“Why fortunately? It sounds like a good thing.”
“It’s more trouble than it’s worth. If you see time in two dimensions, the future is as fixed as the past. Keovan was a rare sorcerer who was fully aware of two-dimensional time and still able to cope with other people.”
“Wasn’t he the one who founded the Coven?”
“No. His apprentices did after his death. Keovan couldn’t have started the Protectorate. He was too overwhelmed by the ultimate futility of everything.”
“The Protectorate doesn’t seem futile to me.”
“Nothing can last forever. One day, the Protectorate will fall. Four centuries of peace have produced a tenfold increase in the region’s population. There are now over fifty million citizens. When the Protectorate goes, most will die, one way or another. And if I were permanently conscious that all the good I could achieve would only make for a bigger catastrophe at the end, I’d be as paralysed as Keovan.”
“But you think I have this sense?”
“Nothing like enough to cause problems. I’d guess it’s working a fraction of a second into the future and only giving you critical information, such as where your enemy is about to strike.”
“How does it work?”
“You know what you were doing. How did it feel? How did you know where to move?”
Tevi looked thoughtful. “It sounded as if my old weapons instructor was giving advice in my head. I thought I was just remembering her lessons.”
“That’s the way your mind rationalised the information.”
“I never got it on Storenseg.”
“It’s obviously a sort of magic that won’t work on your islands.”
“I’m not sure if I like the idea.” Tevi frowned.
“I’d have thought it would be very useful to you. But if you want to block it out, wear iron or steel armour, particularly a helmet. Your sword will impair your precognition, although the wooden handle will insulate you to some extent. If, on the other hand, you want to make more use of it, you could get a rune sword that’s been crafted to harmonise with temporal currents, but those swords are expensive.”
“Supposing one day, the voice screams, ‘You’re going to die’?”
“Then it won’t make any difference.”
Tevi swung her sword back and forth pensively. “How rare is this extra sense?”
“Hard to tell. Many people have limited paranormal senses, but not enough to use. Just vague feelings. Sorcerers are rare; there are less than five hundred of us in the Coven. Witches are far more common—people with good use of one or two extra senses. For example, healers only need the sense we call aura empathy. They also make good farmers.”
“That doesn’t sound very magical.”
“Plants have auras, too. Aura empathy is the most widespread of paranormal senses. It works virtually everywhere. Some people on your islands must have had it, though they probably weren’t aware what it was. Senses are so personal. You assume that everyone sees the world the same way you can. Like your tunnel vision. But, think about it. Didn’t you find some people were good at looking after plants...green-fingered?”
“Like my Aunt Han.” Tevi’s face brightened. “I remember her shouting, ‘Any fool can see the peas need watering!’ It may have been obvious to her; it wasn’t to the rest of us.”
Jemeryl nodded. “That’s a typical remark from someone who can see the aura of plants.”
For the first time in days, Tevi smiled directly at Jemeryl. The sorcerer felt her heart thump, but before she could speak, Tevi’s face hardened. The warrior spun and attacked the phantom with a ferocious slash. Taking the hint, Jemeryl rose and went upstairs to her study.
*
Four afternoons later, Jemeryl sat alone and disheartened. The search for Abrak was going badly. So far, she had come up with only two possible names, both of which were later discounted. It seemed as if sorcerers disappeared inexplicably even less often than might be imagined. She slammed the book shut and thumped her fist on the cover.
Klara looked on critically. “You could always throw it at the wall if you think it would help.”
“I ought to have found something by now. Perhaps the Abrak story is a complete fantasy. Someone’s idea of a joke.”
“And the magic chalice was really just an old beer mug?”
Jemeryl sighed. “No, that wouldn’t make sense either. The chalice must be genuine. Otherwise, someone wouldn’t have bothered sending the bird to get it. And the strength potion is genuine as well. You can see the effect on Tevi.”
“And I can see the effect of Tevi on you. You’re really keen on her, aren’t you?”
“She doesn’t want to know.” The pain showed on Jemeryl’s face. “I can’t make her out. Most of the time, she cold-shoulders me completely. Then her guard slips, and she acts like she wants...” Jemeryl’s voice trailed off in despair.
Klara stood on one leg and examined the claw on the other foot. “And they have the nerve to call sorcerers temperamental. But I’m sure she’ll make up her mind about you in the end.”
“There isn’t much time and I don’t know what to do. Tevi will be ready to leave soon, and she’s determined I can’t go with her. I’ve got my future in the Coven to consider.”
“She can’t stop you following her.”
“I don’t want her to be frightened of me. I want her to like me.”
“Like?”
“If she can’t manage anything else.” Jemeryl’s thoughts churned in the state of chaos that Tevi normally inspired. She buried her face in her hands.
“Gods, you’ve got it bad.”
Goaded into action, Jemeryl sprung up and marched to the bookcase. “I’m going to broaden my search. My grandfather’s history of Walderim is here somewhere.”
A smile touched Jemeryl’s face at the memory of the old man, the only one of her blood kin who had not been frightened of her; the only one she had any fondness for. He had come from Walderim and had pretensions of being a scholar—hence, his history. The only good memories from her childhood were of him and her foster mother, the witch. The only items from her birthplace she still had with her were the copy of his book, given as a present on the day she left for Lyremouth, and a good luck charm from her foster mother. Jemeryl’s own skill now far exceeded the elementary charm, and the book was not well written. Her grandfather’s view of his own talents had been rather inflated, but both items were a source of comfort when she was feeling low.
Jemeryl pulled the volume from the shelf and hugged it tightly, eyes closed. She felt in desperate need of comfort right now. Then, with a resolute expression, she returned to the table and opened the cover.
*
After sunset that evening, the two women wrapped themselves in thick cloaks and went for a walk around the battlements. Distant ice-capped mountains faded away into soft purple shadows. A few faint stars glinted in the dark blue overhead. It was the nearest thing to being out in daylight for Tevi since the bandage had been removed, and she looked happy. However, Jemeryl was having to hide her own anxiety. She was not looking forward to the coming conversation, especially since she still had no definite information to support her case.
“Do you think I’ll be able to leave soon?” Tevi asked.
“In a day or two. You could probably go tomorrow, if it isn’t sunny.”
“Oh.” Unaccountably, Tevi seemed deflated by the answer.
Jemeryl rested her arms on the parapet. The road passing under the castle walls was more mud than snow. Soon, Tevi would be riding along it, leaving the valley.
In her most decisive voice, she said, “I’m going with you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
Tevi fiddled with the ties on her cloak in obvious distress. “Because the quest is a wild-goose chase. I haven’t got a hope of finding the chalice, and there was never any expectation that I would. I told you I was an embarrassment to my family. The quest was just an excuse to g
o away and get lost.”
The scenario painted was even sadder than the one Jemeryl had expected, and there was still something that did not tie in. “That was due to your tunnel vision. Now your eyes are fixed, surely it will be different.”
“Maybe not. Anyway, I don’t know how to find the chalice.”
“Which is why you need me with you. I can guess why the chalice was stolen, and that gives me a start in knowing where to look to find it.”
“How?”
“Abrak must have been a herbalist. Her chalice would have been made of crystalline silver —it’s known as a memory chalice. It works like a magical notebook, letting you retrieve the formula for anything that has ever been made in it. That’s why someone would have gone to the effort of tracking down the chalice and snatching it. They must want to reproduce some of her work. Once I work out who Abrak was and what her interests were, we can go to whoever’s currently working in that area. Herbalists exchange information among themselves, so even if the sorcerer we select isn’t the one who took the chalice, they’ll have a good idea who was.”
“But whoever it is won’t just give the chalice back.”
“No reason why not. They must have found out what they wanted to know by now, so they’ll have no further need for the chalice.”
“It’s not that simple.” Tevi’s voice was raw with despair.
“Yes, it is, but you need me with you.”
“Please believe me. I’ve got reasons I can’t tell you. You can’t come with me.”
Jemeryl did not have the option to compromise. “I have to.”
“I don’t want you with me.” Tevi turned to flee. “I’m going inside.”
“I’m not such bad company, am I?” Jemeryl said softly.
Tevi froze, but did not turn back. “It’s nothing to do with...it’s not your fault, but you can’t come with me. I’m sorry.” She disappeared down the steps leading to the courtyard. Her footsteps faded away into the dusk.
“Tevi dashing off like that is getting a bit monotonous,” Klara spoke from a perch on the battlements.
Jemeryl leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the stars. Somehow, she had managed to alienate Tevi. Jemeryl did not have the first idea what she had done wrong, but it was obvious that she had made mistakes as fundamental as those with the villagers.
The likely consequences if she returned to the Coven alone and explained that the warrior had refused her company did not make for pleasant contemplation.
“You’d be lucky to get off with spending the next five years cleaning the Coven latrines.”
Jemeryl suspected that Klara’s flippant comment was nothing short of the truth. “I have no choice. I’ve got to go with her, whether she wants me or not.”
*
Midafternoon on the following day found Tevi in the courtyard playing a fast-moving game of tag with the bears. The sky was overcast, easy on her eyes. The world still wobbled when she twisted quickly, but Tevi no longer found it disconcerting. She was confident that with practice, she could make full use of her new expanded vision, and she was already aware how much easier avoiding the bears was. Trees no longer threw themselves into her path as she dodged.
Tevi hurdled over Ruff’s back. She charged through the kitchen door and collapsed, out of breath, in front of the massive fireplace. The bears lumbered in, also breathing heavily. Tumble flopped down at one side, while Ruff rolled onto his back, wanting his stomach scratched. He rumbled in pleasure when Tevi obliged.
Running her fingers through the thick fur was soothing. Tevi felt in need of something to calm her thoughts, now she was no longer occupied by the game. Her eyes were almost completely healed. The dull light had caused no discomfort; she could probably withstand sunshine. There was no reason to delay departure, yet the thought of saying goodbye was unbearable. Jemeryl’s request to go with her was the final twist of the knife, but it was a risk Tevi dared not take.
Tevi’s face knotted as she explained to Ruff. “It’s not that I don’t want her with me. It’s that I want her too much, and in all the wrong ways. I’ve got to get away.”
Ruff’s stubby tail beat enthusiastically against the floor. He clearly had no idea what she had said.
Tevi got to her feet and walked to the door. Directly opposite, on the far side of the courtyard, were the castle gates.
“Where do I go?” Tevi whispered to herself.
In the first case, it was an easy question to answer: the Rizen guild house, where she could collect Harrick’s pay and return the pony. From there, she could secure another contract, which might take her anywhere in the world. But to what purpose? How much longer was she willing to run?
Of course, it assumed that she would be allowed to leave the castle alone. Jemeryl’s phrasing had shifted from an offer to a request. Should it become an order, Tevi could not legitimately refuse. The word of a Coven sorcerer was law in the Protectorate. So far, Jemeryl had not attempted to use her status. But she could.
Tevi’s only hope would be if her guild masters made a direct appeal to the Guardian, which they were most unlikely to do. The fate of a sorcerer’s magic chalice was clearly a valid Coven concern. If the assistance of one junior mercenary was required, the guild would not refuse.
But if she were to leave in secret, pack her things that night and be gone, what would Jemeryl do? Would she come looking for her ungrateful patient or go after the chalice herself? Tevi had no idea why anyone was interested in the thing, but obviously, it held significance for the sorcerer. If Jemeryl found the chalice, she was welcome to keep it. Tevi made no claim of ownership.
Tevi crossed the courtyard. Her footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. The gatehouse formed an arch over the entrance with its wooden gate. There were no locks or bolts that Tevi could see. However, she had no way to check for magic. Tevi caught hold of the hanging rope and pulled the gate open. If an alarm sounded, Tevi could not hear it.
Bracken-covered hillside rolled down to where trees breached the ruined outer wall. Snow lay in sheltered corners, but spring was on the way. A mild wind from the south had sprung up, bringing rolls of heavy cloud. There seemed to be nothing to stop her from going. Tevi took one hesitant step through the gateway, then another.
Without warning, Jemeryl’s voice rang out. “Tevi. Come here.”
A selection of excuses rushed through Tevi’s head. Heart pounding, she returned to the courtyard. Jemeryl’s head was poked through a window in the small tower.
“What is it?”
“Tevi. Come here. I’ve found her. I’ve found Abrak.”
*
Jemeryl waited on the landing at the top of the stairs in the great hall. “I’ve found her. Come and see,” she called as soon as she saw Tevi enter below. “And I take back my scepticism. I think your story is entirely true. Almost.” Jemeryl ducked back into the study and took her place at the desk in the centre of the room.
Tevi arrived shortly. She pulled over a stool and sat at the other side. “What have you found?”
“Abrak. She was a herbalist from the school at Ekranos.” Jemeryl tapped on an open page. “That much, I could have guessed. But her real name was Lorimal.”
“She’s mentioned in your books?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d have expected. I’m surprised there isn’t more about her, if only as a cautionary tale. But there’s no doubt she’s the one. She was last seen one hundred and fifty-two years ago, paddling a small boat and talking to the seaweed off a beach in Walderim. More than that, she’s the only person in history who could have made the potion the way your story says. Everything ties in. Her speciality was potions producing permanent changes in the body. As a young woman, she was getting quite a name for herself, but then she made her big mistake.” Jemeryl looked up from the book. “Did I tell you how herbalists work by watching the harmonics of auras and projecting their observations back though the underlying planes?”
Tevi’s face screwed into a bemused frown. “M
aybe.”
“Lorimal wanted to improve the process, so she developed a potion to give her intrinsic empathy with plants. After she’d taken it, she could look at a plant and intuitively deconstruct its aura.”
“She could do what?”
“She said the plants talked to her.” Jemeryl was aware that she was being less coherent that usual.
“And she made a mistake?” Tevi was clearly struggling to keep up.
“The mistake was that after she’d taken it, she empathised totally with plants, and there was no antidote. Have you ever tried talking to someone who thinks like a daffodil?”
“My Great-Aunt Wirry?”
Jemeryl laughed. “I’m sure your aunt isn’t in the same league. What happened to Lorimal was that she could no longer relate to humans. Your ancestors assumed that exposure had addled her wits, but she’d been like it for decades. After Lorimal took the potion, she carried on charging around the Protectorate, doing all manner of things that nobody could make sense of. Her only invention with any known use was a cure for mould that infects wheat in the eastern plains. One of the ingredients is a small amount of the farmer’s own blood. Some say it shows the way her mind was running. Most herbalists use plant extracts to heal people; she used people extracts to heal plants.”
“That makes some sort of sense.”
“It’s the only thing that did. Apparently, she once spent four months standing in a garden belonging to a weaver in Davering, acting like a rosebush. Don’t ask me why she didn’t starve to death. The book didn’t explain, but it’s no more bizarre than most of the other things she did. However, there’s plenty of evidence to show she’d have been capable of creating your strength potion, complete with gender bias. Her abilities were phenomenal. It’s tragic they were of so little use—from a human viewpoint.”
“Why would anyone want her chalice?”
“Perhaps someone’s got a turnip they want a chat with?” Klara said.
Jemeryl grinned at the magpie. “I’d guess it’s more likely they’re after some of her earlier work, though I can’t find any information about what that was. As I said before, I’m surprised Lorimal is so overlooked. I only came across her name in a history of Walderim written by my grandfather, and he was more concerned with whimsical anecdotes than herbalism. Lorimal hardly appears in any other book.”
The Exile and the Sorcerer Page 26
