Crystal Rose (18 page)

Taminy sat on the edge of the bed and looked into
Deardru-an-Caerluel’s half-closed eyes. “Now, mam, will you tell me why you’ve
inyxed yourself into a sickbed?”

The aidan-thick atmosphere quivered momentarily, further
straining its crude seams. On the heavy quilt covering her chest, Deardru’s
knotted fists relaxed, loosing their hold on the inyx. She breathed deeply,
closing her eyes. When she opened them again, gone was the glaze of
concentration. In its place was a bright, voracious curiosity and a small,
grudging respect.

“Well, Mistress Taminy, you do have a mighty touch of the
aidan. Even Roe Kettletoft couldn’t tell the inyx I was suffering was my own.”

She opened her left hand, causing the small amulet she held
there to fall and bob at the end of its leather thong. The jet catamount caught
light from the chamber’s single deep window and glittered. A family icon,
Taminy realized, and knew it to be the Hageswode totem.

“But why, mam?” she asked. “Why put yourself in a sickbed?”

“I only wanted to meet you, Taminy-Osmaer.”

“You could have come to Hrofceaster with Eyslk.”

“I avoid Hrofceaster. I wanted you to come here.”

Into your territory
.
Taminy smiled. “You might have simply invited me.”

The woman’s eyes glinted. “And you’d’ve come, would you?”

“Yes.”

“To break bread with the likes of us? You, who count Cynes
and Cwens and Osraed in your circle? Who break bread each day with The
Hageswode, himself? You’d sit at table with your own serving maid?”

Taminy shook her head. “Eyslk is not my serving maid, mam.
She’s my student and my friend. She has a fine Gift.”

Deardru’s chin lifted. “She’s a Hageswode.”

Taminy tilted her head toward the jet catamount now lying
atop the quilt. “I recognize the totem. Is that your family?”

“My first husband’s. He was killed when we were quite young.
Eyslk never knew him.”

There was bitterness in that, and anger. Taminy felt
immediate sympathy. “How did he die?”

“A border skirmish with the Deasach Kartas. He was pledged
to the clan forces under Ren Morgant. When I became pregnant, he pleaded
release to his family obligations and was granted the request. But before he
could come home to me he was killed. His family was less family than I thought
them. After Eyslk was born it was as if neither of us existed. She was twelve
years old before Hrofceaster paid her any notice, and then it was Desary who
spoke for her. You’ve noticed they look a great deal alike. They should.
They’re cousins.”

Frowning, Taminy sifted through the other woman’s splintered
thoughts and feelings. “You brought me here to tell me this? Why?”

“So you understand what sort of man Catahn Hageswode is. A
man who would pledge his only brother, newly married, to a dangerous posting
far from home, while he basked in the glory of his station and the adoration of
his own wife and child. A man who then treated his kin as if they were clanless
strangers. If Desary hadn’t possessed her mother’s good heart, Eyslk would have
never met you or placed her Gift in your hands.”

Stunned, Taminy could only think to ask, “And why would
Catahn do such a thing to his own brother—to his brother’s family?”

Deardru’s smile was grim. “Pride. What else would make a man
like Catahn Hillwild behave so?”

Taminy turned the words in her mind as if they contained
poison; she could feel the blood draining from her face. She had never known
Catahn to be a pride-driven man. Had he been that different as a youth?

Deardru’s eyes acknowledged that they hadn’t missed her
discomfiture. “I neglect to mention that Raenulf was Catahn’s
older
brother. It was he who should have
been Village Elder, Catahn who should have been bound by his pledges. For his
own reasons, Raenulf rejected the status Catahn craved. Old biddies like Gram
Long and Aeldress Levene will tell you that it was strength of character that
brought Catahn Hageswode early power. It was not. It was Raenulf’s yielding
nature. Because of that, Catahn stood to be Ren and Raenulf willingly served
him. Both knew the truth, and it ate at Catahn, so he put Raenulf away from him
into Morgant’s hands. And when Raenulf was killed, guilt drove Catahn to ignore
his second family. I married Garradh, because Catahn could not be bothered to
care for us.”

Taminy shook herself.
I shouldn’t listen to this
.
Only
Catahn’s words should tell me tales of his life
.

“Why should I hear this?” she asked.

“He takes you into his home. He calls you ‘Mistress’ and
‘Lady.’ Should you not be aware of the flaws of those who serve you?”

“Catahn is no more my servant Eyslk is, mam.”

“Oh no, of course. He’s your friend. Your bosom companion.
But he would be more, if you bid him. So, I warn you what sort of man you’ve
Woven to your side.”

“You mistake me, mam. I Weave no inyx to ensure Catahn’s
loyalty. He is where he desires to be.”

The other woman laughed aloud at that. “I think not. But
beware, or he will be.”

Eyslk all but fell through the door then, spilling tea and
cakes onto the floor in her haste. “Mama! Mama! You’re-you’re—! I heard you
laugh! Oh, Taminy, you’ve healed her! Oh, let me tell Step-da!” Then she was
gone again, leaving the upset tea things on the floor.

Taminy rose. “You don’t need my help, mam, so I’d best
leave. If you ever do need me, call, and I’ll come.”

“What will you tell my family?”

“That you’ve healed. The rest is up to you.”

She turned to leave just as Garradh-an-Caerleul and his sons
rushed in. They beamed at her, then gave their full attention to Deardru.
Taminy slipped quietly into the hallway and was surprised to find Eyslk waiting
for her in the parlor. The girl’s face was an agony of indecision and anxiety
matched and amplified by her unabashed chaos of spirit.

“Mistress Taminy,” she whispered. “I-I heard—oh, more than I
ought!” Her eyes went to tears. “Oh, please, I can’t imagine why Mama’d do such
a thing as this, or say such things about Uncle. I’ve always known they didn’t
get on, but—oh, Taminy, I’m so sorry!”

She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, blocking her own
distress from flowing between them. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Eyslk. You
couldn’t have known what your mother meant to do.”

“Couldn’t I? She’s my mother. And I’m supposed to have the
aidan. How could I not know?”

“Having the aidan and learning to use it are two different
things, Eyslk. One of the most important things you must learn is that strong
emotions like fear and worry and anger can make the aidan capricious and harder
to discipline.”

“So we must avoid strong emotion?”

Taminy smiled, taking a tighter hold on her own inner
processes. “No, we must learn to control both the emotion and the aidan so that
they become a help to each other and not a hindrance. Now, then, will I see you
tomorrow up at Hrofceaster?”

Eyslk managed a weak smile and nodded. “If you’ll have me,
Mistress.”

Taminy shook her gently. “Of course I’ll have you, Eyslk.
Tomorrow. I’ll teach you how to start the fire without your precious flints.”

The smile was genuine this time. Taminy carried it with her
on the walk back up to Hrofceaster, as if with that warm amulet she might ward
off the unsettling effects of Deardru-an-Caerluel’s accusations.

You truly cannot guide
whom you desire; but the Spirit guides whom It will and It, alone, knows who
will yield to guidance.

—from the Testament of Osraed Bevol

The place was dark, and fog clung to him like a shroud of
damp gauze, choking every pore. He was walking, but realized he had no idea where
he was going or why. He wallowed for a moment in weightless, placeless
confusion. Was he moving toward a goal or fleeing an enemy? Was he awake or
dreaming?

In the instant the question was asked, it was answered, and
now, consciously dreaming, Caime Cadder struggled for awareness of his
surroundings. He was not often visited by dreams; when they came, he took them
as welcome affirmations of his worthiness to serve the Osraed—or as
chastisement from his divine Mistress. He didn’t know which this would be, and
so waited—anticipating, dreading—for the aislinn world to reveal itself.

A point of light pricked the darkness and, before his
straining eyes, the fog lightened, struggling from black to gray. He glanced
quickly around; on all other sides, the clinging veil of darkness pressed
against him. He edged forward, the light his goal. Ages or moments later he
attained its precincts, entering a circle of gleaming mist that seemed to lock
behind him, closing in the light and its source. He saw that source now, at the
center of the circle—the Osmaer Crystal on its burnished pedestal.

He was not surprised, but awed. He fell to his knees,
worshipful. A bounty, this was. Only in his dream was he allowed to face the
Osmaer without Ladhar or some other Osraed as intermediary and guardian. He
resented that and despised the resentment. It only served to remind him that it
was through his own poverty of spirit that he was not, himself, Osraed.

Now the resentment was quelled. Neither Ladhar nor his
lieutenants were in sight. Caime Cadder was alone with Ochan’s fabulous and
holy Relic. Without their censuring presence, he dared approach it. He could
feel—yes,
feel
, with every fiber—its
warm, life-giving emanations.

But no, it did not emanate, it
channeled, reflected, refracted
. It was the Meri who fed Her
healing rays through the earthy substance, who brought light to its cold
facets. Staring into those facets, longing, adoring, Caime Cadder became only
gradually aware of another presence in the chamber of mist.

He glanced up past the Crystal, his eyes drawn to an
amorphous cloud of luminance behind it. Cadder licked dreamer’s lips, aislinn
eyes bright. For a moment he let himself hope that this night he would be
granted his heart’s desire—that what he had denied himself on his Pilgrimage,
the Meri would grant him in this corridor to the Eibhilin world.

A glance
, he
prayed.
A glance, only
.

The paeri form resolved itself gracefully, taking on a
female shape.

Cadder shivered, uncertain. Perhaps he should avert his
eyes; perhaps he should genuflect. He only knew that this time he would not
turn and run. He would not. But as the image struggled to clarity, it seemed to
the bemused cleirach that it was too human. He could now make out features. He
could now—

His entire being froze, hopes unraveling into chaos. In less
than a heartbeat, he fell from bliss to terror and stood face to face with his
nemesis. The aislinn Taminy-a-Cuinn smiled at him—he quivered with dread and
disgust. She held out her gleaming arms to him—he flinched away, but he would
not run. He must not. This scene played on an aislinn stage and his Mistress’
eyes watched his spirit’s every move.

Evil. Oh, evil!

Yet between him and that, the Stone. Yes, the Stone would
protect him. He smiled into the Golden Wicke’s face and stepped closer,
bringing the Osmaer within arm’s reach.

As if to mock his certitude, the Wicke reached out her white
hands and laid them upon the Crystal. In response, the facets exploded with
light.

If he had been corporeal, Cadder would have shrieked aloud.
But he was mute and the shrill sound of his cries reverberated only in his
mind. Fool, he was, to believe the Stone could Weave its own protection. He’d
seen the Wicke lay hands on it in the Shrine, to his personal pain and
humiliation. Now, he recognized this nightmare as the Eibhilin shadow of that
waking one. He had failed then. He could only view this dream as a second
chance to succeed.

He could see now what he had been meant to see before—that
this Wicke was indeed an Evil Being of such great power that she could
manipulate even the Stone of Ochan. It was no wonder that Daimhin Feich
trembled in fear of her. How was Ladhar so dense that he did not?

Why am I receiving
this vision?

It came to Caime Cadder forcefully as he stared into the
Wicke’s green eyes that he must be in a position to protect the Stone. Protect
it he must. His aislinn self reached out to pry the Evil’s hands from the Great
Crystal. Her flesh was warm, soft. The surprise of that hit him with the same
force as the blinding wash of radiance that blew him back into the realm of
Form and Shadow.

Waking, quaking, Caime Cadder lay and considered his dream.
He had been shown two things: Feich was right about the immensity of Evil’s
power and Ladhar was a fool.

oOo

It seemed as if they had been on the road for weeks when
at last the ramparts of Halig-liath came into view through the forest canopy.
One moment they were riding in the chill, fragrant gloom of the deep pines, the
next the boughs thinned to let through a cascade of sunlight and a view of
Halig-liath gleaming atop its palisade.

Aine was inordinately thrilled to see it. Somehow she had
expected it to have been washed away in the great tide of war she had once
dreamed, or reduced to a ruin by Daimhin Feich and his allies. But no, Taminy
had been right; Feich had not yet budged from Creiddylad and Halig-liath still
stood guard over Nairne’s beautiful river bend.

“Happy to be home?”

Aine jerked her head around, startled. Where Iseabal had
been not a moment ago rode Saefren Claeg. She swept him with her eyes and her
aidan, but found his thoughts as hard to read as his colorless eyes.

She shrugged, too tired just now to be prickly. “I’ll only
be here as long as your uncle is willing to stay. Besides, it doesn’t much feel
like home anymore.”

Saefren returned the shrug, his eyes now on the sun-washed
fortress. “You don’t have to go on to Creiddylad, surely. At least not right
away. Why not visit awhile, then take the river packet down?”