The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘That’s truly interesting.’ Loddlaen leaned forward. ‘I’ve often wondered what it would be like to go to Bardek.’

  ‘When I’m a rich merchant with my own ship, you can come with me.’ Tirro paused to smile. ‘Well, assuming I truly do get rich and own a ship some day. There’s a bit of work ahead of me twixt now and then.’

  They all laughed. Loddlaen proceeded to ask a good many questions, keeping Tirro talking about the Bardekians and his own city of Cerrmor, too, a place that seemed as exotic to Morwen as those foreign islands far across the Southern Sea. They finished the dinner, and Loddlaen brought out a skin of mead, something Morwen had never tasted. Since it was made from honey, Morwen was expecting it to be sweet; its dry sharp taste surprised her, and she took only a couple of small sips for the sake of politeness.

  Loddlaen and Tirro talked on, passing the skin back and forth, while Morwen let her mind wander, worrying about Evan despite her best efforts to enjoy herself without him. She was just thinking that she might as well leave when she suddenly felt she was being watched. She turned around to look.

  By then night had fallen, and they sat in a pool of firelight on the edge of darkness. Behind her the grassland stretched out seemingly forever, half-seen in the faint starlight. There’s naught there, she told herself, but in the instant she had the thought, she saw and recognized the elven woman she’d seen on the journey west. She was standing just beyond the light. In one hand she carried an unstrung bow, and a quiver of arrows hung at her hip.

  Morwen got up and walked a few steps to greet her. The woman smiled at her, but her eyes were pools of sadness.

  ‘Have you found your daughter?’ Morwen said.

  ‘I’ve not, but it’s very kind of you to ask.’

  ‘It saddens my heart to think you’ve lost her.’

  ‘Does it? Then my blessings upon you, child.’

  At that moment the woman began to change. She grew taller, grew huge, towering above Morwen, smiling down at her as she stretched out one hand to bless her. Her hair now hung around her face in a shining golden mane, decorated with jewels. Her clothing, a medley of greens, shimmered and rustled as if she stood in a private wind. Her bow gleamed with gold, and gems studded her quiver.

  From behind her Morwen heard Tirro yelping in surprise and the sounds of the two men scrambling to their feet.

  ‘The nine in one,’ Morwen whispered. ‘All goddesses in one vast soul.’

  ‘Not her, but myself alone. I am Alshandra.’ The woman’s voice sounded like a silver gong, struck for each word. ‘I am the huntress from the edge of the stars.’

  She floated free of the ground, then hovered for a moment, smiling upon them all. All at once she vanished, leaving Morwen shaking and cold.

  ‘The goddess.’ Tirro was trembling, too. He stretched out his arms to the sky. ‘The goddess came to us.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Morwen said. ‘What?’ Tirro’s voice squealed indignantly. ‘How would you know?’

  ‘I’ve studied at the temple, that’s how. She didn’t have the right attributes, and besides, she claimed she wasn’t—well, I can’t tell you that bit of lore. It’s secret.’

  ‘Oh how very convenient for you! I say she’s a goddess.’

  ‘She’s not. I don’t know what she was, mind, but she wasn’t the goddess I’ve gone to worship at the Temple of the Moon.’

  ‘Oh very well, another goddess, then!’ Tirro turned on her with a snarl in his voice. ‘What does it matter? A goddess appeared to us. Didn’t you see? Have you lost your wits, Morri?’

  ‘I’ve not, but you have.’ Morwen stamped a foot. ‘I tell you, I know lore, and that wasn’t any true goddess.’

  ‘Lore? Huh! What, then? Tell me why you don’t believe her.’

  ‘I can’t tell you. I swore a vow to keep things secret.’

  ‘I’m supposed to believe you instead of my own eyes, and you can’t offer me any proof. I –’

  ‘Whist! That’s enough!’ Loddlaen stepped forward. ‘I’ll wager Morri’s right. She’s studied the lore, and we’ve not. I believe her.’

  Tirro hesitated, looking back and forth between them. His expression reminded Morwen of Evan’s when he’d been denied some treat he wanted, a disappointment utterly pure because so childlike.

  ‘Well, I –’ Tirro said at length. ‘She was so beautiful, so strange. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.’

  ‘Lovely she was,’ Loddlaen said, ‘but there are plenty of beautiful spirits, and I wouldn’t trust a one of them. My da told me about them—he knows lore, too—and they’ll lure you and then betray you. Ask him about it. He’s the Wise One in this camp.’

  The snap of bitterness in his voice made Morwen realize he was speaking of his absent mother. Tirro stared at the ground and considered this, his mouth working. Finally he looked up with an artificial smile.

  ‘I’m going to pray to Alshandra from now on,’ Tirro said. ‘If she answers my prayers, we’ll know she’s a goddess. And if she won’t, then we’ll know she’s not.’

  ‘That could be very dangerous,’ Morwen said. ‘She might be one of the—’

  ‘Oh stop it!’ Tirro turned his back on her. ‘Loddlaen, my thanks for the dinner. I’d best get back before Gwairyc comes after me.’

  Tirro turned and bolted into the darkness. They could hear his running footsteps until he disappeared into the camp.

  ‘Do you think he’ll ask your da about spirits?’ Morwen said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Loddlaen said. ‘He’s a craven little soul. Maybe I can help him.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, truly.’

  ‘I want to be a good healer one day, whether it’s here or in Deverry. And Tirro seems to have some sort of wound deep in his soul.’

  ‘True spoken.’ Morwen considered staying, but the apparition had taken the bloom off the evening, somehow. ‘You know, I think me I’d best get back to my duties. I wonder if Dev’s managed to get Evan—I mean Ebañy—to go to sleep?’

  ‘Probably not.’ Loddlaen grinned at her. ‘He’s probably talking as fast and loud as the winter wind and wondering why his lad’s not nodding off.’

  ‘That’s like him, truly, but he’s one of the best-hearted men I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Most bards are.’ Bitterness crept back into Loddlaen’s voice. ‘Why shouldn’t they be? Everyone grovels in front of them and heaps praise upon them and gifts and the like.’

  ‘Well, I suppose they do.’ Morwen suddenly felt uneasy, though she was at a loss to know why. ‘My thanks for the dinner. I truly must be getting back.’

  As she walked off, Morwen glanced back to see Loddlaen sitting down by his fire, his shoulders slumped, staring into the flames. At moments, she realized, he frightened her. Ye gods, she told herself, who’s the craven soul now?

  When she returned to Devaberiel’s tent, she found Nevyn sitting by the fire in front of it. The bard and his son were inside, where Dev was still trying to get Evan to sleep. She could hear the child wail that he wanted his Morri, which brought an immediate song from his da.

  ‘I should go in,’ Morwen said.

  ‘It won’t hurt Evan to learn how to go to sleep for someone else,’ Nevyn said. ‘Soon enough he’ll have to learn how to go to sleep on his own, after all.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’ Morwen joined him on the ground. ‘Besides, there’s somewhat I want to tell you about. A truly strange thing happened at our dinner.’

  Nevyn listened to her account of Alshandra’s appearance with intense interest. She told him as well about her encounter with the same being on their trip out to the Westlands.

  ‘I thought later I must have been dreaming,’ Morwen finished up. ‘Which is why I didn’t tell you then.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Nevyn took his chin in his hand and rubbed it while he stared into the fire. ‘I quite agree. That was no goddess.’

  ‘Was she one of the Seelie Host, then?’

  ‘I think so. The Westfolk
call them the Guardians, because, or so I gather, they’ve done the folk many a favour in the past. But I wouldn’t trust them.’

  ‘No more I, never fear.’ Morwen made the sign of warding with crossed fingers. ‘I didn’t want to say the name at first, there in front of Loddlaen, because of his mother and all, but I did wonder. We heard about those spirits in the temple lore.’

  ‘Did the lore say if they sometimes masquerade as gods? Or can you even tell me?’

  ‘Oh, that bit wasn’t secret. They do, or so the high priestess told me. I wanted to warn Tirro, but he wouldn’t listen, and then he ran off.’

  ‘I suspect that Tirro’s had a very painful life. This Alshandra creature must have looked splendid to him.’

  ‘He said she did, truly. I hope he doesn’t come to any harm.’

  ‘I hope so, too. If he gives me a chance, I’ll talk to him about it.’

  ‘Splendid! I wager he’ll listen more to you than to me.’

  As far as Morwen could see, however, Tirro was determined to avoid both Nevyn and Aderyn as much as possible. During the days that followed, the apprentice had his work to do down at the merchant camp, and in the evenings, he took to sticking close to Loddlaen, if for no other reason than Gwairyc seemed inclined to ignore him as long as he was in Loddlaen’s company. Occasionally, when Devaberiel wanted some time alone with his son, Morwen would join the pair of them. She still found the Westfolk too alien to try to make friends among them, though she repeatedly told herself that eventually she would have to. Tirro never mentioned Alshandra again. Nevyn told her that he was probably afraid that she’d talk him out of his belief.

  ‘Some men are so hungry for god lore,’ Nevyn remarked, ‘that they’ll eat chalk if they can’t get cheese.’

  Loddlaen eventually offered Morwen a glimpse of an even more exciting type of lore. After some five days of camping in the same spot, their horses and the caravan mules had eaten down the best fodder. The entire market fair, Wffyn and Westfolk alike, moved upstream some five miles to a new campground on the southern tip of a small lake. While the horses had plenty of flat grazing ground to the west, just to the north lay a low semi-circle of rocky ridge that provided shelter for the tents from the endless winds off the grasslands.

  Loddlaen as usual pitched his tent some distance from the rest, close to a tumble of big granite boulders at the foot of the ridge. In mid-afternoon Morwen took Evan out of the way of all the unpacking and joined him. He’d already gathered wood for a fire and was laying out kindling and tinder in a circle of stones.

  ‘It’s so warm,’ Morwen said, smiling. ‘Surely you’re not going to light a fire now.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Loddlaen said. ‘I just like to have one ready. I hate the dark. You never know what might sneak up on you out of it. Come sit down, though. I’ve made some honey-water and put in some spices from Bardek. You’ll like it better than mead.’

  He brought out two crudely glazed pottery mugs and filled them with a sweet-smelling drink from a pottery jug. Morwen had never tasted cinnamon before, and she loved it immediately. So did Evan. Since the mugs were too heavy for him to hold safely, she gave him sips from hers, but each sip turned into a long gulp.

  ‘Careful now,’ Loddlaen said to him. ‘You don’t want to get a sour stomach.’

  Evan merely grinned and wiped his sticky mouth on the back of his hand.

  ‘How do you like the life of the camps so far?’ Loddlaen said. ‘I’m afraid my folk can be wretchedly noisy.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind that!’ Morwen paused to smile at him. ‘It’s splendid, compared to the life I had before. I’ve not had to scrape out a henhouse or pull rocks from a field or carry in hay for weeks now.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way. They must have worked you like one of the mules.’

  ‘Everyone works on a farm. Even my nose-in-the-air sister had her share of the hard jobs. Life here seems a fair bit easier, though, truly, Dev did warn me that the winters can be miserable. Well, they weren’t any better in Pyrdon, when the snow came up over the windows and the food ran low.’

  ‘At least we can take the herds south where it doesn’t snow much at all. I was just wondering if you found us all strange.’

  ‘Different, but not strange in a bad way.’

  ‘Good. But if you have any questions or the like, just ask me.’

  ‘Well, here’s a thing I don’t understand. Why do your people call Nevyn and your da “Wise Ones”?’

  Loddlaen hesitated for several long moments. ‘Because they have dweomer,’ he said finally.

  ‘Oh here! Now you’re teasing me. Seriously, why do they?’

  ‘It’s no jest. They have dweomer, and they studied long and hard to get it, too, so they deserve to be called wise.’

  ‘I truly do hate being teased like this.’

  ‘So do I, and that’s why I’m not teasing you. Why do you think I am?’

  Morwen was about to snarl and demand he stop, but he looked so honestly puzzled that she refrained. ‘I’ve always been told,’ she said instead, ‘that there’s no such thing as dweomer.’

  ‘Oh.’ He paused to grin at her. ‘I should have known that Roundears would be so stupid.’

  ‘Are you truly telling me that there’s such a thing?’

  ‘See for yourself.’ Loddlaen pointed at his fire circle, then called out a few words in Elvish.

  Two salamanders appeared on either side of the tinder and kindling. Evan squealed in delight as they rose up on their hindquarters; one even waved a steaming orange paw in his direction, and its flat broad mouth gaped in what might have been a smile. She heard Loddlaen snap his fingers. The bits of grass suddenly burst into flame. When Loddlaen snapped his fingers a second time, the flame went out.

  ‘The salamanders will light fires for you,’ he said. ‘If you know how to ask them. Learning how is part of the dweomer.’

  From behind her a masculine voice suddenly swore. She twisted around to see Tirro staring, as open-mouthed as the salamander. Loddlaen jumped to his feet.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Loddlaen snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tirro took a step back. ‘My master let me have a little time to myself, a reward, like, for helping move camp. I’m sorry. I’ll go away.’ Tears came to his eyes.

  ‘What? Don’t!’ Loddlaen said. ‘You just startled me, and you’re not supposed to see things like this.’

  ‘I won’t tell! I promise. I truly truly won’t.’

  ‘It’s all right, then. Here. Come sit down.’

  Like a dog who fears a beating, Tirro walked up one slow paw at a time. When Loddlaen gave him an encouraging smile, he sat down a few feet farther from the fire circle than Morwen and Loddlaen. His eyes still glistened with tears, but he seemed to have forgotten about them in his awe at the blackened tinder.

  ‘Did I really see you light a fire without anything?’ Tirro whispered. ‘No flint, no steel, naught?’

  ‘Well, the Wildfolk are the ones who actually did the lighting,’ Loddlaen said.

  ‘Oh, of course they did!’ Tirro grinned at him. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I can see why you don’t want to tell me how you did it.’

  ‘I already did tell you,’ Loddlaen said with a sigh. ‘But no matter, indeed. Please—I can’t say this enough—never ever let my da know what you saw here. He’d have my hide on the wall of his tent. We’re never supposed to let outsiders know about dweomer.’

  ‘I shan’t say a word.’ Tirro suddenly looked so sad that he seemed to have aged fifty years. ‘You’re lucky, Morwen. You belong here now. You get to see the marvels.’

  ‘So I am.’ All at once she felt sorry for him. ‘Well, though, who knows? Maybe there are marvels for you somewhere else.’

  ‘Where?’ Tirro spat out the word. ‘In Bardek? Not beastly likely!’

  ‘From what you’ve told us, just being in Bardek will be a marvel in itself,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Let me get you a mug and somewhat to drink. Mead or honey-water?
’

  ‘Mead, and my thanks, if you can spare a bit.’

  When Loddlaen got up, Evan leaned against Morwen and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He was watching Tirro with his pale brows furrowed in a little frown.

  ‘You look tired, sweetheart,’ Morwen said to him. ‘It’s time for your nap. Let’s go to Da’s tent.’

  Instead of whining, Evan merely nodded agreement. He doesn’t like Tirro, either, Morwen thought. I always knew my lad was a smart one!

  As they were walking back, Morwen was wondering if she should tell Nevyn what she’d seen. The old man seemed so wise, and he knew the Westfolk so well, that he might be able to explain more about this mysterious dweomer. She could simply never mention Tirro and so protect Loddlaen. Yet fear stopped her. Tirro had said that she now belonged to the Westfolk. She wanted it to be true, but deep in her soul she felt that she’d never belong anywhere. If she caused any more trouble, they might cast her out, or so she feared. Her mother had always told her, ‘when the bucket’s full, don’t swing it around and spill the milk’. Good advice, she thought. I’ll just wait and see if Loddlaen will tell me more.

  In among the tents she met Gwairyc, striding along with a grim look on his face. He paused and hailed her.

  ‘Have you seen Tirro?’ he said.

  ‘I have. He’s with Loddlaen, over by the rocks.’

  ‘Ah. Good.’ The grim look softened to his more usual neutral expression. ‘I’ll just make sure he’s not up to some wrong thing.’

  ‘And just what that might be?’

  Gwairyc considered her for a long cold moment. ‘You never know,’ he said at last, then strode off, heading for the rocky ridge.

  Gwairyc was keeping so strict a watch over Tirro mostly out of boredom. Stuck out here, so far away from the war in Cerrgonney, he was finding the days long and tedious. Even the royal court intrigues, which he’d always hated, would have been more interesting than watching the Westfolk trade horses for Wffyn’s ironware.

  When he found Tirro and Loddlaen, they were passing a skin of mead back and forth and laughing at some jest. At the sight of Gwairyc, however, Tirro’s laughter died with a squeak.