. The differences were exotic and alluring, making both men aware of her unpretentious beauty. (No hints of painting or primping, no subtle tricks or artifice, just natural, beautiful woman, as her Gods clearly made her to be. Oh, to be alive again . . .)
(Albeit with your Alaya’s permission,) Aradin chuckled in the back of Teral’s mind. (These days, you’d need mine.)
The view he had was much like peering at a bright window or a scrying mirror over Teral’s shoulder from a hushed, darkened room. The perspective was a little off, too, since his Host’s version of the body stood just a little bit taller. But he was used to it by now. Everything behind and around him was dark, save for what Teral saw, quiet save for what Teral heard . . . and the whispers of what Teral thought. The stronger the thought, the louder the whisper. The thought prompting his quip hadn’t been loud, but it was one he himself had been thinking.
(Then again, Teral, I’m not sure if this Katani woman would care to have either of us as a lover. You’re technically a dead man in a borrowed body, and neither of us is alone, unless one of us steps into the Dark.) Aradin started to say more, then hushed. Priestess Saleria had finally found a question she wanted to ask.
“So . . . how did you become a Guide?” she asked.
“A tree fell on me, and Aradin was the nearest willing mage I could ask to be bound to before I died.” At her flustered look, Teral smiled. “Or did you mean what made me choose to become a Witch in the first place?”
“Yes, that,” she corrected herself. A swipe of her staff severed a tree limb bending their way. She paused to drain it into the glowing crystal at the other end of her staff. “I meant . . . I had a revelation, a moment of divine inspiration, I suppose you could say. I was in a youth choir, organized by the cathedral in my city—my father is an instructor for the Imperial Army, and my mother serves as a road crew mage, so it wasn’t a case of following in either’s footsteps.
“Anyway, we were singing a hymn to the seasons, to the four faces of our Gods . . . and it was so sublime, every note blended in purity and harmony . . . perfect. Just perfect. I knew then that I was being called to serve my Goddess and God.” Smiling softly, ruefully, she continued toward a structure of intertwined branches forming a lacework dome. “It sounds silly to say that a ‘mere song’ inspired me to become a priestess, but over a decade later, I can still remember how perfect everything was in that moment. How holy and pure.
“I could have become a secular sort of mage, but I felt my powers would be better used to serve everyone, not just those who could afford my services,” she concluded. “I know what made Aradin a Witch-priest—proximity to you and your tree,” Saleria dared to tease lightly, since neither man seemed to treat it like a huge tragedy, for all that it had been. “But what made you choose to be a Witch-priest, instead of a normal priest, or a normal mage, or . . . or a bookbinder or something?”
“An excess of mouths to feed. My mother would get pregnant at the drop of her nightshift,” Teral stated bluntly, though with humor in his tone as she gaped at him. “That, milady, was how she put it. I was seventh in a family of thirteen children.”
“Goodness!” Saleria exclaimed softly, impressed by that. “Um . . . not to be rude, but . . . ?”
Teral knew what she was trying to ask delicately. “There was just something about Mother’s energies that, ah, prevented contraceptive amulets and potions from working for her . . . and she did enjoy being mother to a huge brood of little ones. Ours was the house where the neighborhood children would congregate to play, and study, and be accepted, thanks to her. Father worked as a glassmaker, but the trade in our city could only support so many apprentices, and his wages only so many mouths to feed. Particularly when we became teenagers, with the huge appetites to match.
“I was very good at the scholarly arts, so the high priest of our cathedral was willing to sponsor an apprenticeship for me to become a member of the clergy, a clerical sort of priest. But then puberty struck, my magic started coming out, and he had me transferred to Witch-craft training. I had some aptitude for trading and negotiating, so eventually I was apprenticed to this rather elderly woman named Alaya Vondren. Her Guide was male, you see, and they thought that with so many sisters in my family background, I could handle being paired with a female when it was Alaya’s turn to pass on and become a Guide,” Teral stated. “They already knew she could handle being paired with a male.”
They were almost to the Bower, following the path as it switched back and forth at a gentle slope down into the bowl-like vale at the heart of the Grove. Saleria kept an eye out for warped plants and animals, but her curiosity was strong. “You’ve mentioned you have a God and Goddess . . .”
“Yes, the Dual One. Darkhan, the Dead God, formerly the God of Elder Brother Moon before its destruction thousands of years ago,”
Teral said, “and His Host, Dark Ana, formerly the mortal Arch Priestess Ana.”
“Well . . . I can understand why it would be more comfortable to be paired with someone of the same gender constantly sharing your life,” Saleria stated, “but from a theological standpoint, wouldn’t it make more sense for all of you to swap genders every generation, so to speak?”
He chuckled, his voice deepening almost to Aradin’s bass. Grinning, he rubbed at his neatly trimmed beard. “You’ve hit the nail on the head with your hammer, there. Yes, it would make more sense. But to serve as a Witch, one must be willing to do so. Growing up with as many sisters as brothers, older and younger and all learning how to get along with each other, I was . . . comfortable, I suppose you could say, around the fairer sex. From listening to my sisters’ plaints, I could understand some of how they thought. Then again, I wasn’t completely sure I’d want to share my life with Alaya once she’d passed on from Host to Guide . . . until I got to know her.”
“Oh? A charming, sweet lady?” Saleria asked.
“Sweet? No. Charming? Yes,” the older priest agreed. “She was sharp but fair, clever without needing to resort to cunning, and wouldn’t put up with nonsense from a young man. Or anyone else, really. And in time, I grew to love her as a close friend and confidant, both before and after we joined as Host and Guide. Vondren, I respected and trusted, and missed him once he was gone . . . but part of him lived on in Alaya’s memories, and in Alaya’s work. She had traveled a lot as a purchasing agent for the Church, as had he before her. I learned the craft of negotiation and diplomacy from her, and Aradin has learned it from me.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed how charming and diplomatic he can be,” Saleria observed dryly, motioning for Teral to stop. They had reached the edge of the Bower. Here, there were magics woven into the giant, gazebo-like structure that would keep out anything hostile, hungry, or hurtful. But sometimes creatures liked to lurk in the bushes just to either side of the intertwined structure. It wasn’t as if she could alter her daily routine to avoid being seen.
Nothing seemed amiss, so she nodded and moved inside. A rustling noise was her only warning. Spinning, she brought up her staff, but Teral had already moved, warned by both noise and Aradin’s sharp gaze catching the movement at the corner of their shared eyesight. Swinging his staff, the middle-aged priest whacked it into the overgrown, rabbity thing that leaped out of the bushes on too many legs, jaws agape and tail trailing . . . a rope of spider-silk?
It did not matter, save that the line of silk showed where the body of the beast was flung by his soundly struck blow. The thing smashed into the bushes halfway up the hill and tumbled down through the foliage. It came to a rest under a fernlike bush, just barely visible, and still breathing but otherwise not moving. Teral grimaced. “Sorry. Meant to hit it with the cutting end, not the crystal.”
“Still, a well-struck blow,” Saleria praised, grateful the older man hadn’t been harmed. She moved up beside him, both of them warily watching the rabbit-spider-thing for signs of further aggression. “And I thought Aradin said he was the one with mace-wielding skill.”
“Oh, it bleeds over,” Teral admitted. “I can wield a sling well enough to bring down supper, if need be. After a few tries, but still, only a few. And he can shoot a deer at fifty paces with bow and arrow, if he’s really hungry. Should we be going after that thing?”
“It’s in a patch of peaceferns. Unless it’s really hungry, the mutant should go to sleep for several hours, then wander off. I’d rather not try to get to that spider-thing myself, since I’d come under the soporific effects of the plant’s perfume,” she said.
“That thing has flowers?” Teral asked, squinting at the fern. Aradin focused, too, and whispered into his mind. “Ahhh, I see—or rather, Aradin sees. Tiny little knobby things that look more like miniature fiddleheads than flowers, the same shade of green as the rest of the plant, save for tiny paler green speckles . . . Have you tried an air-cleansing spell, to filter out the perfume?”
“Well . . . no, but it would have to be paired with a body-cleansing charm, to remove the pollen,” she said.
“Mm. Well, if you’ll permit it, this is more Aradin’s area of expertise than mine. He’d be willing to climb up there and dispatch the creature, if you like,” Teral offered. “Though I suspect it’s as much to get a closer look at the plant-life as anything.”
“I’m torn,” she murmured. “That creature is large enough to be a menace, and should be removed, but I shouldn’t like to endanger your Host. I appreciate the offer, but . . .”
Teral placed his hand on her shoulder, turning just enough to face her without ruining Aradin’s edge-of-the-eye view of the downed brown rabbit-spider thing. “Please, Priestess; we are here to help, and are fully prepared to help. You should not be the only person to face all these dangers, and the Gods know this. In fact, I suspect the hand of Threefold Fate in arranging for my Host in specific to be the one assigned to this continent. He is a formally trained Hortimancer, and he has been sent here to find you, a woman who cares for her people but naught for politics, all while tending an overgrown nightmare of a garden that should be restored and remade safe and sane.
“The three hardest things to say in the world are ‘I love you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘I need help,’” Teral continued. “You are clearly a strong woman, for you are set in circumstances which would clearly require at least three people to manage easily. The lattermost statement should not be a problem for you, nor should it be made a problem by those around you,” he added softly, gently. “Is it not one of the Laws of God and Man, ‘Ask and you may receive; stay silent, and you will not’ . . . ? Ask, Holy Sister, and you shall receive our help; this, I pledge to you.”
It was a supreme irony that this strange, two-in-one outlander was so willing to help her tend to the holiest place in the entire Empire of Katan where her own Order was not. . . . Bollocks to them! Saleria thought, frowning at the idea of being offered help but having to refuse it for . . . for whatever internal, priestly-political reason her superiors may have. “Alright. Witch Teral Aradin . . . or Aradin Teral, whatever . . . would you be so kind as to very carefully get up there and dispatch that poor rabbit-spider-thing, so that it doesn’t attack us or escape the Grove at some point?”
“As milady commands,” Teral murmured. Handing over the staff for a moment, he swept the hood up over his head, tucked his arms in his sleeves, and bowed politely under its dark embrace.
Bodies once again swapped, Aradin pushed the hood back. He frowned in thought a few moments, accepted the gardening staff from Saleria once more, and began murmuring spells in his deep voice. Magic rose from his body like a mist, weaving its way around his leaner frame until it flashed and faded into a rippling aura that could be seen more from the way it made the eye twitch than from any distinct visual effect.
A second murmur thickened several patches of air into misty, flat-topped clouds. They formed a stairwell and footpath just above the plants. As soon as the last one was laid, he swiftly mounted the makeshift steps and hurried toward the twitching animal. Impressed, Saleria wondered if he would be willing to teach it to her. Such a thing would make her own daily routine that much easier, if she could just walk over minor mutated plants which weren’t troublesome in order to get at the heavily mutated animals and plants that were.
Of course, it would be far better if I didn’t have to deal with mutated plants and animals at all . . . Recent conversations with Guardian Kerric, up north in Aiar, suggested there were other things she could be doing with the magic of her not-quite-Fountains, things to drain and use the excess energies. Ways to permanently do so, without the need for a living mage to constantly pray every day. Perhaps not automatic prayers; those need to be guided by a willing spirit. But . . . little things, perhaps creating and maintaining aqueducts of water for the dry northlands, though that might prove to be too far away for the magic to r
each. Or some system of heating and cooling for the local houses, or . . .
She watched as Aradin studied the creature a long moment, then slashed in three strokes. It squealed and thrashed on the first, thrashed again on the second, and twitched on the third. Its movements slowed, then stopped. Aradin bowed his head, murmured something with a hand stretched out over the creature’s body, then turned and made his way back at a more leisurely pace. A few murmurs shed the cocoon of shimmering air from his body. Saleria caught a whiff of perfume-laced pollen, but only a whiff before the soft breeze wending its way through the Grove carried the soporific stuff away.
“Three parts animal,” he stated, dismissing the puff-clouds with a gesture once he reached the flagstone path. “Rabbit, jumping-spider, and mouse or shrew. Milady, as one mage to another, I say to you this place needs to be brought under control. In my oath, I swore I would not use the powers of this place to cause harm, but I am not the one you should be worried about. There is so much magic steeped into everything living within the garden’s walls . . .”
Breaking off, he shook his head, looking past her into the Bower, though with the kind of faraway gaze that said he wasn’t really seeing it.
“. . . Such negligence makes me wonder why your hierarchy would be so blind to the needs of this place. Unless, of course, absolutely none of your priesthood has ever studied the interactions of magic, animals, and plants,” he concluded, focusing on her again. “Otherwise, they are willfully allowing massive mutations to occur, and for no good reason that I can see.”
“I think there may be a prophecy involved, based on something Jonder, the previous Keeper, said about the mess I was inheriting from him,” Saleria murmured. She looked at the Bower and shrugged. “I suppose I could contact the Department of Prophecies to see if there is. Who knows? Maybe that prophecy you showed me—which I should check up on, to verify—has a corresponding one that is also going to come true about this place, and I can finally get more than myself working on this place.
