Mystic Warrior (41 page)

“May I extend our gratitude for your thoughtfulness?” The sarcasm was automatic, covering Ian's examination of them for signs of damage, internal or external. “The wells are gushing water. The wheat in the field must have grown a foot these last few days. The Council may argue for the sake of arguing, but after you miraculously rebalanced Aelynn by drawing on our mutual energies, you can demand anything you want. Have you chosen your course?”

Politics and war had not been on his mind in the days he'd had Lissandra to himself, but Murdoch nodded. “If you approve of our marriage, I will tell them the course I See.”

Lis hesitated, looking questioningly from one to the other. “I know it is tradition for the spouse of the Oracle to become Council Leader, but I hope you do not See me in that role.”

Murdoch lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “You are the other half of me, the wise half, the priestess who speaks my thoughts more clearly than I. You are my channel to understanding others. I can't work without you, but I recognize that you are a Healer and a student of science by nature. This Oracle prefers that we each do what we are best at. Aelynn needs people like you to study who and what we are and what we can become. Your heart isn't in Council leadership.”

She beamed in delight at his understanding—and at the freedom he offered. “In other words, I'd bore them to death before I'd persuade them to my reasoning,” she teased.

Murdoch smiled. “I think the time has come to choose our leaders for better reasons than marriage or wealth.”

Ian laughed, and the cool gloom with which he'd greeted them dissipated. “That argument could engage the Council into eternity, leaving you free to do whatever you will from henceforth.”

“I did not say I wouldn't aid the decision.” Murdoch tucked his wife's hand into the crook of his elbow and led the way down the hill toward the Council that had never accepted him. With all doubt dispelled, he looked forward to a battle of wills.

To his amazement, he discovered he was more comfortable in his island home than anywhere he'd roamed. He'd had to leave to understand that he belonged in this place.

Waiting at the side of the road, an aging Agrarian carrying a basket of plump purple grapes studied them through narrowed eyes, watching to see how he would be greeted.

Having just used the minds of these people without warning, Murdoch was surprised by the man's offering. He'd never coveted the gifts people gave to an Oracle, and he'd been humiliated when the Breton villagers had thanked him with their food. But through Lis's eyes, he understood that the farmer offered the fruit of his trade in exchange for the benevolence of the gods—through Murdoch.

As Oracle, he was a vessel of the gods, as he'd forcefully demonstrated these past few nights. He still found the title almost laughable, but Lis squeezed his arm, and he had to accept that he had been granted great favors, and it just might be in his power to pass them on.

He nodded acceptance of the gift, and the farmer fell boldly into step beside Ian. Murdoch snickered at the sight of a mighty Olympus walking with a farmer—that would never have happened when he'd been here last. Perhaps he actually could make a difference.

Hesitantly, as if uncertain of her reception, a young hearth witch bearing the rowan broom of her trade waited beside the path. This time, both Lis and Murdoch smiled and nodded at her. Solemnly, she stepped up to join the Agrarian.

Murdoch almost laughed aloud at his wife's smug expression. She couldn't have said “I told you so” any louder if she spoke. Engulfed by her warm acceptance, Murdoch relaxed and marched onward toward the Council House.

Waiting beside her cottage, an Herbalist nodded her approval of his entourage and handed Lissandra a bouquet of thyme, rosemary, and basil still glistening with the morning dew. Encouraged by the others following them, she joined the parade.

Murdoch felt Lissandra's tears of happiness as surely as if they were his own.
He was no longer alone.
His previously withered heart expanded to encompass the entire island, from the newest innocent babe to the grumpiest, corrupt old man.

By the time they reached the Council door, he was smiling so broadly it was a wonder he didn't crack his face. Behind him walked a procession of the most menial laborers, the weakest invalids, and the most common artisans. Even untrained adolescents stepped proudly with their elders, their faces scrubbed and their eyes gleaming. No king could have a more royal reception.

Trystan and his warrior-trained friends waited at the door of the Council House, wearing their ceremonial finery minus their swords, Murdoch noted with relief.

“Lord Vulcan,” Trystan greeted him with laughter in his eyes. “You have provided spectacular entertainment these last nights.”

“That's what fire gods are for,” Murdoch replied with a shrug, although he felt the acceptance of his old friends with keen gratitude.

“We can declare an annual Day of Pyrotechnics should we survive these next hours,” Ian said drily, before throwing open the double doors of the Council chamber. He stood aside to let Murdoch and Lissandra enter first.

When it became apparent that Murdoch didn't intend to stop his humble followers from entering, Trystan held open one door while Ian held the other. Their strapping comrades lined up along the aisle to allow the ragtag procession to stream through the crowd. A few of the younger bachelors even bowed their heads in respect as Murdoch and Lissandra passed by. Once, they had been Murdoch's friends. He hoped this meant they would be again.

At a signal from Ian's wife, a flood of harmonious voices lifted in song, politely drowning out the Council's gasps of outrage at the unruly procession entering their hallowed ranks. The gasps turned to murmurs of bewilderment as the parade of laborers sought places among the seats of the nobles. The boom of drums, large and small, erupted to accompany the chorus, and the joyous noise drowned out any vocal objection.

Beside Murdoch, Lis stifled a giggle. They dared not open their minds to each other for fear others sensitive to thoughts might pick up on their exchange, but he didn't need to hear what she was thinking. He needed only to know that she was enjoying the spectacle—and that she felt confident enough not to hide her soft heart behind haughty dignity any longer.

The last of their humble supporters fanned out among the landless bachelors in the rear of the room. Auburn hair gleaming, handsome Nevan the Navigator looked startled to be standing beside a young maiden with flowers in her hair. Dark, intense Kiernan the Finder surrendered space for a hunched old woman and the young boy who served as her crutch. Appearing his usual surly self, the fierce and scarred Waylan the Weathermaker gave up his bench for a gnarled fisherman and his winsome daughter.

As Murdoch assisted Lissandra to the dais, he sensed that some of their parade had not taken seats but had boldly followed them to the front where the influential and wealthy squirmed and looked over their shoulders and whispered angrily among themselves.

Ian, as elder representative of the most powerful house on the island, waited until the last moment to join them on the dais. Now, as Murdoch stood beside Lis and faced the crowd, he almost choked in shock to see his mother taking a seat newly vacated by Alain Orateur, Ian's father-in-law.

Marina LeDroit was not a tall woman, but she held herself with the same regal authority as Lis. Murdoch understood why his mother had given him up to Dylys for teaching, but in doing so, she had expected great things of him. And—until now—he had failed her.

As he'd hoped, she had waited to see if he proved himself.

From beneath her braided crown of silvered hair, she glared at him as sternly as he remembered. Only this time, with Lis squeezing his arm, he could see the love and approval in the curve of his mother's lips. A flood of emotion swept over him in a tidal wave. He clamped his hands on Lis's shoulders to steady himself.

Ian stepped up to the podium. The drums and choir ended their song. Out of respect for the Olympus name, most of the audience quieted. Murdoch assumed Ian mentally nudged the recalcitrant into silence. He hoped if Ian returned to England, he wouldn't have to practice that subtle trick, or his warrior's strength might slap a few souls senseless.

“I am here to announce the marriage of my sister, Lissandra, to our new Oracle, Murdoch LeDroit.”

The words were no sooner out of Ian's mouth than the room once again erupted in an uproar of cheers and shouts and bellows of fury.

Murdoch adored the way Lissandra turned and slanted her eyes to look at him expectantly, with just the tiniest gleam of mischief despite her serious expression. She was anticipating his next move. If the unruly crowd would not respect this solemn moment, he would have to provide a fitting show for his wife's entertainment.

An Oracle's place was to envision the future and guide the Council Leader wisely. Since they were currently without a chosen leader, it was up to Murdoch to call the meeting to order. Remembering Lis's earlier cynical comments about raising the roof to demand respect, he couldn't resist this opportunity for showing off his new techniques for managing his anger.

With his hands on Lis's shoulders, Murdoch channeled his contentment through her narrow focus and, with the strength of their joined minds, amused himself by raising the thatched roof from the rafters. A flurry and squawk of doves and swallows flapped in startlement, darted over the audience, and flew out windows and doors as well as the gap between thatch and timbers. He hid his grin. He still had the ability to enjoy tweaking arrogant noses.

The crowd fell silent in shock and stared upward, waiting to see if the roof would fly away or fall on their heads and wipe out the population.

“Peace!” Murdoch thundered, and gently lowered the roof now that he had their full attention. “If I can be welcomed home by the noble family I have most harmed,” he bellowed at his obdurate audience, “then I believe you owe them enough regard for their centuries of leadership to listen to what they have to say.”

Several of the wiser heads nodded agreement, and the audience grudgingly remained silent. Not all of them had joined their energies over these past nights. He still had to reach the rebels.

Murdoch released Lissandra so she might step forward. He knew she didn't like oratory, but she was an Olympus, and had learned what was expected of her.

“All of you saw the spirits of the gods leave the island upon my mother's death.” She paused to let them recall the moment of awe and horror. “I followed them to France, where they led me to the man my parents raised as their own. To this man. To Murdoch LeDroit.”

Lissandra turned her gaze to Murdoch's mother. Ian stepped down to offer Marina LeDroit his arm and lead her up to the platform.

“I do not question the decisions of the gods,” Lissandra continued. “They led me to Murdoch LeDroit, and they led Murdoch to retrieve the Chalice of Plenty. They have chosen him as my amacara and my husband. They have selected him as Oracle as surely as they have chosen him to discharge the dangerous volatility of the volcano—with your help. You may prefer to reject the decision of the gods, but the Olympus family will not banish Murdoch again. He is here to stay. And while I am speaking, I would like to apologize for our appalling neglect of the woman who brought our Oracle into the world, Marina LeDroit. I hope you will be hearing more of her in the future.”

She turned to give Murdoch's mother a chance to speak. But the older woman with tears in her eyes merely shook her head, hugged her tall son, kissed Lissandra's cheek, and stepped aside. A housemaid all her life, she had no experience in public speaking.

In the back of the room, a few of the common folk began to applaud. More followed. Trystan and his worldly friends stomped and whistled their approval. Before Lissandra knew what was happening, thunderous applause, hoots, and shouts rattled the rafters.

The more noble, landed families did not follow suit, but even among their stern faces, she noted a smile or two of approval and a few nods of reluctant respect. She could ask no more. She stepped back to let Murdoch take his place.

“If you're an Oracle,” challenged one angry nobleman, “then tell us what you did to make the crops grow so we do not repeat the suffering of these past years!”

“Don't banish your hotheaded youth would be my recommendation,” Murdoch replied drily. “Our volcano is a fragile resource, one we must learn to use wisely. When Luther Olympus and I regulated Aelynn's fire, all was well. With both of us gone, balance was lost. The excess heat dried up your wells, and the vapors created clouds that chilled the island, resulting in more demand for heat, which reinforced the unbalanced cycle.”

The hedge wizard who had first joined the procession stood up. “You used
all
of us equally to restore balance these past nights. Tell us what that means.”

Murdoch nodded. “I needed
all
our people to vent four years' worth of pent-up energy. Every person on this island is a valuable resource. If we continue working together toward one goal, instead of individually and at odds, the weather will return to normal. I am beyond grateful to all of you who joined together to make this happen.”

An excited murmur rippled across the audience, followed by whispered doubts. One and all, they knew the volcano wasn't the only problem they faced.

“Will you lead us into war?” a loud voice shouted from one of the first rows.

“I will not lead you anywhere,” Murdoch replied quietly. “I am not here as a warrior, but as teacher and student, as an Oracle should be.”

Lissandra admired the luminous gleam of her husband's eyes and the stalwart straightness of his spine as he faced an audience who had once condemned him and were still wary of him.