“So you’re content to rule from behind the Throne?”
“Or from beside it as Durweard. But no, not content. Not forever.”
“Ah. And how do you propose to make the transition from being Regent to being Cyne without leaving yourself open to deadly outrage?”
“There are any number of ways. They all take time. Once I have Airleas in hand, I’ll have enough of that.”
He turned back into the Shrine, then, stepping through the arched doorway onto the uppermost level of the circular room. Below him, the broad, shallow tiers fell away to its lowest point, where the Osmaer Crystal sat on its ornate wooden pedestal. The perfect facets of the Stone winked at him through the semi-gloom of the dimly lit chamber.
“Tell me, Abbod, do you intend to bring the Stone to Cirke again this week?” His steps continued to carry him closer to the heart of the Shrine.
Ladhar hurried to catch him up, his spine a-quiver again with uncomfortable static. “It’s an important symbol in these chaotic times. I believe it comforts the people.”
Feich’s pale eyes flicked sideways to the Abbod’s flushed face. “And reminds them where the real power lies, eh?”
I only wish I knew, Ladhar thought, where the real power lies. He was immediately contrite. But, God, the Stone seemed so dim. Aloud, he said, “We’ll be more comfortable in my offices, Daimhin.”
Feich stopped halfway down the aisle, his eyes still on the Crystal. “The fire seems to have gone out of it.”
Ladhar’s face flushed even hotter. “I told you, Daimhin, it was sorely abused by the Wicke.”
“Drained? Is that what you’re telling me—that she drained the power from the mighty Stone of Ochan?”
“The Stone of Ochan,” Ladhar said, as if instructing a first year Prentice, “has no power of its own. It is merely the purest of channels.”
“Which she defiled.”
“Yes.”
Feich fixed him with wintry eyes and asked, “How do you propose to cleanse it?”
“That is a matter for the Osraed to consider, Regent. It can be of no concern to you.”
“Oh, but it can.”
“You, sir, are an unbeliever. You’ve taken great pains to make that apparent. The Osmaer can surely be no more to you than a chunk of ancient rock.”
Feich smiled. It was a saintly smile—insidious, charming. “I meant only what you said before: The Osmaer is a symbol of the Covenant. If the Caraidin believe in it, adhere to it; if it helps hold this kingdom together, then it damn well must concern me.” He gave the Stone a last glance. “Shall we retire to your chambers?”
Ladhar moved quickly to usher him from the room, sparing the Crystal a backward glance. A trick of light made him think he saw a ruddy light pulse deep within it. A trick that made his heart leap in his breast.
He heard Feich draw a hissing breath and realized that he had seen it too.
Good, he thought, perhaps now he’ll cease his scoffing.
oOo
“Now,” said Taminy softly, “here is the next aislinn.”
A picture filled her mind, moved, sounded, breathed aromas. For the next several moments, the only sound in the small, candlelit room high on Hrofceaster’s massive flank, was the faint rustle of fabric, the flutter of flame. Taminy watched the row of faces rapt in concentration. She knew they were seeking to clarify the multi-sensory image, calling up whatever duans they thought might aid them, clutching their crystals tightly.
Too tightly.
“Relax,” she murmured. “Sing the thought through the stone, don’t try to push it through with your bare hands. The crystal responds to the aidan, not brute strength.”
Along the row of meditative waljan, fingers loosened self-consciously.
“Good. Now, breathe. Send the aislinn out with the air . . . and focus.”
In relaxed hands, the crystals glowed softly or intensely as the nature of the owner dictated. Then, in the center of the row, a stone took quick fire. Above the flare of light, Aine-mac-Lorimer’s face displayed a triumphant smile. Then she caught up the slate that lay on the braid rug before her crossed legs and scribbled hasty words. One by one, the others in the row echoed her as their crystals flared and pulsed—Gwynet, Iseabal, Eyslk, Phelan Backstere.
When the last scratch had been made on the last slate, Taminy called the light-globes in the room to full flood. Then she turned her thoughts to the next room where five more waljan, in Desary Hillwild’s charge, sat in similar contemplation.
In a moment, the chamber door opened and Desary appeared, trailing Wyvis and Rennie Lusach, Cluanie Backstere and Airleas. They hurried to find themselves places on the large braid rug, clutching their slates. All eyes turned to Taminy.
“Aine,” she said, “you were the first to finish. Give tell.”
Aine’s face flushed with pleasure. She whipped a lock of bright hair behind her ear and glanced at her slate. “Well, the aislinn I got was about the Osmaer Crystal. I saw the Crystal on its pedestal in a dark, circular room—a room like a shallow bowl. And I heard rainfall and a Wardweave being sung and I smelled incense and roses. The aislinn seemed to say that the Stone needed protection.” She glanced aside at Taminy. “I don’t understand that part. But then I touched Rennie Lusach and sent the aislinn to him. And he sent back . . .” Here, she glanced at the slate, now reposing in her lap. “A small host of mounted men coming through . . . a bowl? And marching under a banner of red with a black . . . glob of some sort on it.”
“It’s a rock!” wailed Rennie and his sister, Wyvis, whinnied laughter.
Taminy hushed them. “And the meat of the message?”
“That one of the Houses marches on Hrofceaster.” Aine blinked, hazel eyes fearful. “Is that so, Taminy?”
Taminy smiled and spread her hands. “Can someone else shed light on this dire aislinn?”
Iseabal-a-Nairnecirke spoke up. “The message to send was right . . . or at least, it was the same one I got. Of course, the Stone needs protection, Aine. Cusps always seem to put it in dire jeopardy of being taken off by folks—like Buchan Claeg during the reign of Kieran the Superstitious.”
“Well, you’d more chance to study history than I, Isha, being an Osraed’s daughter. A Lorimer’s girl doesn’t get those opportunities.”
Taminy halted the argument with a thought. Both girls jumped and looked up, guiltily. Taminy nodded at Iseabal who cleared her throat and went on.
“Airleas sent to me. His message was that Iobert Claeg was leading his men through the Cauldron pass bringing news and more pilgrims to Hrofceaster. It was clear as day, Taminy.” She gave Airleas an appreciative glance. “I saw the Claeg banner snapping on its standard and the color of the Claeg’s eyes and I swear I could count the whiskers in his beard. I smelled wet wind and stone . . . and pine.”
One by one, the others reported as well, with varying degrees of success; Gwynet and Eyslk had done well—Phelan, not so well. Meanwhile, Taminy and Desary listened closely—and did more than listen.
When all was accounted for and the students sat cupping varying degrees of satisfaction or disappointment in their hearts, Taminy dismissed everyone but Aine and Iseabal into Desary’s hands to work at their Weaves. The two girls curled, expectant, by the hearth.
Taminy joined them on the great braided rug, crossing her legs carefully beneath her. She glanced from one to the other, making them fidget, then said, “Aine, summon Wyth to us, please.”
Aine blushed and smiled simultaneously, then closed her eyes and sat in perfect stillness. To Taminy her thoughts were bells pealing out a summons. Melodic, they were, but forthright, even demanding. They tolled a message that would no doubt take its recipient by surprise and sheer force.
Taminy smiled wryly and hoped Osraed Wyth wasn’t handling anything delicate at the moment.
Aine’s eyes opened and she flushed a deeper red—her face competing with her hair for vividness. “I got him!” she whispered. “He’s coming. He was just down the hal
l in his study. For just a second, I saw the room through his eyes.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Will I ever get used to being able to do this?”
Taminy laughed. “Someday, I suppose. Although I hope you’ll always marvel at it. I do.”
“You do?” Aine shook her head. “How can that be?”
Taminy gazed down at her entwined fingers. How, indeed. “I live between two worlds—this and That. The world of Form and Shadow and the World of Light. When I’m pulled into That world, it seems as natural as . . . as breathing. When I’m in this, I stand amazed that I ever knew That, at all.”
“Do the two worlds never merge?” asked Iseabal, and Taminy felt her concern as a warm stole about her shoulders.
“Oh, more and more,” she said, smiling reassurance. “Day by day.”
The chamber door opened just then, admitting a damp chill and a startled-looking Wyth Arundel. Wide-eyed, he all but tip-toed across the floor.
“Did I . . . ? Did you . . . ? Did Aine summon me?”
“Well, don’t sound so surprised, Wyth Arundel. Why might I not be able to summon you?”
Wyth gave the girl a wary glance, then perched himself carefully on the edge of a chair.
“What did you want, then, Aine?”
Aine stopped just short of tossing her head. “Nothing at all. It was Taminy bid me call you.”
“There’s a Claeg force arriving from the lowlands,” said Taminy. “They’re bringing us about a dozen more pilgrims. We’ll need to make arrangements for them. Catahn and the Aeldra will find them lodging, I’m sure, but it means the classes will expand and I think you’ll have to teach some yourself.”
Wyth sat back in his seat. “But Mistress—Taminy . . . I thought you were training these girls to be teachers.”
“I was, but, well . . . of the group, only Aine and Isha are quite ready to teach and I need them elsewhere, now. That is, if they’re willing to go.”
Both girl’s heads snapped about as if tugged by puppet strings.
“What? Where, Taminy?” said Iseabal and, “Needed where?” asked Aine.
Taminy rose and began to pace the braided pathways beneath her feet. “Winter’s fast coming and the passes will be all but closed. We’ll lose touch with Creiddylad and with Nairne, as well, unless someone there can Weave a strong enough Speaking rune. Leal could. Fhada could. I can reach them in their dreams, in their unguarded moments, but to get word from them—well, they need to be taught the discipline. It’s a lost skill among the Osraed these days—or all but lost. Even in my days at Halig-liath, a boy was thought to be a prodigy if he carried a strong enough Gift to Weave images as you girls did today. And only if that spark showed early, was it fanned.”
She stopped pacing and faced them. “Well, you are prodigies, but more than that, you’ve now got the discipline to make your Speakweaves consistent and clear. And you can teach others. Iseabal, I’d like you to go back to Nairne to teach your father and anyone else who dares to learn. And Aine, I’d like you to go to Creiddylad to instruct the believers there. Most especially Lealbhallain and Fhada.”
Aine’s eyes flickered to Wyth’s suddenly ashen face while Iseabal cried, “Leave you, Taminy? Leave you? How can I?”
Taminy dropped to her knees before the distraught girl and took her hands. “Anwyl,” she said, and let the endearment carry her love between them. “It wouldn’t be forever. And you’ve family there, so you wouldn’t be alone. You and I will always be able to touch somewhere above and beyond this.” She squeezed Iseabal’s fingers. “But your poor, dear father has only his dreams. Of the Osraed at Halig-liath faithful to the Meri, only Tynedale has a great Gift for the Speakweave, and he’s half-forgotten how to use it. Through you, I would be able to speak to them, and once they’ve learned to discipline the aidan—”
“Then I could return?”
Taminy nodded. “Then you could return. Will you go to Nairne, Isha?”
“I’ll attempt anything you ask, Taminy. You must believe I can do it.”
“I believe you can do anything that needs to be done,” Taminy told her. She raised her head to regard the other two, very much aware of the tension skittering between them. It was no more than she expected. “Well, Aine, will you go to Creiddylad?”
Aine flushed. “Surely you can’t mean for me to instruct Osraed.”
“Well, there are no doubt things they can teach you, as well, but yes, that’s just what I mean for you to do.”
“But Creiddylad . . . it’s so far away. I’ll be among enemies, strangers—”
“Now, Aine. Leal-mac-Mercer is hardly a stranger to you.”
“But I’m sure I couldn’t send a Speakweave that far or receive one.”
Taminy shook her head. “Distance makes no difference. You know that. Aine, I know I’m asking you to do a hard thing, but I must ask. There’s no one else to send.”
Aine bowed her head, trying to hide her expression. That she might hide from Taminy, but not the fears and anxieties and disappointments that lay behind it, filling her eyes with tears.
“I know. And I understand why someone’s needed there, it’s just . . . I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go.”
Wyth cleared his throat noisily and said, “You’ll want them to leave with The Claeg, then.”
“I hope he’ll agree to take them. I thought he could head north to Nairne and leave Isha with her family, then ferry Aine to Creiddylad.”
Wyth nodded, his eyes, for a moment, seeming unable to focus.
Taminy knew his thoughts had had similar problems of late. “Is there something wrong, Wyth?” she asked softly.
The large, dark eyes snapped to sudden clarity. “Ah, no, Mistress. I was just meandering.”
Aine, her tears abandoned, clambered to her feet. “Well, that’s that, then. I’d best go pack my gear.”
A sonorous tolling began outside, bringing Wyth to his feet, as well. “That will be the Claeg coming in. I’d best consult with Catahn. How long do you think they’ll stay?”
Taminy regarded him soberly, knowing she made him want to twitch. “Some days, I imagine. His men will be weary.”
He nodded. He glanced at Aine. “I’d best go, then.”
Taminy got to her feet, bringing Iseabal with her. “You girls, too. Aine’s right. You’d best start packing; make sure you’ve got good warm traveling clothes. If you’ve not, tell Eyslk or Eldress Levene.”
Iseabal gave her a kiss on the cheek and left quickly; the others lingered for a moment more as if caught in an invisible eddy, then scurried to the door, nearly colliding on the threshold. Aine, seeming near tears again, shrugged through first and ran off down the hall.
“Wyth.” Taminy halted him before he’d quite gotten himself back in motion, and came to him at the door. “What is it, Wyth?”
He closed himself up for a second, then hesitated, then opened himself, revealing a thick stew of confusion and not a little embarrassment. He said, “Must you send, Aine?”
“Must I send Aine,” she repeated, laying subtle stress on the name.
“I’ve grown fond of her.” He searched her face, eyes direct. “But you know that, don’t you?”
Taminy smiled. “Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but you do scrap a lot.”
He blushed. “I suppose we do. It’s uncertainty, I guess. We’ve not spoken of it, even to each other. Most of our conversations, as you’ve obviously noticed, seem to be Aine thrusting and me parrying. She’s a strong-willed girl.”
“Like Meredydd.”
Wyth could hide neither his surprise nor his wistfulness at the mention of that name. “I . . . In some ways, yes. She is like Meredydd. Though she’s more sure of herself than ever Meredydd was . . . No. I’m wrong in that, aren’t I? Meredydd knew what she wanted . . . It wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me. She was destined for the Meri. She . . .” He shook his head.
“It’s still difficult for you to talk about.”
He took a deep breath. “Some day
s. Some nights. Some moments. Yes. Meredydd is still with me. And when the Meri speaks to me, it’s Meredydd’s voice I hear.”
“You asked if I must send Aine. The answer is ‘yes, I must.’ Listen,” she insisted, when he opened his mouth to protest, “and I’ll tell you why I must.” She glanced past him into the hall. “Please close the door and come back to the fire.”
He did as bidden and they sat before the great stone hearth, knee to knee; she, holding his elongated hands; he, trying to read her eyes.
“I didn’t lie when I said Aine and Iseabal were the most ready.”
“I didn’t mean—!”
“Shush! Now, Airleas has a powerful Gift, and Gwynet and Eyslk are purer channels. But Airleas must stay here with me, and Gwynet is too young for this task, and Eyslk is just discovering her Gift.”
“There’s still Phelan.”
“Phelan lacks the native talent. He’ll do his best work for you in the academics when he’s fully trained.”
“What about Skeet? I know he Speakweaves as easily as he speaks aloud. He seems as comfortable with the Art as you do.”
“Yes. But Skeet must also stay here—for my benefit,” she added when his lips moved to ask why. “The only other people I could send would be Desary, who would draw immediate suspicion in Creiddylad . . . and you.”
“Me?”
“You’ve the Gift and the power and the discipline. Do you wish to finish your work in Creiddylad?” Now he wanted to look away and could not. She held his eyes tighter than she held his hands.
“But . . . but, Taminy—Mistress. The Meri, Herself, made me Weard to the Covenant.”
“Aye, she did.”
“You are the Covenant. The embodiment of it. To leave your side would be an act of betrayal. Nor can I complete my work apart from you. The collection of the ancient texts is all but finished. What I commit to writing now must fall from your lips.”
“This is all true,” she agreed. “So you see, I’m left with Aine and Iseabal.”
Crystal Rose Page 5
