Into the Dark Lands (21 page)

Jethren nodded. “I have six others with me for guard. But Telvar, remember that it is only an interview. It need not be said that most of the temple initiates do not believe that Erin's experience will prove up to the office.”

“There's that.” Telvar nodded gruffly. But there were so many strange circumstances connected with Erin that he took little comfort in Jethren's words.
Lady,
he thought to himself,
may you indeed know what you are doing.

He sent for Erin.

 

“But I don't understand!” Erin said, as she crammed her belongings haphazardly into her pack. Her cheeks were flushed almost crimson against the white of tightened lips.

Belfas pulled her spare suit out again and began to roll it up; from experience he knew that economy of size was an absolute necessity. That Erin had forgotten it spoke volumes.

“She's only requested an audience,” he said mildly as he tied the pack.

“But why now?”

“I don't know.” He handed the pack to her and she yanked it onto her shoulders. “Why don't you ask?”

“Thanks a lot, Belf.” She loosened the straps, tightened them,
then loosened them yet again—an awkward maneuver given that the pack was still attached to her shoulders. “I already did.”

“And?”

“What do you think?” She snorted as she readjusted her sword. “They won't tell me a thing!”

“Maybe you don't need to know. Maybe it's information that could be used against us if you were ambushed.”

“I hardly think we'll be ambushed now. The office of the high priest of Malthan isn't filled at the moment, and they usually don't move without one.”

It was true, which was why Belfas wasn't too worried.

“I just don't understand why they're calling me in. I mean, we don't have a Sarillar—the front
needs
all the fighters it has! I should just refuse to go, that's what I should do.” Her voice quavered on the last few words.

“Erin.”

“What?”

“You're one of the best in the unit; no one would argue that. Turn around.” She did, and he adjusted the straps of her pack so it hung properly. “But you
are
only one fighter. We'll be fine.”

She knew it was true—just one more fighter. She shook her head angrily to clear her eyes.

“Come on. Telvar was back in sixteen days; I imagine you'll be back in the same.” He hugged her, ignoring the fact that she kept herself quite stiff. “Don't worry, okay?”

She sighed and forced herself to relax. “All right. It's just that—”

“It doesn't matter. The Lady's called you home, and you have to go.”

“It's just that Telvar didn't look pleased about it, either. I just keep wondering if I've done something wrong. Maybe he told her that I called in the unit at Beryon when I knew the numbers and odds were off. Maybe she'll pull me from the front for it.”

“Erin.” He gave her a gentle tug in the direction of the waiting horsemen. “The numbers and odds didn't matter—you saw to that.”

“Well, maybe it's—”

“Come on.”

She sighed again, loudly, and let him drag her along. He was probably right; on things like this he often was.

Jethren was waiting with his escort, six armored and armed men astride Lernari riding horses in silence. He looked tired
but alert as he stood by the only two riderless horses, and he offered her a leg up.

She accepted his help; although she loved riding, it was seldom that she got an opportunity. Maybe if she thought of this trip as riding practice, she might get through it. Maybe.

“Erin!”

She turned her head and caught sight of Belfas.

“Best of luck!”

She waved once and then they rode out of camp.

 

Only the Grandfather was there to greet them when they finally rode into the Great Hall's courtyard, covered with the dust and sweat of the journey. He nodded to Jethren and his escort.

“There is word for you at the temple, Jethren. Thank you for carrying the Lady's message.”

Jethren nodded. “Erin?”

She looked at him solemnly—as she had done for most of the journey.

“I'll see to the horse. ”

She nodded, dismounting. “Grandfather?”

He reached out and pulled her slowly into his arms. “Thank you for returning.”

“I—I didn't want to.”

He smiled. “I know. I don't suppose you've made this trip an easy one on Jethren, either.” She started to flush and he shook his head. “If it helps, know that Telvar was far, far worse. We expect this from any student of his. Bright Heart help us if we ever call Carla before her time.

“Come; it's nearing dinner and I'd be honored if you'd join me.”

For the first time in a week, Erin smiled.

“Tell me,” he said softly, as they walked into the Great Hall, “about Beryon Field.”

She looked up at the arches as they entered the Great Hall, at the familiar tapestries and the wide, simple altar. “Beryon?”

He nodded as he led her to his quarters.

She began to recount events that had already blurred into a haze. He only interrupted her once.

“You heard the voice of the Bright Heart?”

“Yes,” she said softly. Her eyes were glowing faintly as she looked straight ahead.

He nodded almost to himself and urged her to continue, although he paid little attention to the rest of what she said.

Lernan, God. She touched enough of your power to fully hear Your voice.

 

The next morning, Erin was to meet Latham, who would lead her to the Lady's Woodhall. She knew the master scholar by sight—all of the children did; they were taught several of their history classes by none other. But his appearance surprised her. His hair was streaked white, and the lines across his forehead were more prominent than they had ever been.

“Are you ready, Erin?”

She nodded.

“Then come. The Lady has been awaiting your arrival.” He held out a hand, but let it drop when she ignored it. “Child,” he said, seemingly unaware of how the word made her bristle, “you have nothing to fear from the Lady. She wishes to see you, that is all.”

His eyes caught all the nuances of her expression, and after a few minutes of walking she turned her intent, green stare upon him, ignoring the sun-tinted green of the hushed forest.

He smiled, not at all self-conscious. “I am the memory-walker of the line at the holdings,” he explained. He ducked beneath the low branch of a nearby tree, his movement a contrast to the warriors of the march. “And I always watch carefully.”

“Oh.” She walked ahead a bit; after her years on the front, the majesty of the forest was lost to her. “Latham?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know what she wants?”

Latham continued to watch her, even as he followed the path that led from the holdings to the old forest.

Child
, he thought, for everyone that he had ever taught was still a child in his mind,
if I knew, truthfully, all that the Lady requires from you, I might tell you. He shook his head. But I believe that all that has been done leads somehow to this, and l, too, would like to know the truth of it
. But he knew, as she did not, that that truth might never be given to him.

“Here. We are coming upon it.”

Erin nodded automatically, then looked around. No entrance lay in sight, just large, tall trees that seemed to reach endlessly upward.

“You will have to follow me; do not be surprised at where I will lead, but rather have faith in the Lady. ”

So saying he took her hand, and this time she allowed it. He
walked through the maze of trees until he reached the largest of them. Here he stopped and bowed a moment while Erin watched in confusion.

“Did you think,” he said, as he stepped directly toward the huge trunk, “that we call it the Woodhall without reason?”

Before she could answer he had disappeared into it—only the hand that held hers could still be seen, jutting as it did from the craggy, silvered bark. She had the time to gasp before that hand dragged her forward. A light hashed all around her, blinding in its intensity.

Shaking her head, she pulled away from Latham and brought her hands automatically to her face.

“Erin,” she heard him say, and she looked up.

For the first time in her life, she stood inside the Woodhall of the Lady Elliath. Beyond Latham, she could see the beginnings of an arched hall; similar in style to the Great Hall, but narrower and somehow more majestic. The walls, or as much of them as she could see, were tall, blank, and white as they stretched forward into one long corridor.

She met Latham's eyes, all anger with him forgotten.

He smiled. “I know,” he said softly, turning to look down the expanse of hall. “I felt the same when first I entered here.

“This is the Lady's hall. This is her home.”

“But we—we walked through—”

“The tree? Yes. But this is old—older, I think, than the tree itself, the work of the Lady when first she walked the world. It is not altogether real, in the way that we understand it. ” He held out an arm in the direction of the hall. With a tinge of regret, he said, “But go ahead. The Lady waits within; you will see her when you reach the hall's end. She has made it clear that this appointment is to be private; I will go no further.”

“Will you—will you wait for me?”

At this he smiled. “If you request it, Erin, I will be happy to wait.”

“Please?”

He nodded and stepped aside as she stared down the hall that suddenly seemed endless.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward, wishing, although she didn't know why, that Belfas were here. The sound of her step echoed down the hall. It was the only noise; even her breathing was too shallow to break the silence.

Step after step she walked, as if remembering how for the
first time in her life. She could see a hint of green that slowly became the leaves and flowers of the Lady's conservatory.

Lady
, she thought as she glanced at the comfort of her very normal feet,
what do you want from me?

As if in answer to her question, there was a flash of light, and she looked up. The Lady of Elliath stood at the far end of the hall.

“L-Lady?”

Deep, green eyes searched Erin's upturned face. It was the only motion the Lady made. She might have been a statue, pale and still, that marked the entrance to the life of her garden.

After a moment, Erin began to walk toward her, her steps smaller and quieter.

The Lady held out one hand, much as Latham had done earlier. Erin glanced down at the long, smooth fingers, and then looked at her own, now short and stubby by comparison.

She did not know why, but she couldn't quite bring herself to accept the Lady's hand. After another silent moment, it was withdrawn.

Then the Lady turned and walked into her garden. Erin followed, finding in the chaotic greenery a warmth and a life that was welcome. For the Lady, her grandmother, seemed like the moon, a welcome light, but distant and immovable.

Although Erin had learned something of flora in her earlier years, most of the plants that grew here were unfamiliar to her. Some had leaves—leaves?—that were thicker than her fingers; some sprouted spines along bulbous, irregular bodies; some had brilliant, delicate blossoms that stretched toward the sunlight in splashes of crimson, gold, and azure. Sunlight? Walking along, Erin looked up and searched the large, domed roof for any sign of a window. Nor was she particularly surprised to find none; this was the Lady's domain, after all.

Latham would not have been familiar with the direction that the Lady took, but he, like Erin, would have followed her without question.

Thus the silent companions came to the very heart of the Lady's garden. It opened onto a large circular fountain from which clear water, dappled with light, splashed outward into a pale basin.

At the center of the fountain stood a large, alabaster figure, casting a moving shadow over rippling water. Its hands reached upward and its face looked into the nonexistent sky.

The Lady gestured toward it, and Erin stepped hesitantly forward
until she stood at the lip of the basin. From here she could see that the statue's features were subtle and smooth. It had no real definition, no real expression, but she thought it must be a woman, surrounded by water and a wall of flowers and trees.

“It is.”

She stiffened at the sound of the Lady's voice.

“No, do not turn. Look at my fountain, granddaughter. Tell me what you see there.”

“A statue.”

“Yes.”

“I think—I think it must be alabaster; it's too pale for anything else.”

“Yes.” She was clearly waiting for something more.

“But I don't know who it's supposed to be.” She had an idea, as she looked at it. “Maybe—maybe it isn't finished yet?”

“No, it is not.”

“Oh.”

“It is not old; thirty of your years, no more. I started it the day I returned.”

“Returned?” Erin glanced back to see that the Lady's eyes were not on her, but on the fountain itself. “Returned from where?” She tried to remember any stories of the Lady traveling, but the only ones she could think of were centuries old.

A faint light gathered in the stone of the statue, as if its heart were suddenly laid bare for observers to see.

“From dark lands, Erin.” The Lady closed her eyes. “Dark lands and darker time.” She turned, suddenly, and caught Erin's shoulders in her hands.