You know dweomer, dont you? Teach me some.
I could do that, certainly. But you must have knowledge of your own.
Marnmara shook her head. I have bits and shreds of such knowledge only. It comes to me in dreams or now and again in memory. I do feel nay, I do know in my heart that if I did know the first steps of the dweomer way, then I might walk far. But I know them not.
Well and good, then. I can certainly teach you those.
In the lantern light her smile turned soft, flickering, it seemed, like the candle flame itself. Although hed always thought of her as beautiful, that night the thought carried a sexual interest that had escaped him when hed been weak and in constant pain. He realized that he had started emitting the betraying scent of his interest, too, but he could take comfort in knowing that shed not understand it, if indeed she could smell it at all.
Perhaps the look in his eyes had told her enough.
Tirn, she said, theres somewhat you need to know about me. I wear this body the way you wear a shirt. Dont be taken in by it.
She patted him on the shoulder with the same affection with which shed pat one of her cats, then walked away, disappearing into the manse.
And what by the gods does she mean by that?
As he followed her inside, Laz felt both sad and profoundly weary in a way hed never experienced before. At last he identified the sensation. He wanted to go home.
PART I
The Westlands Spring, 1160
Some say that the ancient mages of the Seven Cities, those long dead fortresses of beauty and magic, left a record of their secret work not in words or images but in stones and earth. Yet I for one call such a foolish tale, because I see not how it may be possible, no, not in the least.
The Pseudo-Iamblichos Scroll
The crux of the problem, Valandario said, is Laz. We want the pair of crystals. As far as we know, he still has them. Finding them means finding him.
Youre right, of course, Dallandra said. I wish I knew whether or not hes worth the effort of finding.
Sidro says he is.
Sidro loves him or thinks she does. Shes not a reliable advocate. From everything shes told me about him, I certainly dont understand how she could care so much about him.
Valandario managed to shield her thought just in time. Youre a fine one to talk about her, Dalla, running off with that awful Evandar the way you did! They were communicating through the fire, Valandario in her chamber in Mandra, Dallandra in her tent some miles east.
So youre convinced hes still alive, Valandario said.
Not I. Dallandras image, floating above the bed of coals in the brazier, paused for a wry smile. My guess would be that hes dwelling on the spirit plane, waiting to be reborn. Its Vek whos convinced hes still alive.
Vek? Oh, yes, that Horsekin boy prophet.
A Gel daThae boy prophet. There really is a difference.
Very well, if you say so. Now, consider the vision Ebañy saw in the crystal, Evandar standing on Haen Marn. Do you think that means the crystals linked to the island?
It might, but you cant trust Evandars riddles to be logical. It certainly indicates that the book he was holding is linked to Haen Marn. But the crystal I cant say either way.
Blast! I was afraid of that. Can we definitely say that wherever Haen Marn may be, its not the physical plane?
Again, maybe. Its surrounded by water, after all. Maybe its enough water to make scrying impossible.
If its surrounded by water, how could Evandar even reach it? The play of forces in the water veil should have torn him apart.
Thats a very good question. He probably couldnt, and the view of Haen Marn that Salamander saw is just an image of the place. Probably. I dont really know.
In short, we cant say anything useful about the wretched island at all, and Im starting to think the beastly thing should just stay gone.
Dallandra laughed. Val, your image looks so sour! Not that I blame you, mind.
Thank you, I suppose. The omens are so tangled! Its enough to drive one daft.
I couldnt agree more about that. But tell me, how are you surviving the winter?
Well, I miss everyone in the alar, but I have to admit that Ive never been so comfortable in my life.
For a while they spoke of trivial things, then broke the link between them. Valandario leaned back in her chair and considered the set of rough shelves across from her, a precious library of some fifty books protected by the solid walls of her chamber. For the first time in her life, Valandario had spent the winter inside a house rather than a tent.
In the winter the Westfolk and their herds usually moved south, until, by the shortest day in the year, they camped along the seacoast. Although it snowed only rarely that far south, it did rain three or four days out of every five. In a Westfolk tent, Grallezars library of dweomer books would have stood in as much danger as it had faced from the devotees of Alshandra back in Braemel, its original home, although the danger would have come from water, not fire.
Another place, however, had offered it shelter Linalavenmandra, the new town that returning elven refugees had built at a natural harbour near the Deverry border. Although the name meant sorrow but new hope, its eight hundred inhabitants generally called it Mandra, simply hope. They were young people, by and large, fleeing the minutely structured life of the far distant Southern Isles where theyd been born. To them, having a Wise One, as the Westfolk term their dweomermasters, among them was not merely an honour, but a sign that their town had achieved the same status as the ancient cities theyd left behind.
So, when Valandario had volunteered to live in Mandra and tend Grallezars library, the townsfolk had responded by finding a house with room for her and the books both. She had moved all her belongings into a big upstairs chamber with a view of the sea from its window. Elaborately patterned Bardekian rugs covered the floor, her red and blue tent bags hung along the walls, embroidered cushions of green and purple lay piled on the narrow bed. The townsfolk had added a wooden table and chair so the Wise One could study her books in comfort and a small wooden coffer to keep her supply of oil, wicks, and clay lamps handy.
Wise One? Lara, the woman who owned the house with her husband, appeared in the doorway to the chamber. Were preparing dinner. Would you like some meat with your bread and soup?
No, thank you. Im not very hungry.
Lara smiled, made a little bow, then silently shut the door again. Laradalpancora, to give her her full name, and her husband, Jinsavadelan, insisted on acting as if they were servants in Valandarios house rather than the owners of the house in question, cooking, cleaning, mending her clothes, and generally fussing over her. They also fussed over each other.
They never would have let us marry back home, Lara told her one evening. Even though wed loved each other for years. So we had to come here.
I dont understand, Val said. Whos they, and why would they forbid it?
The Council, of course. Jins birth-clan was too far above mine in rank. She held her head high with a defiant lift to her chin. That doesnt matter here.
Jin smiled at her with such a depth of feeling that Val quietly got up and left the room. Seeing them so happy had woken an old grief. At times after that conversation, she missed Jav as badly as if hed been murdered only a few years past.
Val used her work to blot her memories from her mind, reading for hours on end in pale sun or flickering candlelight until her eyes watered and ached. She was searching for information concerning a particularly powerful act of dweomer, one beyond the capabilities of any living dweomermaster, elven or human alike. Any one of Grallezars books might have held a clue. Fortunately, most of them were bilingual, with a roughly translated elven text on one page and the Gel daThae text facing it. Grallezar had wanted to make the knowledge they contained accessible to Westfolk dweomermasters as well her own people.
As Valandario read through each book, she copied any relevant passages onto a scroll made of pabrus, a writing material that had come over from the islands with the new settlers. One book in particular she kept on the table near her, but not for its information. Bound in black leather, decorated with a white appliqué of a dragon, it contained a translation into Gel daThae of a familiar work on dweomer, one she knew practically by heart. Its importance lay in its links to its previous owner, Laz Moj. According to Sidro, hed made the translation and written it out in the book as well. Now and then Val would lay a hand upon it and try to pick up some impression of its absent scribe. Very slowly, an insight grew in her mind. Once she could articulate it, she presented it to Dallandra.
Its about Lazs book. Its the antithesis of the one Evandar showed Ebañy in the vision crystal. The bindings in the opposite colours, and the information inside it is well-known, while we dont have any idea what may be in Evandars.
Thats all true, Dallandra said.
So if the two books are linked by antithesis, they might echo the pair of crystals, the black and the white.
In which case, Dalla continued the thought, the missing book might also tell us about the crystals.
Exactly! Furthermore, both the crystals and the island are shadows from some higher plane. Could it be that Haen Marns their real home, and they wanted to take Laz there for some reason?
Or else they used him to get there. Salamander was planning on smashing the black one. I wonder if it was trying to escape.
How would it have known? Val asked. You dont think it had some kind of consciousness, do you?
I cant say either way. I didnt get to study it for very long.
Thats not exactly helpful.
Dallandras image grinned at her. Sorry, she said. Im not thinking very clearly these days. Its the baby, I suppose. Im sinking to the level of a pregnant animal, all warm and broody like a mother dog. Her smile disappeared. I hate it.
At least its only temporary.
Thats very true, and I thank the Star Goddesses for it.
Dallandras image, floating over the glowing coals, suddenly wavered, faded, then returned to clarity.
Val, I have to leave, Dallandra said. Someones calling for me, and they sound panicked.
Dalla! Dalla! Branna was standing right outside the tent. Veks having a seizure, and its a bad one.
Dallandra grabbed the tent bag of medicinals she kept ready for these occasions and hurried outside. Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Branna stood waiting for her. A mist that fell just short of rain swirled around her in the grey light and beaded her blonde hair. Her grey gnome hunkered down next to her and squeezed handfuls of mud through its twiggy fingers.
Hes in Sidro and Pirs tent, Branna said. Over this way.
The gnome dematerialized as they hurried through the maze of round tents, as strangely silent as winter camps always were, with life moved so resolutely inside. As usual, the winter rains had washed off their painted decorations, leaving strange ghostly stains on the leather, outlines to be repainted once the weather turned towards summer. In the grey light it seemed that the camp lay caught between two worlds of water and earth, scarcely there. Since Branna was striding along just ahead of her, Dallandra noticed that the girls dress hung thick with yellow-brown mud about her ankles. Her clogs sank into the ground with every step.
You really need to wear leggings and boots, Dallandra said. Ill get the women to make you some.
I suppose so, Branna said. Im just so used to dresses, but truly, its impossible to keep them clean out here. She paused for a sigh. It sounded so exciting, coming to live among the Westfolk. I didnt realize what the winters would be like.
They can be a bit grim, truly.
I understand now why Salamander wintered with my uncle. I thought he was daft for it, until the rains started.
Do you want to go home?
I dont. Theres too much to learn here. I just wish I could get really dry and warm.
Well, its almost spring. Things will be better then.
The days are getting longer, truly. Branna paused to extricate a clog from a particularly sticky lump of mud.
And in a few days well move camp, Dallandra continued. The ground will be cleaner in the new site.
Sidro and Pir had pitched their newly made tent on the edge of the camp, not far from the horse herd. When Dallandra ducked inside, she saw Vek kneeling on the floor cloth and leaning, face forward, onto a supporting heap of leather cushions. Hed come of age the summer past, and as was usual among the Horsekin, hed been bald until that point in his life. Still short and straight, his black hair clung to his dead-white skin. Sidro knelt beside him and wiped his sweaty face with a damp rag. Drool laced with pink stained the neckline of his dirty linen tunic.
I do think the worst be done with, Sidro said. But he did bite his tongue afore I could get him turned over and sitting up like this.
Branna hovered back in the curve of the wall to watch. Dallandra laid her bag down, then knelt at Veks other side. When she laid her hand on his face, she found it cold and clammy. He looked at her out of one dark eye.
Ive brought your drops, Dallandra said. Let me just get them out.
In response he let his mouth hang open. She rummaged through the tent bag and found the tiny glass vial, filled with an extremely potent tincture of valerian. It smelled horrible and must have tasted worse, but Vek neither squirmed nor made a face when she used the glass stopper to drip a small quantity into his mouth. She could see the cut on the side of his tongue not big enough to worry about, she decided.
You know this will help. Good lad! Dallandra made her voice soothing and soft, as if she were speaking to a small child instead of a boy who was at least thirteen summers old. She was never sure how much he understood when he was in this condition. Afterwards he could never remember.
Sidro handed her a cup of spiced honey water. Dallandra helped Vek drink a few sips to wash the medicine down and the taste out of his mouth. She gave the cup back to Sidro, then patted him on the shoulder.