by Jean Johnson
“Of course. Do you have any messages for Witch Aradin Teral?” Saleria asked politely.
The other Guardian chuckled at that. His smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, he demurred, “Beyond saying ‘hello,’ I have no messages at this time, but I thank you for the courtesy. We do have other means to communicate directly, via our holy ways . . . but this neatly crafted scrying mirror of Guardian Kerric’s would make things more convenient, if you would permit us to occasionally speak with our Brother Witch . . . ?”
“Of course,” she agreed quickly. “Aradin has already offered to help me with certain local problems, which will greatly ease the troubles of my Guardianship if they can indeed be managed. I wouldn’t hesitate to allow him to use this mirror to chat with you. It’s the least I can do. With his . . . their . . . arrival, I feel as though I’ve been awakened to my own local problems, and that I finally have the power to do something about them. He—they—are most welcome, here in the Grove.”
“Then I shall bid you good night with a happy heart . . . and head back to my bed, since it is very much the middle of the night here, and I am no longer a young man,” Shon stated dryly. “It is a pleasure to meet you face to face, so to speak, but it is very late. May you sleep well, Guardian Saleria.”
“And you, Guardian Shon . . . er, Guardian Shon Tastra,” she corrected herself, wanting to be polite. “A good night to you and your Guide.”
Nodding, Shon lifted his blue-and-black-sleeved hand to the frame of his mirror, ending the connection. Saleria stared as the blue background covered the mirror for a moment, then faded back into a reflection of herself and the rest of the Bower. Part of her was gratified to know Aradin Teral was exactly who and what he—they—said they were. Part of her wondered if the presence of all these Darkhanan witches scattered around the world was for the sake of the potential Netherhell invasion, and not just for the Convocation of the Gods being reinstated.
Part of her was tired, and hungry, and ready to call it a night. Leaving the mirror hanging in midair, Saleria picked her way out of the moss-lined swale of the Bower. The sunset glows in the west were almost completely gone, leaving her only with the glow of her staff and the faint hues of those locus-nodules for illumination.
Walking warily back to the sheltered courtyard by the entrance to the Keeper’s house, Saleria began to realize just how creepy the Grove was at night. She had been wary before, but Aradin’s revelation about the plant-bug mixtures earlier still unnerved her. Nothing actively leaped out at her, nothing tried to attack . . . but it felt like everything within the blue white glow of the crystal end of her staff was aware of her approach, her retreat, and her general presence. Leaves shifted on some of the plants, their broad surfaces swerving to follow her. Vines occasionally twitched. Little rustling sounds followed her, too, sounds which she couldn’t pinpoint to a particular plant’s movements.
Maybe it’s worse that nothing is leaping out at me, Saleria thought, glancing behind her to see if she could spot the subtle lights of the Bower at the top of one modest rise in the path. I’m constantly keyed up for an attack, which means I’ll be over-stressed if one finally does happen.
The lights were very faint from this distance, barely a quarter mile from the wickerwork dome. They weren’t the only lights, though; where the overgrown roots and branches of the locus trees rambled among, over, and under the various other plants and paths, an occasional waxy nodule could be seen by its faint glow in the gathering darkness. But only from up close; the father away she got from a particular root or bough, the more likely it was to be obscured by other plants.
Glancing down the path toward the wall, Saleria frowned. Something had moved. Wary, she gripped her staff, peering through the gloom. The movement was subtle, seen more at the edges of her vision when she looked off the meandering course of the path. When she looked directly at them, the plants up ahead were standing still, but when she glanced to the side, they seemed to shift in her peripheral vision. Unnerved, Saleria readied herself for a fight.
It’s not the walking marigolds. I can hear them rustling when they move. I cannot hear anything right now other than my own heartbeat, a bit of wind in the upper branches, and . . . footsteps? Frowning, she stopped moving and concentrated, looking off to the side to give her left ear a better chance to hear. Those were footsteps. When she glanced back toward the path . . . there was indeed movement, but not the sort expected.
It was a light source that moved, a soft-glowing ball cast in a distinctly greenish hue, not the expected bluish white. That was what made the plants seem to move even when they did not, the play of that leaf-colored light sliding over the various surfaces. Oddly though, none of those plants followed the mage-priest casting it, though the blue white glow of her staff continued to cause a subtle, unnerving stir in the foliage around her.
Saleria continued down the path toward Aradin. He looked unharmed, which relieved her, and the staff he carried was now dark, emptied of the energies used to refresh the Grove wards. Before she could speak, he called out to her softly.
“Saleria, can you cover the glow from your crystal, please?” he asked, nodding at the staff in her hands.
“My crystal?” Surprised, she eyed the blue white glow hers emitted . . . then quickly studied the plants around her, which were reacting to it but not to his green mage-light. Comprehension dawned. Pressing one hand to the polished, faceted surface, she focused on drawing energy out of the matrix until the glow dimmed. She didn’t remove all of the energy, but did reduce it to the faintest of glows. Her skin tingled from the resumed energies flowing back into her sense of self, but it didn’t otherwise affect her. “. . . Is that better?”
“Yes,” he said. “Plants react to red light by growing more blossoms, and blue light by growing more leaves, but most cultivars tend to ignore green light. If you want to move around safely at night, I suggest casting a green mage-light, not anything blue, red, or white.”
“Since white contains all colors, including blue or red,” Saleria murmured, recalling her old magery lessons in optical illusion and illumination crafting. She looked around, pausing to listen, but there were no subtle movements, no rustlings. “No wonder I’ve never felt comfortable in the Grove after sundown; my pruning staff was the greatest source of light, and it’s bluish white light, at that.”
“All the attraction of a plant wanting to grow leaves and vines in that light, and the activity of an animal, able to see by it and move around at night,” he agreed. “Thankfully, the path is fairly calm right now. Shall we return to your house?”
Saleria looked around at their green-lit surroundings, then at the Darkhanan Witch. At a man who had the knowledge she needed, and the willingness to help her when few others could or cared. Honesty prompted her to speak.
“Were you sent by my Gods, Aradin Teral?” she asked him. “Because for all the times I’ve privately complained about my task, you do seem to be the answer to my prayers. Or at least, you seem to know far more than I do about what is going on within the Grove.”
He smiled but bowed his head, an oddly shy move. “If I am here by the will of any God or Goddess, I do not know. I do know I am drawn to help others—the habit of all these years in my unexpected holy calling, no doubt—but I find it even easier to offer you my assistance, because what you need help with dovetails with my secular calling. As I have said before, I am a Hortimancer,” Aradin said, his smile broadening with a touch of pride. “Plants and their interactions with magic are my specialty.”
“And I need all the plant-knowledgeable help I can get,” Saleria admitted. “Right, then. Supper is served shortly after sundown. Nannan will have it waiting for us—I told her you’d be dining with us tonight.” She started moving down the path toward the wall and her home, then paused to flash him a teasing smile. “If you do good work, I’ll even let you move into one of the guest rooms, and pay you in room and board.”
>
He chuckled. “What, I’m not going to be paid in solid coin?”
“It’s holy work, Holy Brother,” Saleria reminded him, her tone mock-pious. She spread the fingers of her free hand, her gaze lifted toward the dark, half-clouded sky and the stars that were starting to show. “The Gods pay us in ways we cannot even begin to conceive.”
A hastily lifted hand didn’t quite hide the “—horseshit,” he mock-coughed . . . but he did grin at her when he finished mock-clearing his throat.
She grinned back. “Yes, I do know it’s a load of bollocks. That’s what High Prelate Nestine told me when she said I was being assigned to apprentice the previous Keeper. I insisted on a high salary anyway . . . and I’m just as sick and tired of hearing it as you are. But I can afford to keep you in my employ, so long as you do not exaggerate your expenses.”
“Room and board, and a modest stipend for supplies—most of which will be left here when my work is done—will cover my expenses nicely,” he reassured her. “The rest can be negotiated.”
SEVEN
“More spinach, Aradin?” Nannan asked. Or rather, pressed, since she was already holding out the bowl to him.
(Ugh, not more of that sauce,) Teral muttered in the back of the younger Witch’s mind. (I only get half of your sensations when I’m not in control, and even I think it’s too vinegary to eat.)
(Agreed, but one must be tactful,) Aradin thought back. Which amused him, since it was normally the elder of the two urging politeness and diplomatic caution. Smiling slightly, he demurred, “No, thank you; I appreciate the generosity, but I’d rather not overeat.”
“Overeat?” Nannan scoffed, eyeing him. “You’re nothing but a thin pole! Can you not afford an occasional haunch of meat in your travels?”
(I think it’s a good thing Priestess Saleria spends so much of her days on her feet, or she’d end up overstuffed on this woman’s cooking,) Teral observed dryly.
(To be fair, everything has been quite good, except the sauce on the greens,) Aradin pointed out. Aloud, he merely said, “I do have to walk back to the inn this evening. I’d rather not waddle.”
“Hm. It’s a good thing you’re not staying here,” the housekeeper asserted. She set the glazed pottery bowl on the polished wooden table with a clack. “It just wouldn’t be proper!”
Ever since her nightmare this morning, Saleria hadn’t felt like her normal self. Part of her wondered if it had been sent by Kata and Jinga as a pre-warning of Guardian Kerric’s news about the Netherhell demons. It also felt like a wake-up call to her whole life. The normal smooth running of the Keeper’s duties had been deeply disrupted today, but it made her feel better, not worse. Like the wake-up was needful, even necessary. But her housekeeper’s attitude was threatening to sour that better-world feeling.
Sighing, Saleria put down her fork and cut off her housekeeper the moment the older woman drew in a breath to say more. “Enough, Nannan. The choice of who stays in the Keeper’s house is up to the Keeper. Last I checked, that was me, not you. If I should decide it would better suit my needs to have Witch Aradin Teral stay with us, then stay with us he shall.
“I trust I have made myself clear.” She did not make it a question.
Nannan opened her mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it and subsided. Satisfied, Saleria decided to turn the dinner conversation to work. Normally, she refrained, as Nannan grumbled that such things weren’t appropriate at the dining table whenever Saleria tried to discuss various petitions with Daranen, but tonight, Saleria did not care.
“Now that we have some goals outlined—fixing the flaws in the Grove’s containment of the rift-magics, undoing all the amalgamations of plants and animals, and investigating the sap pools—what materials or furnishings will you need installed in the Bower for your work?” she asked Aradin. “I was thinking perhaps you might want a tent, or a shelter of some sort. It’s been hot and dry the last few days, but it might turn to rain without warning.”
“I hadn’t thought about the rain, but I think I’d like to examine the Bower structure itself, first,” Aradin said, reaching for his water goblet. “There may already be some sort of weather-sheltering shielding on it, or a way to incorporate such spells into the existing structure. That would be the least intrusive solution to any weather problems.”
“True. Will you need any tables?” she asked next. “I was thinking I should get some for my own use, and something for us to sit on, and perhaps a mirror stand—which reminds me, the call I received, it was a sort of group-scrying of several Guardians. One of them wished to say hello to you.”
One brow lifting in surprise, Aradin blinked at her. Swallowing, he set down the glass and shrugged. “I can’t think of who it could be.”
“He was introduced to me as Witch Shon Tastra,” Saleria explained.
Both brows raised at that. “Ah. Yes, I know who that is. He’s one of our highest-ranked members, in fact. I hadn’t realized your communication ability reached all the way to Darkhana. Teral says he met with Tastra shortly before returning to us.”
“Teral says . . . ?” Nannan asked, looking mystified.
Saleria didn’t bother to explain to the older woman. Nannan would learn as they went along. “I had no connection for that far away, but Guardian Kerric of the Tower does. He was the one to call the meeting. At the end of it, Guardian Shon Tastra wished to confirm the original reason why you came here, and to offer his thanks for my willingness to comply. He also recommended I pack a bag.”
“Pack a bag?” This time, the question came from Daranen.
“Yes, for the Convocation,” Saleria reminded him. Her scribe nodded at the realization.
“Of course, of course,” Daranen muttered, following along since he had been privy to the earlier meeting.
“Pack a bag?” Nannan repeated, still mystified and frowning. “But you’re the Keeper! Until you are replaced, you cannot leave the Grove unattended.”
“I already have a potential replacement, Nannan,” Saleria told her. She picked up her fork and scooped up a few sauce-drizzled leaves, but did not eat them immediately. Her housekeeper had that look in her eyes again. “Before you panic, it will only be a temporary journey. A visit to the location where the Convocation of Gods and Man will be reconvened. After it is over, I will return to my post. As for my going, I am the Keeper of the Grove; I am more than qualified to represent the concerns of our people, and that is all that matters—this subject is not open for debate. Nor are you to gossip about it.”
“Hmphf.” From the frown still creasing the older woman’s brow, it looked like Nannan was considering being extra cheerful and extra early in waking up her employer in the morning. The housekeeper had her ways of getting even.
Saleria didn’t care for the attitude. That nightmare and Kerric’s subsequent warnings had shaken her out of her complacencies with a vengeance today. “Don’t even think it, Nannan. Your job is to run this household smoothly . . . which you do quite well, under normal circumstances,” she allowed politely. “But all decisions regarding the Grove and its Keeping are mine and mine alone.
“Now, back to the topic. I think, if nothing else, we can take and enchant a piece of canvas for cover. It could also make a good projection wall for the scryings Guardian Kerric passed on to me,” she stated. “I’d like you to observe and give your opinions along with my own. The more minds we have working on the problems at hand, the better off we’ll be.”
“What problems?” Daranen asked, looking between the Keeper and their Witch guest.
Saleria gave up trying to eat the rest of her greens. She loved the sauce Nannan made, but it worked best on fresh greens; once they started to go limp and soggy, she lost interest. Focusing on the conversation at hand, she explained. “This goes no further than this room, Nannan, Daranen . . . but one of my counterparts up in Shattered Aiar managed to capture a . . . a Seer-like scrying
from some distance into the future. Depending upon the shifting, fickle ways of fate, we may or may not have a problem with Netherhell demons within the next year.”
Nannan dropped her fork. Blue eyes wide, she stared at Saleria in shock. “N-Netherhell demons?”
“If we cannot figure out how to prevent their emergence. The important thing is that there are a good eighteen of the strongest and smartest mages around the world already working on the problem, myself included. If a solution can be found, we will find it. Which is why you shall not panic,” she ordered.
Hmphfing again, her face tight with hints of outrage and fear, Nannan rose and reached for the various food bowls. Daranen quickly snagged one of the last bread rolls before the basket was plucked out of reach.
Aradin waited until the housekeeper had taken herself and her burdens off to the kitchen down the hall. “. . . Was it necessary to tell her? Teral says she strikes him as the sort inclined to gossip.”
“She can be discreet,” Daranen told him. “She has to be; the Keeper’s position has been endangered in the past by indiscreet staff. Saleria is no Seer, but she has some of the same level of fame. More, in many ways, for there can be two or three Seers alive at one time in an empire the size of Katan, but there is only ever one Keeper, and perhaps one apprentice.”
“I think it might be best to remove temptation from her presence all the same,” Aradin said. He didn’t need Teral’s mental nudgings to make his recommendations; they were simply wise. “The Netherhells are as real as the Afterlife, but considerably easier to access, since they do not require one to be dead. Gossip about a potential demonic invasion could be considered too alarming to keep silent. Perhaps if we retired to the study?”
Saleria knew he had a point. She shook her head. “I told her what little I did because she does need to know why your presence here is so important. On several levels. But you are right; she doesn’t need to know the rest . . . and Daranen, at this point, your knowing of what are still mere possibilities would only trouble your tranquility and concentration. Whatever Aradin Teral and I have to discuss, we should probably do it in the Bower. Which means tomorrow morning—if you gentlemen will excuse me,” she added just as Nannan came back, “I am in need of a bath and a good night’s rest.
