"You will carry this with you forever, Eskeriel. I am sorry."
Tuchek hunched his shoulders as if recoiling from a blow. "I should have listened to you, Jecha. I was wrong."
"What is done cannot be amended. The past is past."
Tuchek's face shot up, and for a moment Aelfric saw a fierce reflection of the previous night's madness there. "No, Jecha. The past is not past. I swear by the blood of my mother's house that I will avenge this. I swear it on the bloodright I relinquished. Whoever is responsible for this, be he king, priest or godling, will know the wrath of Rakond-a-Briech-a-Dhaur."
Jecha looked in the direction of the two younger men and put her hand over Tuchek's mouth. "Do not speak that name aloud again, Eskeriel. The time for that name is not come."
Tuchek closed his eyes and nodded grimly. "Not yet, Jecha, but the time will come."
"You said it never would."
"This changes everything I ever said, Jecha. Surely you know that."
The old woman stood silent, fixing him with an ageless stare. Her one milky eye lent her face an even more witch-like caste than usual. There was an unspoken question in the look she gave him.
"Well?" He knew she wanted something, and in his present situation he could hardly refuse.
"A reading." She neither raised her voice nor changed her inflection, but the words were clearly a command.
"You know I don't want you to do that." She said nothing, but continued to stare at him. Finally he nodded, resignedly. "All right. When do you want to do it?"
"Now. In my wagon." She looked over at Aelfric and Haim. "You two, come with us."
"What is it?" Aelfric was tired and half ready to leave.
"I am going to read your fortunes." Aelfric gave a derisive snort, but Haim grew pale and serious.
"I don't want no fortune telling." The big half-breed squirmed uncomfortably.
"Why not? Do you have something to hide?" The old woman demanded, plainly in no mood to argue.
"I got nothing to hide, Jecha. I just don't hold with spook-pushing is all." Haim's big hands flexed nervously as he answered her, and he couldn't bring his eyes to meet hers.
"You think that foretelling makes things come true, is that it?" Haim did not reply. Jecha looked at Aelfric, standing beside his friend. "And what about you? Are you afraid of me, too?"
"I'm not afraid of your fortune telling, Jecha." Aelfric tried to keep from sounding scornful. "I just don't see what good it will do anybody. I hardly think this is an appropriate time…"
"Let me decide what is appropriate, child." Jecha interrupted. "If you are not afraid, I will read the tale of your blood and I may tell you something you can use. Or perhaps I can tell you nothing. Either way, it will cost you nothing but a single drop of blood. Do you refuse?"
"No. Like I said, I'm not afraid. If this is what you want to do, I'm willing." He looked over at Haim with an expression that plainly said they should humor the old woman. Haim shrugged at last, giving up.
"You first." She pointed at Aelfric. Aelfric shrugged. If the old woman wanted to give him a palm reading he was hardly in a position to object. The horrible events of the night past had probably unhinged her sanity, so if this was what she needed to do to feel useful, he would humor her. He'd grown up hearing stories about the Entreddi and their travelling caravans, and fortune telling was one of the ways they earned their bread. At least it was honest, unlike the other stories he'd heard about them. Haim's superstitious fear of having the witch woman read his palm would have been amusing under other circumstances. Aelfric had conveniently forgotten his own superstitious dread at striking what he'd thought was a warlock the night before.
"Can the others watch?" Aelfric felt certain that once Haim saw how harmless the old woman's antics were he would be more willing to go along with it.
"The reading is your private affair." She answered. "It is up to you whether to allow them to see what I do." Aelfric nodded to Haim, who reluctantly dragged his feet toward the garishly painted door of the seeress' wagon. Fortunately, no one had been in Jecha's wagon the night before, so no damage had been done to it. It was not one of the wagons they'd had to drag the bodies of children out of.
The interior was dark, for the single window was shuttered and the sun was hidden behind low-lying flat clouds. The moist air promised rain by nightfall, only two or three hours away. Cleaning up after the nightmare of the previous evening had taken most of the day while the weather changed. Aelfric took his seat on a low bench at Jecha's direction. Before him was a low, round table, the wood stained nearly black with age. Beneath the dark surface Aelfric had the impression of carved runes, their edges now merely darker shadows on the flat tabletop. A cloth bag, loosely tied with a string, held a variety of small dice at the table's edge. Aelfric moved his hand toward the bag, idly curious.
"Do not touch the stones!" Jecha hissed. "Just leave them in the bag. They do not concern you."
Aelfric pulled his hand back as if stung. Haim, behind him, drew in a sharp breath. Aelfric saw that the old woman had drawn a small knife out of one of the hundreds of small drawers that lined the interior walls of the wagon. Except for the single shuttered window, a short bunk covered in tangled bedding and the table and chairs, the wagon's interior was devoid of furnishings. The drawers were built into the darkly wooded walls.
Aelfric saw the knife in the witch-woman's left hand, and in the right she held a vial of liquid, filled with what looked like clear water. Jecha explained. "The waters of the Bone, Redwater, Dunwater and ten other rivers are in the vial. They shall tell us what your blood has to say."
"You mean to cut me?"
"Just a tiny cut." Jecha replied. "You will hardly feel it. Only a single drop of your blood is needed for this part of the reading. Do you object?"
Aelfric hesitated only a moment before shaking his head. "If you don't mind, though, I'd like to do the cutting."
Jecha nodded as if the request was not at all unusual. "Of course. I don't expect you to trust an old witch woman to put a blade into you. You can examine the blade to ensure that it is not poisoned." She set the glass vial of water into an ornate stand, lit a small oil lamp and directed Aelfric on what to do. He nicked his palm and obediently squeezed a single drop into the vial.
The blood was heavier than the water. It struck the surface, leaving a slight oily circle, then sank quickly. Three times the blood seemed to stairstep as it sank, leaving a dark, threadlike trail staggered at three different points. The third time the blood seemed to pool, just slightly above the bottom of the vial. Aelfric heard the old woman's breath catch with something like fear. Her one good eye widened perceptibly.
"What is it?" His tone was bemused.
"Wait!" She snapped. Jecha looked at the vial closely and muttered, half to herself. "Dolwin, Calmiough...and the South Fork of the Rolling Foam." There was a slight hesitation in her voice before she uttered the last name, as if she'd been about to say something else. She shook her head in slight disbelief and looked into his eyes. There was a wariness there, just beneath the surface.
"Thrice accursed is a blessing." Her smile was cryptic, and she quickly suppressed whatever emotion she'd felt earlier. "Your blood carries three of the river curses."
"What does that mean, I shouldn't go swimming?" Aelfric failed to keep the amusement out of his voice.
"You joke, young man, but it is not a joke at all. You cannot hide your knowledge and fear behind a jest. Not from me. Don't try to tell me that you never heard of the curse on your blood from Vantarmin's Duke. The Arouth blood is plain in you, even in your face."
Aelfric's jaw stiffened suddenly and he felt his face grow hot. "So you know who I am, then. Or at least you guessed who my father was. The blood curse isn't exactly a secret." The so-called blood curse of the D'root family was well-known, at least among the Tolrissan exiles in Mortentia. The curse had been placed on the family of Duke Arouth of Vantarmin nearly four hundred years earlier, a blood curse from th
e princess Teriella of Tolrissa. The story was well-known, and most of those of Tolrissan descent living in Mortentia had some blood connection to the Arouth family. Jecha had probably pronounced this blood curse on half the Tolrissan custom in her wagon.
"I did not know, Aelfric. Not until just this moment." Jecha's face was sincere. "You are in straight line to the duke, also. You know that I couldn't know that from rumor."
"All right." He conceded. "Let's say some witchery in this water tells you about the blood curse. What are the other 'river curses' you were talking about?"
"These come of the maternal line. As the waters of the great rivers roll unceasing to the sea, so flows the lifeblood through the veins of those accursed. You bear the curse of the river Dolwin from your father's side, and that's the Arouth curse, the most recent although hardly the strongest. You also carry the curse of the river Calmiough, and that is much older. Probably that is Jelian's curse. The deepest and oldest curse, and the most powerful, is that of the South Fork of the Rolling Foam River. There can be no mistake about it, you carry the curse of Ulmerith. Both the Calmiough and the Rolling Foam curses come of the maternal line, hence the movement of the blood to the south."
Aelfric looked at the trail of blood in the water of the vial, even as it seemed to be vanishing. "What does that all mean, then?"
"Thrice cursed is a blessing, or so the saying goes. I can tell you what your curses are, if memory serves. When Teriella put blade into her flesh and poured her lifeblood into the Dolwin, she cursed Vantarmin's Duke, thus: You and all of your people will lose everything you gain and never prosper."
Aelfric sighed impatiently. "I've heard that one." So had every child born in one of the lineal houses that came from Duke Arouth's blood. Many in the family, including his father, had attributed the slow decline in the fortunes of House D'root to the curse.
"Patience." The old woman's voice was brittle. "The second curse comes from Jelian. When Jelian was slain by the black sorcerer whom we do not name, he declared his blood curse on the bank of the Calmiough River: You will never know peace until the end of time. He laid this curse on the sorcerer and all who served him, of whom there were many famous Tolrissans. Undoubtedly this comes down your blood from one of them."
"And who was Jelian?" Aelfric demanded.
"He was a Sustuli rebel who fought against the Dragon Emperor during the Age of Dragons. He was cornered in Vherador and killed by him near to the river Calmiough, which carries the curse. You've probably never heard his legend, which is understandable. Only the Sustuli really concern themselves with it. The sorcerer and the Dragon Emperor were one and the same."
"And the last curse?"
"The third curse is the greatest one, and it is oldest, although in time it was not laid before Jelian's curse. That is the blood curse laid by the Dragon Emperor on Ulmerith."
"I've heard of Ulmerith, but I never heard of him being cursed." Although Aelfric's knowledge of history was sparse, he remembered Ulmerith as the legendary Tolrissan hero who had begun the overthrow of the Dragon Empire some thousand years ago or more.
"This is not the Ulmerith you know, nor even his son. Ulmerith the third was the grandson of Ulmerith the Great. This Ulmerith went alone to the Dreamer's Tower and killed the Dragon Emperor who was then in hiding there. His greatness was never really recognized, except for by a few loremasters -and old crones like myself. When he killed the Dragon Emperor a blood curse was laid on him, one that that evil sorcerer had long prepared. Whosoever slayeth me, he and his shall know utter despair. It is interesting and strange to find both Jelian's curse and the Dragon Emperor's curse on the same blood line."
"So, if I understand what you are saying, not only will I lose everything I ever gain, but I'm also never going to know peace and I get to know utter despair?" Aelfric made a wry face. "Things don't look so good for me, then, do they?"
"Do not laugh, child." Jecha shook her head. "It is given to few to change what is in their blood, Aelfric, but the saying is 'thrice accursed is a blessing'. The gods do not favor blood curses, although they enforce them. Even the gods are halt to continue curses to as many generations as have passed since your blood was tainted, and three curses? It must be counterbalanced by some good fortune. Thus the saying that you are blessed."
Aelfric folded his arms across his chest and frowned at Jecha. He felt he had humored her far enough. "All right, Jecha. Thank you for your reading. Do I owe you something for it?"
Jecha shook her head bitterly, plainly discouraged at the young man's disbelief. "You have much to learn, Aelfric. This much at least the blood tells me, you will have much adversity to teach you wisdom."
"Then we're through?"
"We are."
"Fine." He turned to Haim and nodded him toward the table as he rose from it. "Your turn, freeman."
"I'd like to do this alone, Jecha." Haim said, muttering so that Aelfric barely heard. He shook his head at the half-breed's qualms, then moved around the big man awkwardly in the cramped, dark space as he left he wagon. He found Tuchek standing outside, his arms crossed and his expression grim.
"Well?" The blademaster's voice was rough.
Aelfric watched him warily. To his dismay, he saw that the man had returned his sword to its scabbard at his belt. "I don't know what you want me to say, Tuchek. She told me a lot of things that made absolutely no sense to me."
Tuchek nodded. "About what you should expect, I'd imagine. That is a fine sword you wear."
Surprised at the change in subject, Aelfric looked down at the hilt of his long sword in its scabbard. "It was a gift from my father on the day I completed my sword training. He said I should have a weapon to match my skill."
Tuchek raised one eyebrow. "That's Orrville steel, unless I miss my guess. Is your skill so great?"
"Arker steel, and it's just a sword, Tuchek. I've never even fought a real duel." He did not mention the fact that he had ultimately reached the point in sparring where he could beat even the best of his successively more skilled teachers more times than not.
"You killed that thing yesterday."
Aelfric nodded, but painfully. "I had no choice."
Tuchek considered him for a moment longer. "Well, take care of the blade, Aelfric. It is a fine weapon. Who was your father, anyway, to know such skill?"
"My father was Hambar D'root." Aelfric's reply was testy. The news of his father's death was too fresh for him to wish to be reminded of it.
"I know Hambar D'root." Tuchek's reply was considered, his eyes measuring. "If he said you had earned the blade, then I would say you had."
"How did you know my father?"
Tuchek hesitated, plainly trying to decide how much he should say. Finally, he said, "Your father's reputation as a blademaster is well-deserved, and he is a famous man in some circles. Among those who truly know the blade, his name is known by all." Even Aelfric could tell that there was more to the truth than the Aulig told, but he did not ask for more.
Inside the wagon Haim watched Jecha like a field mouse eyeing a snake. Unlike Aelfric, he permitted the old woman to prick his finger for him, and he watched with fascination as his blood sank into the clear river water. Unlike Aelfric's blood, Haim's did not leave any kind of film on the top of the water but sank instead in a single ball, leaving no trail behind it. Only once, as it descended, did it seem to jag slightly before coming to rest at the bottom of the vial. Jecha nodded to herself.
"You are a good lad." She smiled at the big man, and he sighed with relief.
"Is that all?" He asked nervously. He had been expecting to hear of some long lost curse on his blood like Aelfric's.
She shook her head slightly. "No, that is not all. You are ashamed of your mother and you despise both halves of your blood. Your mother was a simple peasant girl and your father was a powerful man of the ruling line. You must understand that she had no choice in the matter of your conception."
Haim's face reddened. "How do you know that?"
&
nbsp; "Some of it is written in the tale of your blood, and the shame you carry like a talisman. Any old crone could see as much as Jecha does in this reading. There is more, however."
"Do I want to hear it?"
"I don't know what you want to hear, Haim. It could profit you."
Haim took a deep breath, as if reluctant to enter deep water. Then he nodded.
"You are good to the bone, Haim, there is no evil in you. Not even the taint you imagine comes from your father's line. Your blood is pure, even if it is mixed. This is rarer than you might imagine in these waning days of the Age of Sorrows. You will come to face a great challenge in the dark days to come. I ask only that you remember a few words."
"What words?"
"Simply these: What the heart wills, the spirit can accomplish. Even beneath the painted shadows there remains a trace of light."
"Painted shadows?"
"When the Lord of Night battled against the Lord of Light in the days of creation, he painted shadows beneath all things that lie beneath the sun to hide the darkness in. It was a tremendous defeat for the Lord of Light, but even in the shadows all is not dark. No matter how dark things become, Haim, if you are willing to see clearly, you will see light."
Haim scratched his head. "So what does that all mean, Jecha?"
"I'm sorry, Haim." Her ancient face remained solemn, even as she spoke. "I can't give you anything clearer to go by. For your future, I can say only that you will be tested severely, perhaps even as severely as your friend Aelfric, and when that happens, you must listen. Listen with heart and mind and love, and the purity of your love may save you."
Haim frowned. "Your pardon, mother, but I don't see no magic in what you're saying."
She shook her head sadly. "I'm not a witch, Haim. I don't do magic, at least not what you were expecting. I can only tell you what I see."
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 19
