FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  “As do you.” Che’veyo smiled and reached out. Ragni took his hand and led him to a chair. He didn’t bother closing the door, instead leaving it open for the servant who would be bringing his meal. The warrior remained in the hall.

  “You will soon attempt a Great Working.” Che’veyo made the statement without preamble.

  Ragni sat down, facing the Shaman. “Yes. My brother priest, Sig, is dying.”

  “That is not your only reason for doing this thing.”

  Che’veyo saw more with his sightless eyes than was comfortable. Ragni hesitated, then acknowledged the truth. “No.”

  “If you will allow it, I will perform a Healing Ceremony.”

  “For Sig?”

  “No. For you.”

  Irrational hope leaped in his breast. “You said you couldn’t heal my hand.”

  “You are about to petition the gods. You must go before them with a whole heart. I will perform the Healing Ceremony. And I will stand beside you in your Working.”

  “As will I,” Father Lojal said, coming into the room. “Father Krimm will, too.” Krimm followed Lojal into the room. Both of his fellow priests wore their formal vestments of gray and purple.

  Ragni looked up in surprise. “How many more are eavesdropping in the hallway?”

  Lojal grinned. “If you don’t want people to overhear your conversations, you should remember to close the door.”

  “You will need a fifth,” Che’veyo said.

  “Father Kebban will stand with you,” Lojal said.

  “How did you find out about this?” Ragni asked Lojal.

  “Vali. He wants to convene a council.”

  “This could well fail. Baldur may not see fit to give me his blessing. You saw what happened to Sig.”

  Lojal looked Ragni in the eye. “It has been no small matter for comment that Vali was present when Sig fell, nor did he attempt later to heal him, or your father. This is a risk worth taking—unless you mean to bolster your supplication as Father Wirmund did.”

  Ragni grimaced. He’d been Wirmund’s Second. The question wasn’t out of line. “Blood has great power, and I will do whatever I can for Sig, but I will not take one life to save another.”

  “Then we are with you,” Lojal said.

  Ragni nodded, and swallowed hard on the knot of emotion in his throat. “Thank you.” He put his right hand on Che’veyo’s shoulder. “My friend, how long will your Healing Ceremony take?”

  “That depends on you. But my heart knows yours. I would guess no more than a handspan of the sun’s journey.”

  Ragni turned to Lojal. “Summon Vali. Meet us at Sig’s rooms.”

  Lojal startled. “Vali? Why?”

  Ragni’s smile was grim. “You know the old saying. Thanks to you, I will have my friends close. I intend to keep Vali even closer.”

  He spoke to the Tewa warrior as Lojal and Krimm left, asking that he and Che’veyo not be disturbed. Then he closed and locked the door. “What do I do?” he asked.

  “Sit. Be comfortable.” Che’veyo untied several leather bags from his belt. Singing wordlessly, he pulled a pinch of blue cornmeal from the first bag and began to let it dribble from between his fingers, drawing a line on the table. He called upon the spirits for guidance. Another pinch and the line grew longer as he asked for wisdom.

  The Shaman drew with the red cornmeal, then the yellow then the white, all the while singing and chanting.

  Ragni silently watched the picture of a great tree take shape. Yggdrasill? The World Tree? Why would a Tewakwe draw that? He looked at Che’veyo’s sightless eyes. And how does he know where to draw the lines?

  He waited for something to happen. Would he feel different when Che’veyo was finished? He looked at his hand. It no longer looked like an over-cooked beet. The fingers still curled inward, but now it was too pale. Like the hand of a dead man. He was supposed to go before Baldur with a whole heart, but how could he ever feel whole with a hand like that?

  He looked back at the tree Che’veyo was drawing. It was nearly complete. Were some of the leaves at the end of the branches moving? He peered more closely. They were! But they weren’t leaves. They were little pictures. Scenes of his life as it might have been, had he chosen differently along the way. Scenes as his life might yet be.

  There, he was with Saeun, among the Elves. She was round with his child. In another he was standing alone upon the battlements, surveying the siege as Jarl of Quartzholm, his hand whole. Over there he held Utta as she gave birth, his crippled hand forgotten in his joy. In the last he was Overprest, with two strong hands raised over his head. Baldur’s power and blessing coursed through him exuberantly, like water singing down a clear mountain rill, washing all clean in its race for the sea.

  The vision faded, but the feeling lingered like the refrain of a well loved song.

  Ragni looked at his hand. It was still crippled, but somehow it didn’t matter. His heart danced like a horse anxious for the race. He was ready now. Even if he failed and fell as Sig had, he’d felt Baldur’s touch.

  Ragni looked up. Hardly any time had passed. The sun had only just cleared the horizon. “Let’s go ask Baldur’s blessing for Sig.”

  Lojal, Krimm, Kebban, and Vali were waiting for them outside Sig’s room. Two guards were at the door.

  “You can’t be serious about this,” Vali said. “Sig failed and he was whole. Or is that your plan? To die in the attempt so you won’t have to face your loss of power and rank?”

  Ragni ignored him and spoke to the two armsmen. “I will have your oaths not to let anyone enter or leave this room until the ritual is complete.”

  The men glanced at each other and gave their promise.

  “Is that why you called us all here?” Vali continued, following Ragni into Sig’s room. “To bear witness to your noble fall? Perhaps you would like a skald here as well? So he can sing your tale into legend?”

  “Be quiet,” Kebban snarled.

  Sig lay still upon his bed as Krimm and Lojal set up an altar to Baldur at the foot and sanctified it. Pale and sunken, Sig seemed barely to breathe.

  Ragni pulled Wirmund’s shard of crystal from the purple bag on his breast. “Let us begin.”

  “Very well,” Vali said. “If you are set on this folly, then I will second you.”

  Ragni looked Vali square in the eye. “I was counting on it.”

  *

  Saeun watched Utta pace across her room and then back again, the wintry morning light flashing over her shoulder. There had been no dancing last night, not for Ragni at least. She and Utta had insisted. If he was going to attempt a Great Healing today, he was going to do it well rested. The three of them had left the Great Hall to the accompaniment of winks and ribald comments, and returned to his rooms. But they’d left him alone in his bed, despite his assertions that he’d sleep better if one, or both, of them kept him company.

  Not that she hadn’t wanted to join him. Her skin had ached to feel his. Her arms had hungered to hold him. But she couldn’t do it, despite Utta’s clear indication that she approved. Their loving would have been tainted. He would have felt her every fear for him, and she dared not undermine his confidence.

  He’d already been gone from his room when she and Utta had called on him this morning. He wasn’t in the family dining room, nor the great hall, nor any other place they’d looked.

  Utta made another circuit of the room, and Saeun stood and went to put stilling hands on her shoulders. “Please stop. I can’t watch you do that anymore.” She offered half a smile. “Besides, it’s my turn to pace.”

  Utta groaned and sat in the chair that Saeun had vacated. After a mere moment, she stood again. “I don’t like it that he’s doing this without telling Dahleven.”

  “Could Lord Dahleven do something to help?” Saeun asked.

  Utta grimaced. “Stop him?”

  The thought was tempting, but she pushed it away. “I suppose he could. But that would serve no one well.”

&n
bsp; Utta flung her hands outward. “How can you be so calm? I know how you care for him. The last man who tried this is dying!”

  “Do you think me calm?” Saeun shook her head. “I’m screaming inside. When I ran away, I thought I’d never see Ragni again.” She’d felt like she was slowly suffocating. Even among the Elves the world had seemed empty. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, he’d been there, and she had air to breathe. The world had color, even in the bleakness of winter. “I can’t bear the thought of losing him again. That someone as essential to me as sweet, fresh, life-giving air could be going to embrace his death.”

  Utta sat down again. “Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

  Saeun covered her face for a moment, then looked up. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Then we’ve got to stop him!”

  “No. That’s the one thing we must not do.”

  “Why?” Utta demanded.

  “You saw how he was last eve. Flirting. Joking. Confident. Whole. Not as he was the last two days, since his hand …We cannot take that from him.”

  Utta nodded. “I still don’t like it that he forbade us to tell Dahleven. He’d want to know. And at the very least, a Jarl ought to know when his heir is in danger.”

  “I know. I don’t like it either, but we gave our oaths.”

  Glumly, Utta nodded and propped her chin in her hand. “Aye, we did.” Then her head came back up and a wicked gleam infused her smile. “But we didn’t promise not to tell Celia.”

  *

  Dahleven left Celia sleeping, dressed, and made his way to the Great Hall to see which of his guests might need hosting. It was shameful that he’d let himself lie abed so late, but he didn’t regret what had kept him there. He smiled at the memory of Celia’s smooth flesh under his hand, her full, peaked breasts, her belly that would soon be rounding with their babe.

  He was sorry that Neven had not lived to know.

  His sister Ingirid, clad in mourning gray, was presiding over those still at their breakfast. He sat beside her and accepted the trencher that a servant brought. No Elves were in evidence.

  “Lord Kaeron is out in the courtyard with Magnus,” Ingirid said in answer to his query. “He said his forces have scouted the bolt-holes and tunnels for Dark Elves. They didn’t find any. Magnus gave him permission to send some of his men through the castle to make sure there weren’t any spies hiding. I hope that was all right. We didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Dahleven glanced at his sister. He couldn’t read her expression. Since the death of her husband, she’d become even more reserved. “Yes, that was well done.”

  Ingirid nodded. “The trees withdrew from the town during the night. Most of them are gone. There’s just a little grove remaining up on the hill.”

  Trees that Saeun is somehow related to. That truth still amazed him.

  “The villagers are returning to their homes.” Her calm mask cracked. “Oh, Dahl, there are so many dead! Whole families killed!”

  Half the village gone. He’d seen the destruction himself. Dahleven’s jaw clenched as he put an arm around his sister and stroked her shoulder until her tears stopped. He wished he could vent his sorrow and grief as she did.

  Gris approached after a guard waved him on. He, too, wore gray, and bowed with precise courtesy. “My lord, I have the information you wanted.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Halla was Wirmund’s creature.”

  “For how long? Do you know?”

  “Several months. Perhaps since you returned from the parley last summer. It was she who killed Eirik—most likely at the Overprest’s command. He was regaining his sight as Lady Angrim has, and probably shared something with Halla that Father Wirmund could not tolerate.”

  No doubt Wirmund preferred to be the only one with leverage over me.

  “I believe Father Vali killed her because she learned he had a hand in Sig’s failure to complete the Great Healing. Father Wirmund was loyal, if a bit …overzealous. He would have denounced him.” Gris’s lips were tight with anger. “It was Vali’s ambition to advance that prevented your father’s recovery.”

  Rage, hot and cold, swept over Dahleven. “Find the Loki’s spawn and take him.”

  Gris nodded. “I have men looking for him even now.”

  *

  Deep in the Great Healing power gathered, surrounding Ragni, pressing close, buzzing under his skin. The air shimmered with it, thrumming in his ears in time with his heartbeat. The rhythm twined and increased, braiding like dancers in competition. Ragni submerged himself in the pulsing cadence as he did when he danced. A misstep now would mean more than merely bowing out of the circle, however. It would bring disaster for Sig, and for himself.

  The room was crowded, with five priests and the Shaman all standing around Sig’s bed, where he lay staring sightless at the ceiling. Vali stood a little behind Ragni with his hand on his back. Five male voices rumbled in unison, chanting the words of ritual, the poetry of power, the supplication for blessing.

  The musical, dancing, cleansing rill echoed in Ragni’s mind with every word. It was beautiful, and demanding.

  Then suddenly the pattern jerked and twisted, turning awry.

  *

  “Dahl!” Celia strode across the nearly empty hall, flanked by Utta and Saeun. All three of them wore the gray of mourning for Neven, and all of them looked worried.

  Now what?

  Celia sailed to a stop and acknowledged both him and Ingirid with a word and a tense smile. She looked about. No one but family and Gris was within earshot. “Ragni is going to try to heal Sig. He’s doing a Great Healing to prove he’s worthy to be Overprest.”

  What? Dahleven kept his face impassive, fighting to keep dismay from stealing his breath. He had pushed Ragni into this with his careless demands for a supportive Overprest. But gods! What was his brother thinking?

  “My lord, Father Vali is the next ranking priest,” Gris observed. “Will it not be he who stands second to Father Ragnar, as he did for Sig?”

  “Baldur’s Balls!” Dahleven surged to his feet. “Yes. Let’s go. We may yet be in time.”

  Dahleven didn’t slow his pace for those following. He ran through the halls to Sig’s room, not caring what attention he drew. Gris was only a step behind, the others following. Blast Ragni. Why didn’t he tell me what he was going to do? If he gets himself mind-blasted from this I’ll wring his neck. As he turned onto Sig’s hallway he saw two armsmen standing guard outside. Armsmen. Not acolytes. That’s odd.

  Dahleven addressed the senior man as he drew close. “Open the door, Besavaer.”

  The man paled, but said firmly, “My lord, I cannot.”

  The smell of incense was in the air. Had Ragni already started? In a deadly quiet voice Dahleven said, “You cannot?”

  “My lord, I swore an oath to defend this door and prevent any and all interruption to Father Ragnar.”

  An oath? Ragni extracted an oath from one of my own men? “I am the Jarl. You are foresworn,” Dahleven said more loudly.

  Besavaer looked sick. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  Celia came up beside him, followed by Utta, Saeun, and finally Ingirid.

  “How long has he been in there?” Celia asked.

  “All morning, my lady.”

  Gris moved up beside them. “We have discovered a threat to Father Ragnar, Besavaer. You must open the door. He will thank you for it.”

  Besavaer shook his head. “No.”

  “How long does a Great Healing take?” Celia asked.

  Dahleven heard the sound of movement within. Was Vali even now sabotaging Ragni’s ritual? He surged forward, but Besavaer and his fellow armsman shouldered him back. “Open the door!” he shouted.

  Somehow Celia pushed her way in between him and Besavaer. “Dahl, stop!”

  He wanted to pick her up and set her aside, but he knew she wouldn’t stay there. He eased back and the armsmen looked relieved.

  “I don’t know much about
this stuff,” Celia continued, “but couldn’t you screw things up by charging in there?”

  Dahleven clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. Baldur’s Balls. Celia was right. There was nothing he could do now but wait and hope that Vali’s ambition didn’t get the better of Ragni.

  A moment later the door opened and his brother stood there, one hand gripping the door frame, as if he were struggling to hold himself up. “Indeed he could, my dear.”

  The two guards moved back.

  Ragni lifted Celia’s fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, every bit as flirtatious as ever, but Dahleven could see the effort he was expending just to stand upright.

  “You should learn to listen to the mother of your child, Dahl.”

  “Your hand!” Saeun cried, and rushed forward.

  *

  Ragni turned just in time to receive Saeun’s embrace. Fatigued though he was, he still relished the feel of her body pressed against his. Too soon she pulled back, and he sagged against the doorframe. Saeun rained kisses on his hand. His whole, healthy hand. His skin, pink as new babe’s, tingled where she pressed her lips. Tears sparkled on her cheeks.

  “Your hand!” She laughed. “Your beautiful hand!”

  Despite his near exhaustion, Saeun’s delight bathed him in joy.

  Then Utta was there too, her happiness nearly as great as Saeun’s. Saeun started to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go, and Utta drew her back until they were all three embracing. Gods, he’d never felt anything like it, not even in bed. Dahleven’s hand came down on his shoulder, and his brother’s love and relief and a touch of exasperation swirled into the mix. Ragni felt dizzy, drunk on joy.

  Gris slipped past him into the room.

  “Who stood second to you?” Dahleven asked.

  Somehow Ragni found the strength to push his Talent and the flood of giddy happiness down enough to think, and then to speak. “Vali volunteered for the position, but in the end he—hmm—stepped aside.”

  “Then who stood by you?” Saeun asked.

  Che’veyo stepped out of the room, followed by three priests of Baldur. “We did,” he said.