Fires of Aggar (41 page)

“Oh.” Sparrow blushed faintly in the dimness. “Seems Brit’s rubbing off on me. She’s always been accused of being an old gossip.”

“No, you’re not starting rumors,” Llinolae amended more softly. “The affection is there between us. Where it will lead… it’s too soon to say.”

“Fairly noted. Gwyn would want it that way, I can see. Something with evoking the honor of the Niachero, no doubt.” Sparrow tipped her head to the side a bit. “May I ask then, what has kept you up so late?”

The question spawned a more sober response, and Llinolae’s gaze dropped to the pooling waters below them. “A dream… or maybe the ghosts of a dream would be a better way of explaining it.”

“A nightmare?” Sparrow ventured tentatively.

“Yes… no.” Llinolae shook herself slightly. “I remember it as a dream, but it has the vivid qualities of a real memory.” She shrugged again, “It’s not one of my own.”

Sparrow understood memories well enough, even blue-sighted ones. She squeezed Llinolae’s grasp, giving what reassurance she could. “At the Keep, the Council’s shadow trainees — the Blue Sights I mean now, not those such as I — they often spoke of dreamspun visions. Sometimes they would describe things that had not yet happened, sometimes things that had already happened. But usually, it was a thing they’d not witnessed personally. Although the dreaming was always about a thing which would eventually affect them very, very deeply.”

Llinolae considered that, nodding. “It certainly does… deeply.”

Sparrow pursed her lips a moment, feet swinging absently where they dangled over the waters. But before she had decided to speak again, Llinolae closed a hand over hers. And at Sparrow’s gaze, the other’s smile grew only more sad. “I know what I must do. I need counsel less than courage. But thank you — for the offer of knowledge from your understanding of the Council’s friends.”

“All right,” Sparrow lent her a gentle smile in return. “I’m of a mind to brew some midnight spice teas.”

“The sort with the llinolae moss blossoms in it?”

“Aye, it is a rare skill for a northerner or a desert nomad to have, seeing the stuff grows only in Khirlan. But when we arrived and I noticed the moss blanket beyond the pool there, I couldn’t resist a few little harvest-and-brew experiments with the dustiest of my old recipe notes.” Sparrow chuckled at the disbelieving look the Dracoon gave her. “The Council taught Brit and me much more than simple healer or troubadour skills. When Brit lets me, I’m even a fair cook myself!”

“Then perhaps I’ll join you fireside in a bit.” Llinolae held Sparrow hand tightly for a longer moment, before seeking her eye with a humble admission. “I once shied from the Council’s associates completely. Now I find that may have been a rather biased view to take.”

“You’ve seen nothing but the worst of Brit and myself. You may yet—”

“No, I’m serious. Distracted and irascible as n’Minona was, she was never the monster so many believe the Council folk to be.”

“It’s a fear found only in Khirlan and the Clan’s areas,” Sparrow corrected without anger. “The isolation has begun to create bigotries again… just as the isolation of different beasts and people split Aggar’s unity in the beginnings.”

“Bears thinking about,” Llinolae noted.

“Llinolae, if you ever have need…,” Sparrow hesitated, but with a squeeze of a hand was encouraged to continue. She shared a fluttering bit of a grin and shrugged. “I am bound to Brit by the stone as your Blue Sight has shown you.”

“Aye.”

“Well… we — Brit and I — would lend you the aid of Sisterhood, healer or troubadour.”

“I know.”

“If ever we could offer more… Brit and I spoke of it earlier and not many know this, but should you wish the Council’s help someday, Brit is empowered to speak for them. She’ll not carry them tales without your knowledge, and never without need, but if you should ask for their support or advice?” Sparrow glanced at her again, still wary. “She was an Archivist for a time among them and has their trust. I thought…”

“You thought right.” The quiet tone held no malice or pain, and Llinolae moved nearer to offer a light hug. “The Council’s aid may eventually be of some help with this escapade, I don’t know. But thank you.”

“The offer will stand, even after this venture is sorted out, Llinolae.”

It was a pleasing honor, Llinolae acknowledged with a nod. Then a sudden thought occurred, “Does Gwyn know? Or should I take care not to…?”

“No… she knows now.” Abruptly Sparrow shifted, a hand going to her midriff. “My stomach is needing that tea, I think. I’d best go.”

“Do you want help?”

Sparrow rose, cheerfully denying it. “I enjoy mixing bits of moss and herb and spice to taste.”

“You are sounding proficient!”

“There’ll be enough, if you want it later.”

Llinolae watched the woman lithely scramble off, and she was reassured that her help was decidedly not missed. Then she turned back to the peace of the tumbling falls. Sighing, she drew herself up and focused her concentration. It was time to follow this dreamspun vision to it’s inception.

She knew her answers might not be reached tonight as her experience in untangling the amarin of people and places from the past was less practiced. It was not a journey she anticipated enjoying either.

Yet the answers would not come by themselves, she rebuked herself gruffly. Whether it took a handspan of nights or a monarc of attempts, the doing would not be done any faster by avoiding it.

She sighed and folded her legs beneath her, shaking the remnants of tension from her shoulders and neck. Deeply she drew in the air, settling among the rhythms and flows of the life cycles about her. Her eyes slipped shut. Her head tipped back, face bared to the night sky and the waterfall’s mist. A breeze drifted by, brushing her lips as lightly as a kiss. And then in her mind’s Sense, she gazed outward along those shimmering tendrils of Life’s amarin, gathering finely coiled cords of it, moving upwards beyond the honeywood ancients, and then reaching — flinging — those silver-blue lines out to uncoil. Further back through the tenmoon seasons… further back to that bedroom and time of death.

”Still no sign of them?”

Llinolae shook her head, amused at Brit’s fussing, and put the wooden bread bowl she’d filled with brushberries on the camp table. Since the two Sisters had arrived, the amenities of the ‘civilized life’ that the wagon stocked hadn’t ceased to impress the Dracoon. From the folding tables and chairs to tunics already tailored to fit Niachero-tall Amazons, the tinker-trades’ goods had easily supplied all of their needs — and even a few of their whims! But it was Brit’s own cooking and the available seasonings she had to work with that Llinolae most appreciated. Having spent more of her life out on patrols or housed at inns across the Clan-ravaged west-district than she’d spent in the Palace, Llinolae had come to measure ‘good’ in terms of quantity, not quality. Brit’s penchant for mixing and brewing extended far beyond a healer’s recipes, however, and now that she knew of Sparrow’s pregnancy, she had taken on the task of “feeding them proper” with a true zeal. For this talent alone, Llinolae could see why Sparrow might have pledged the unending allegiance of a lifebond to the Amazon.

“You’re movin’ pretty limber today,” Brit noted, adding another handful of flour to the cheesecloth before punching down the dough again. “How’re the ribs feeling?”

“Good.”

“Good. ’Fraid you’d broken something there, when Gwyn first told me. They gave you quite a beating… barely tell anymore. Scarcely a bruise left it seems.”

“I’ve always been a fast mender.”

“Most Blue Sights are. It’s all that nurturing you tap into with the Life Cycles’ amarin.”

Llinolae grinned outright. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to hearing you three say that.…”

“Say what?” Brit caught her eye. “Oh—” The healer chuckled and reached for another handful of nuts and dried berries. “Never mind me, I just rattle on. Safe enough ’round strangers, though. Don’t have to worry about your secret breakin’ loose… no one else’s business anyway.”

A grateful pride warmed inside her; Llinolae was glad to discover that she was no longer considered a stranger.

“Strangers…,” the healer tisked with a shake of her head. “Wish I knew if Sparrow’s worryin’ about nothing or not.”

The complete lack of anger in Brit surprised Llinolae almost as much as the confidence being shared with her; Sparrow had seemed so completely convinced that there would be a terrifying blaze of anger and rejection. She leaned back against the wagon wall, folding her arms as she propped a foot up on a wheel spoke. “You’re merely curious?”

Brit blinked, startled that she shouldn’t be. “’Course I’m curious. Wouldn’t you be?”

Llinolae frowned with a puzzled admission, “You’re worried about her still. I can See that, but… but you’re not angry. At least, not the sort I can recognize through your amarin.”

“Why should I be angry? She can’t help it, if some sadist took her.” A touch of bitterness crept in then, but Brit shrugged it off in favor of practicalities. “If she gets to remembering that was the way of it, then we’ll deal with it. ’Til then, we’ll wait and see. Couple of months we’ll know anyway, won’t we?”

“Months?” The odd reference distracted Llinolae for a moment. Then she recalled that Valley Bay still kept records in years as well as tenmoon seasons, for the sake of their communications with dey Sorormin’s home world. But Brit’s assumptions were still confusing her, and she gestured down the creek towards the trail Sparrow and Gwyn would presumably return by. “She’s worried because she can’t remember —? Remember what about some sadist?”

“My same point.”

“Your same…?” Llinolae stared at Brit and suddenly — finally — understood. “Sparrow’s scared she was raped?”

Brit looked at Llinolae with the uncanny assessment of a true Crone and, abruptly quit her kneading. “What’s your Sight telling you is different?”

“She’s not pregnant because she was raped, Brit.”

“Goddess’ blest!” The elder woman squeezed her eyes shut with the whisper. “You can See that… you know it for truth?”

“In truth,” Llinolae readily answered that faint waiver of doubt. “Brit, I may not be able to decipher much about the subtleties of an individual, but the baby she’s carrying is several ten-days along. I can See the child well enough to know she’s yours and Sparrow’s, no other’s.”

A sigh, then a faint, satisfied smile suddenly burst into a broad beaming grin of shining joy. And Brit blinked, the tears dancing in her gray eyes. “Thank you, Dumauz, thank you.”

Llinolae touched that strong wrist reassuringly.

“It’s just so rare….” With a sniff and a slight shift in her weight, Brit found her balance again and assessed the dough lump before shaking a few more nuts into the kneading. “You know… for the women on Aggar? In dey Sorormin, yes. Well, between the lifestones and our long herstory of gene selections before we ever, even dreamed of settling Valley Bay… you could say it’s half-expected. Among us it’s always considered a possibility. But…. uhn… now that’s an arrogant prejudice against Aggar’s women, isn’t it! Since when has rare meant never?”

A gleeful laugh shook Llinolae’s tall frame, but Brit just grinned all the more, totally unabashed. Feigning some bare measure of politeness, Llinolae managed to cover her mouth with a half-curled hand before gulping out, “What are you talking about now, n’Minona?”

“Parthenogenesis,” Brit rejoined just as cheerfully.

“Which to us poor, uneducated folk outside of Valley Bay is…?”

“When a woman’s egg doesn’t divide completely in developing — it can fertilize itself. Spontaneous reproduction… a type of identical twin, only as a daughter. Oh, arguably the risks for Aggar’s women to miscarry may be higher in those cases, but Sparrowhawk…,” Brit grinned and shook her head in an amused tolerance for her dear lover. “Sparrow could no more sit still for a single day than a hawk could resist flying for its whole life!”

“You’re still wrong.”

Concern flashed across the other’s face, but Llinolae raised a quieting hand, “No, not about Sparrow being all right. She’ll do just fine, I’m certain.” An impish sort of smiled sprouted from Llinolae then as Brit relaxed, and she added, “Actually, the night after you two arrived — it seemed the exception to the usual.”

“The entire ten-day was!” Brit sputtered in exasperation.

“But you’re wrong in thinking this is Sparrow’s daughter alone. It’s yours too.”

“Mine?”

“Quite clearly,” Llinolae nodded. “Your amarin and Sparrow’s both run through this baby.”

“That’s… that’s just because we’re so close, lifebonded and all.”

“No.” Llinolae moved her head silently, lips pursued in absolute denial.

“You mean…?” Brit’s dough went forgotten again.

“She’s yours — as much as she’s Sparrowhawk’s. Genetically, yours. ”

“But… how?”

A smile cracked at that as Llinolae shrugged in guileless innocence. “You’re the healer, Brit. You’re the one who knows the customs of Valley Bay, Council — and even my own District better than I do! I’m just some lost Dracoon. How would I know how?”

“But that’s just it. We didn’t…,” Brit stopped mid-sentence, the answer ringing through her mind even as she knew it was impossible. Yet, ultimately, there was no other explanation to be had.

“What is it, Dumauz? What’s gone wrong?” Llinolae straightened, pushing away from the wagon’s side.

“The lifestone — it must be the lifestone.” Brit turned a perplexed but amazed sort of gaze on her. “We’ve used the things for generations now, to create our daughters. It — it was safer than the ways before. We learned it was possible from the first lifebond of the Sisterhood, but only because she was a Blue Sight like yourself. Yet the only cases of spontaneous conception between lifebonded partners has come about because the Blue Gift and the lifestones meshed the amarin — which then altered the egg’s development to create the child! For that matter, conceptions guided with the lifestones still require a blue-sighted healer to intervene….”

“Until now?”