Naamah's Kiss (6 page)

"Yet I could see you. It was only that the air seemed to dazzle about you." He frowned. "Because I was already looking at you, is it?"

"Aye." I wondered if he were a bit slow. "Did I not say so the other day?"

He laughed. "Peace, lass! 'Tis not every day one meets a witchling child. What other magics have you?"

I tied the lid of the creel shut. I didn't wish to speak to him of the man with the seedling. "None."

"No?" he teased. "Can you not summon the wind and catch it in a bag? Can you not charm the birds from the sky?"

"It would be an abuse of the Maghuin Dhonn's gifts to charm a bird for sport," I said with dignity. "And no one can summon the wind."

"They say the Master of the Straits could summon the wind." Cillian leaned back against the willow's trunk and stretched out his legs. "He could cause the seas to rise at his command and call lightning from the sky. But he gave away his book of magic and it's hidden away forever." He gave me a curious glance. "I've heard you speak no spells."

"Spells?" I repeated.

"Incantations. Words of power. Invocations to the gods."

"No." In the twilight, words might have a certain power, but I didn't think that was what he meant. "It's just a gift."

His grey eyes were bright. "Could you teach it to me?"

"I could try," I said dubiously. "But I don't know if it would be right. I'd have to ask my mother."

"Will you?"

"Aye, all right." I trotted back to the hearth and put the question to my mother. Her eyes crinkled with amusement.

"So that's what he's after, is it? Oh aye, let him try till he's blue in the face. He'll take no harm from it."

She was right.

I explained it and demonstrated over and over, but it made no difference. Cillian couldn't get the knack of it because he hadn't the gift. He couldn't raise so much as a glimmer in the air around him. His figure remained stubbornly, solidly visible. After two hours, he stomped around in frustration, kicking at willow roots. I sensed a shiver of distress in my favorite fishing tree as his boots scraped away chunks of bark and laid bare the pale root-flesh beneath.

"Please don't," I murmured. "You're hurting it."

He scowled and knocked on the trunk. "Trees don't feel."

"They do."

He glanced at the sky. "I should be going anyway."

"All right, then." I went to fetch the empty satchel for him. If it was magic he sought to acquire, after today's failure, I didn't think he'd be coming back. The thought made me sad. "Thank you," I said. I tried to think of something else to say that wouldn't be rude. After all, he had brought honeycakes. "It was interesting to meet you."

He slung the satchel over his shoulder. "Is there aught you'd like me to bring next time?" he asked, casting a critical eye over the neatly folded pile of mending on the hearth. "Clothing that's not in rags and tatters?"

I was surprised. "You're coming back?"

Cillian looked hurt. "You'd rather I didn't?"

"No, no!" I smiled. "It would be nice if you did. Thank you." I thought about his offer. I'd no need of fine clothing, but there were other things I liked. "Sausages, mayhap?"

He smiled back at me. "Sausages, it is."

After that, Cillian became a regular visitor. Sometimes eight or ten days would pass between his visits, sometimes only a few. I couldn't teach him magic, but I taught him many things about the woods. Although he hadn't the deeper senses I did, he was still able to pay attention and learn a great deal.

And he, in turn, taught me.

It began the first time I returned to our camp from foraging in the hickory copse to find him already awaiting me. He was sitting cross-legged on the hearth, gazing intently at an object he held in his lapso intently he didn't hear me approach. I decided to play a trick on him and set down my basket softly, summoning the twilight. Unseen, I crept near and plucked the object from his hands.

Cillian gave a startled yelp.

I giggled.

"Moirin!" He grinned. "Show yourself, woodsprite."

I did. "And what is this object that held you so fascinated?" I inquired, waving it in the air.

"'Tis a tale of the Master of the Straits." He grabbed at it, but I danced out of reach. "I thought you might enjoy it, oh ungrateful one."

"A tale?" I examined the thing. "How is this a tale?"

"It's a book , Moirin." Cillian paused. "Not a book of magic, just a tale. Do you, ah, know how to read?"

"Read?" The thing was shaped like a leather-bound box, but it fanned open to reveal myriad square leaves with markings on them.

"You don't, do you?"

I held the book to my ear and heard nothing. I smelled it, then touched the tip of my tongue to the finely grained leaves. "I know the words book and read, but I do not know exactly what they mean," I admitted. "How is this a tale?"

He took it from me. "I'll show you." Holding it open, Cillian gazed into it and recited the opening words of a tale. I sat to listen, but he stopped. "Here." He pointed to the markings on the first leaf. "These are the words I spoke. Written here. Each of these is a word."

"No!" I marveled. Aye.

"That's a fine magic!"

"It's not" He paused to consider. "Mayhap it is at that. I never thought on it."

I scooted closer to him. "How do you do it?"

"See these shapes?" Cillian pointed again. "Each one contained unto itself? Those are letters. They represent sounds. You put them together to make words."

"Show me."

He did, drawing on the flat stone of our hearth with the tip of a fire-blackened twig. I marveled over the process, taking to it like a duckling to water. I was so absorbed, I didn't sense my mother returning with her bow over her shoulder and a brace of pigeons dangling from one hand.

"What are you playing at, Moirin mine?" she asked.

"Oh!" I startled. "Cillian is teaching me to read !"

There was a shadow behind her smile. "Is he, now?"

Cillian got to his feet and bowed. "Not against your wishes, Lady Fainche. Speak, and I will cease."

"You're enjoying yourself?" she asked me.

I nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes."

"So be it." My mother laid a hand on my head. "You have my blessing. But do not trust this new knowledge overmuch. Great truths should be contained in the head and the heart, not consigned to the page. There was a time not long ago when the ollamhs railed against the practice."

"The world changes, Lady Fainche," Cillian said diplomatically.

She settled her gaze on him. "So it does. 'Twas your own kinsman founded the Academy at Innisclan, was it not?"

"Aye. Eamonn mac Grainne. Your kinsman too, I believe." He hesitated. "Moirin will prove a swift learner, if I'm any judge. She'd be welcome to study there one day."

My mother looked alarmed.

"'Twould not be for many years," Cillian added hastily. "None younger than fourteen are admitted."

"Fourteen," she sighed.

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured her. "I just want to learn to read, that's all. And Cillian's a fine teacher."

He colored with pleasure. "Am I?"

"You are."

My mother regarded us with an unreadable expression. "Go on with it, then. My blessing is already given."

I'd spoken true; Cillian was a good teacher. By the time the woods were ablaze with autumn's bright foliage, I was able to read simple texts on my own, sounding out the words aloud. Once winter came, Cillian wouldn't be able to visit as often, but he had promised to bring me several books on which I might practice, whiling away the long cold months. I had promised in turn to read them to my mother, and I do not think even she was entirely displeased by the prospect.

But when Cillian came next, he came empty-handed and downcast.

"No books?" I was disappointed.

He took a seat at the hearth, looking at my mother out of the corner of his eye. She was sewing a pair of rabbit-skin leggings. Cillian was wary of her, fearing she didn't altogether approve of his presence in our lives. Also, he was still more than half-convinced that she could turn herself into a bear. To be fair, neither of us had disabused him of the notion.

"There's trouble," she guessed.

"Aye." He nodded reluctantly and flushed to the roots of his auburn hair. "My father fears you've ensorceled me."

My mother burst out laughing.

His flush turned an angry hue. "Is it so unthinkable? Bear-witches have done such things before!"

"Not to thirteen-year-old boys," I commented.

Further embarrassed, Cillian looked daggers at me. "It's because I've kept your secret, you know!"

"Peace," my mother said soothingly. "Lord Tiernan flatters me. So you've said naught to him of Moirin?"

"I gave my word!" he said indignantly.

"And kept it like a man." She gave a brisk nod. "Has your father forbidden you to visit me further?"

"Aye," Cillian muttered. "I defied him today."

"Hmm."

That sound didn't bode well. "What if I released you from your promise?" I asked Cillian. "Would your father allow you to keep visiting if he knew it was me you came to see?" I turned to my mother. "You said you'd no fear that Lord Tiernan would meddle in our affairs."

She made a noncommittal sound, but Cillian brightened. "You'd do that?" he asked.

"May I?" I asked my mother. I got the raised eyebrow in reply. Again, the choice was mine. "Aye," I said firmly. "I would."

Cillian leapt to his feet. "I'll tell him and see." He paused, giving my mother another sidelong glance. "You, um, haven't, have you? Ensorceled me?"

"I?" Now she looked amused. "No, not I."

Cillian returned with good news and bad."'Twould make a difference to my father knowing I come to visit Moirin." He handed me a slim leather-bound book. "He sends this as a symbol of his earnest pledge. 'Tis the tale of the trials of Eamonn mac Grainne's courtship of his Skaldic bride," he added. "Fine winter reading. But"

"Lord Tiernan doubts," my mother said dryly.

"Aye." Cillian nodded. "Lady Fainche, you've not been seen for nigh unto twelve years, neither here nor at Innisclan. And no one had heard any word of a child until now."

"By my choice."