THE SOUL WEAVER

by Carol Berg

  “Surely it could not be the discipline Leirans call natural science?” Karon stooped until his face was on a level with mine, his blue eyes wide and teasing. “All those ‘nasty plant names and vile animal parts when one should only care about beauty and usefulness’?”

  I slapped him - not hard - and shoved his face away. “All right. So natural science was never my strength. And, the bright muses bless him, Tennice knows even less than I, so we’ve eased up on Gerick for now. But in everything else Gerick excels. More important” - I dropped my voice a bit and pulled him farther along the path, letting foolery carry us into more serious realms - “he speaks freely of his childhood at Comigor and so many things we thought he might never acknowledge. And a few times - not many yet - he’s made a passing reference to his life in Zhev’Na. Just as you hoped he would.”

  “But as to sorcery… ”

  “He still won’t discuss it, and I’ve seen no evidence he’s tried to work any enchantment.”

  Karon stopped again, leaning his back against the brick wall of the kitchen garden, shaking his head in puzzled disbelief. “He seems to think he can give it up. Does he have any idea…? He’s sixteen; he’ll be coming into his primary talent any time now, which will make abstaining infinitely more difficult… ”

  “… just like all the other tricks nature plays between twelve and eighteen,” I said.

  He smiled ruefully. “Life can seem quite a jumble in the middle of it.”

  “You won’t believe how he’s grown. He’s almost as tall as Ka - you… were. Before.” I almost bit my tongue. Everlasting curses, you stupid woman…

  “You mean the real me.”

  There it was… the false note that would sneak its way into the harmonies of our time together. Why could I not reconcile myself to his change? In everything of importance, this was the man I had married. I couldn’t blame him for the traces of sadness and bitterness that lingered long after his words had been spoken. Yet this very response embodied the subtle differences that still bothered me. The sadness was Karon. The bitterness, never.

  I tried to shake it off. How could I regret anything? He was with me. “The first you,” I said, unable to look him in the eye.

  Gently, he took my hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his brow, a gesture of affection that had its origin, not in the magical world of the Dar’Nethi, but here in courtly Valleor, the country of his youth in the human world. We turned and walked back toward the house, letting comfortable familiarity soothe the awkwardness. The disturbance was not gone, though. How could we ever explore these things when we never had time? Each visit was the same. No sooner had we reintroduced ourselves to each other and laid bare the questions that needed to be answered than it came time for him to go.

  “Forgive me, Seri. Soon… I promise… ” Karon had never used his power to read my thoughts uninvited. But then, he had rarely needed to. I seemed to be incapable of hiding what I felt.

  Despite my unhappiness, I could not send Karon back to Avonar burdened with my resentments. I took his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to my own brow, trying to absorb the feel of him… the smell of him… the truth of him. Then I nodded toward the kitchen door. “You’ll see Gerick before you go?” Concern for our son was one matter on which our opinions did not diverge.

  “If he’s willing. I suppose he’ll be no easier with me.”

  “It’s true you’re not his first topic of conversation, and yet, just yesterday he asked when it was you’d studied here at Verdillon.”

  “He says so little when we’re together. I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I don’t want to push, but with the Circle complete, Marcus and the others in place in Zhev’Na, and now, Jayereth’s news… I’m giving her a fortnight to refine her working, and then I’ll send out scouts for the last reports from the borders. It’s one reason I wanted to come tonight. Once we close the Circle, I won’t be able to leave until we see how the Lords respond. If anything should happen to me… I’ve so much to tell him, things I’ve learned about this strange world he’s destined to govern. We need to move forward. If only he’d talk to me, give me a sign that he’s ready to listen.”

  “Don’t fret. He’s reserved with all of us, not only you. He just needs more time with you - to learn how different you are from what the Lords taught him. Trust comes only with time and experience.”

  Karon had given Gerick back his human eyes and restored to our son his mortal life, doing his best to heal the wounds of a childhood lived in fear, loneliness, cruelty, and murder. But even Karon’s blessed magic could not undo Gerick’s greatest injury. As a child, living in my brother’s house, Gerick had isolated himself because he could do things our world called “vile sorcery.” And when the Lords had stolen him away to Zhev’Na, they had fostered and nurtured his belief in his own evil, linking it with destiny and power and inevitability. By the time Gerick understood how they had deceived him, he had become so steeped in their hatred and suspicion he scarcely knew how to live in any other way. And the Lords’ first, last, and most enduring lesson had been mistrust of his father.

  We found Gerick waiting in the library, perched on the back of a chair reading a book. He showed no surprise. He must have spotted Karon and me from a window.

  “My lord.” Gerick, at sixteen only slightly beyond middle height, tossed his book aside, sprang to his feet, and bowed formally to Karon.

  Karon returned the bow and then stepped close, touching Gerick’s shoulder and smiling. “You’ve grown fairly these months, Gerick. How do Tennice and your mother keep you in clothes and boots?”

  “I don’t need much,” said Gerick. Serious. Neutral. Karon’s hand might have been a stray leaf fallen on his shirt. “How long can you stay?”

  Karon’s hand fell back to his side. “Not long, unfortunately. Not long at all. I’d like to tell you - Would you walk with me a bit?”

  “Of course.”

  I watched them as they strolled through the garden in the dusky light, one tall and broad in the shoulder, one slender and wiry, each with his hands clasped carefully behind his back. In their brief times together, Karon tried to explain both the history and the current politics of his realm. Gerick listened, but, as with so many things, offered no opinions of his own and refused to be drawn into conversation. All too soon they were coming back through the library door.

  “Seri, love, I’ve got to go” - an extraordinary brightness filled Karons eyes - “but my plans have changed a little. I’m taking Gerick with me.”

  Astonishment almost stole my breath. “Across the Bridge. Are you sure? Is he - ?”

  I looked from one to the other. Gerick’s demeanor reflected none of Karon’s unspoken joy and excitement, only the same sober reserve he displayed on each of Karon’s visits.

  “Gerick, are you ready to do this? Has it been long enough? To cross… to go to Avonar… such a big step… ” So near Zhev’Na.

  “With all that’s going on in Avonar this seems like an important time,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

  Such vague reassurance did not soothe my unease in the least. “Karon, shouldn’t you prepare him… for those he’ll meet?”

  The Lords had taught Gerick to despise his father’s people, and, indeed, almost every Dar’Nethi our son had encountered had tried to deceive, corrupt, or murder him. And the Dar’Nethi knew almost nothing of Gerick - only that he had been stolen by the Lords, brought up in Zhev’Na, and rescued by his father. Introducing them to each other was going to be a task requiring the utmost delicacy.

  “It’s the middle of the night. No one will even know he’s there. I need to show him the Bridge and the Gate. Where I live. Where I work. I’ll have him back here safely before morning.” Karon’s eyes begged me to understand why I could not come with them.

  Of course I understood; they had to learn to talk, to deal with each other without my serving as intermediary. If this venture was successful, perhaps we could all go next time. Be together… Before I could think wha
t other questions to ask or what cautions to give them, they had walked out of the house and vanished into the light of the rising moon.

  For an hour I paced the library and drawing rooms, desire and anxiety and long-unspoken hopes and possibilities wrestling in my imagination. I imagined the two of them treading the luminous path through the chaotic nightmare visions of the Breach between the worlds, and emerging in the chamber of cold white fire that was the Heir’s Gate, deep in the heart of Avonar. From there they would follow winding passages, where the lamps sprang to life to light the way in front of you and faded as you passed, until they came to the graceful, sprawling rooms of the Heir’s rose-colored palace, the quiet fortress heart of the most beautiful city one could imagine. The safest place in a world inhabited by the Lords of Zhev’Na.

  Hours it would take them to make the passage across the Bridge, hours to make the return journey. If they were to be back before dawn, they would have very little time in Avonar. No time for the Lords to know Gerick was there. For four years Karon had been traveling between Verdillon and the palace, and the Lords had not found us here. Karon knew the risks; he would watch, listen, and be wary.

  A tap on the library door brought our housemaid with a supper tray. “Will you be needing anything else, ma’am?”

  “No. Thank you, Teriza.”

  “I’ll be off then to Mistress Phyllia’s and be back in the morning early. She’s got her a grumpy little mite this time, wails half the night, wakes half the village. You must call Kat to do for you till I’m back.”

  “You’re kind to help the woman. Stay as long as you need. We’ll manage.”

  The house was quiet. Tennice was away in Yurevan, visiting friends at the University. From a distance came the echo of a child’s laughter - Teriza’s niece Kat, most likely enjoying a tease with Paulo while taking him a late supper in the stables. He was sitting with Tennice’s bay mare and her two-day-old foal, the first to be born under Paulo’s sole care.

  I threw a log on the library fire and poked at the smoldering coals until it caught. Then I turned up the lamp beside my chair and pulled needle, thread, and a skirt with a ripped hem from a neglected basket on the floor. Though I detested sewing, stitching helped impose some order on my thoughts…

  A soft kiss on my forehead woke me. Moonlight streamed through the garden door, outlining the shadowed form with silver.

  “Karon… ” I smiled through my lingering dreams, knowing he could sense my pleasure even in the dark.

  “He’s home safely and on his way to bed.” His wide hand brushed away the hair stuck to my cheek. “An uneventful journey. He can tell you. But a first step. Soon, love… soon.”

  He lifted me in his arms, carried me up the stairs, and laid me in my bed, pulling the coverlet over my shoulders. The scents of Verdillon’s emerald grasses and the rustle of ash leaves brushed by soft air drifted through the open window of my room. The leaves were rimmed with silver, and their fluttering created dancing patterns of moonlight on the walls. Another lingering kiss and he was gone. I smiled and slipped into peaceful slumber…

  “No more! I will not!” The agonized cry shattered the night.

  I threw off the coverlet, my sluggish mind struggling to recall why I was in bed fully dressed. But my feet knew what was needed and hurried down the softly lit passage. Gerick huddled in his bed asleep. Fear, revulsion, and denial rolled through the bedchamber like dark waves, pushing me away even as I pulled his quivering shoulders into my embrace. “Gerick. Wake up. You’re safe at Verdillon. Nothing can harm you here.”

  His eyes flew open, but whatever horror they looked upon was not in the realm of waking. He clung to me as if he were in the grip of a whirlwind. “No! Stop!”

  “Gerick, it’s only dreams, just vile, wicked dreams.” I held him tight, stroking his shining hair and rocking him slowly until his fevered trembling eased and his cries died away. As had happened on so many other nights, he blinked and was awake. I knew to let go then. He would accept no comfort once he was awake.

  “What is it, Gerick?” I asked, as he rose from the bed and stood at the open window, a blanket pulled tightly about his shoulders despite the warmth of the night. “What frightens you so?”

  “It’s only dreams. They’re nothing. I’m sorry I wake you.”

  “If only you’d let your father help you.” I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it.

  “I don’t need his help. Please, Mother, I’ll be all right.”

  And so, as always, I kissed his forehead and returned to my room. From my window, I watched him stride across the moonlit courtyard toward the stables, ready to drag Paulo from his bed to join him for a predawn gallop through the neighboring fields and forests. Once again I blessed Paulo, who seemed to be the only person Gerick could turn to in his need. When I returned to my bed, I lay puzzling again at what triggered Gerick’s nightmares, the bright hopes of the evening tarnished.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gerick had already finished breakfast by the time I went downstairs the morning after Karon’s visit. I didn’t know whether he’d ever gone back to bed, but he always did exercises in the yard before his breakfast, so any sleeping he’d done would have been very short. In late morning I found him in the library, standing next to a small table on which lay an open book. He was running his fingers over the page, and he started when I wished him a good morning.

  “Ah, just the person I need.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the large library worktable, patting a pile of manuscripts and papers. “You must rescue me. Tennice set me to read fifty pages on Leiran-Vallorean border disputes by tomorrow, but my Vallorean just isn’t good enough to make any sense of it. Do you have time to give me a boost?”

  “Of course. But you must pay my fee first. You can guess I’m rabid to know about last night. Your father said the journey was uneventful… ”

  Gerick’s face closed down and his whole body tightened, as always happened with any direct questioning. His hand on the stack of papers fell motionless. I would have sworn he had stepped away from me, though his feet had not moved. But then he shrugged his shoulders and glanced up, before quickly averting his eyes. “The Bridge was amazing, the crossing not half so fearful as I expected. Horrible things all around, but not touching me this time. Not inside me. It felt almost… familiar.”

  I shuddered a little, recalling our journey out of Zhev’Na through the chaotic Breach.

  “And the Gate… I’d never imagined it, the power of the enchantment. But it was a long journey for the short time we spent on the other side - less than an hour. He showed me his apartments, his private library, and a marvelous map of the whole world of Gondai that hangs in the air, so you can see the actual landforms and the mountains rising up from the plains. We walked down the passage to his lectorium, but he heard one of his Preceptors still working in there, so we didn’t go in. He hadn’t expected anyone to be about. We were out of time, anyway.”

  He pulled a chair up close to the worktable and drew his papers toward him. “I’d best get to work now.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Mmm.” He dug a thick sheaf of papers from the stack. “Here’s what I was having trouble with… ”

  We spent a pleasant hour with no further mention of the night’s adventure or his nightmare. When he had his task well in hand, I took up the letter I’d come to finish.

  As the clock in the hall below us struck the noon hour, Gerick threw down his pen and shoved a rolled manuscript across the table. “That will have to be enough,” he said. “My eyes have gone crossways, and the pen’s gouged a ridge through my fingers.”

  “I doubt you’ll suffer the ill effects for long,” I said. “It’s an important subject. Border disputes are blamed for every war between Leire and Valleor, but if you read the histories, you’ll see how much more there is to it. Leirans think of Valloreans as soft and corrupt. Valloreans think of Leirans as ignorant barbarians. Both are quite wrong. And someday you’ll recognize wha
t a liberal-minded statement that is from your Leiran mother!”

  “I don’t see what use it is for me to learn such things.” He stripped off his coat and threw it on a chair. “I’ll finish it later. I need to see what’s up in the stables.”

  Leaving unspoken the motherly platitudes that came to mind, I returned to my own project. Peace, routine, care that did not smother, whatever we could of a normal upbringing in a gentleman’s house, that’s what we tried to provide for Gerick.

  I instructed him in languages, composition, mathematics, “motherly” things like manners, and unmotherly things like the politics of the Four Realms. Tennice tutored him in philosophy, rhetoric, history, and law, and tried to speak with him of matters a sixteen-year-old boy might not wish to discuss with his mother. Paulo was his friend; Teriza, the housemaid, treated him with respectful distance; and thirteen-year-old Kat was his worshipper. He had been uncomfortable, at first, with the serving girl’s unremitting devotion, but her innocent charm had worn away enough of his reserve that he could accept her small services with a solemn and gracious demeanor. It seemed to help that Kat worshipped Paulo in exactly the same way.

  The only area in which our regimen differed from that of most Leiran households was in its emphasis on the intellect at the expense of military training. As a boy at Comigor, Gerick had been provided with a fencing master, and it had been his childhood ambition to be a master of the sword as my brother Tomas - the man he had once believed to be his father - had been.

  But Gerick had not touched a sword since leaving Zhev’Na. He had vowed to forego physical opposition of the Lords when he became one of them, and, to seal his oath, the Three had melted his weapon as it lay on his palms, scarring them horribly. Karon didn’t know whether Gerick’s refusal to take up the weapon again was based in the belief that using a sword in any way would be a violation of his vow - bearing arms against those he had sworn not - or whether the experiences of Zhev’Na had somehow made the sword repugnant to him. The question remained as yet another mystery Gerick could not or would not explain.