Taminy (27 page)

In
his right hand, the crystal burned amber, pulsing with his heartbeat. He
reached upward, then, with fingers of thought, feeling for the stream of
energies he knew was there. Fishing, he’d called it in school, and had joked
that he’d be lucky to catch a minnow. There were more than minnows in the
stream today. There were energies he swore he’d only just realized existed in
more than theory. He caught them, channeled them, and flooded Leny’s wound with
them. He heard the old Osraed murmur, the Aelder Prentice draw a sharp breath.
Fhada was silent.

He
ignored them all, singing out his duan, calling for the cohesion and healing of
the boy’s torn flesh. The energies answered, danced to his music and wove
together the torn edges into a new, pink, tender cloth.

Later,
Leal walked the dismal halls of the Care House with Osraed Fhada, trying to
frame questions.

“You
have a remarkable Gift, Osraed Lealbhallain,” Fhada told him. “We’ve not seen
its like here for some time.”

“Why?
Have you no one who can perform a Healweave?”

Fhada’s
mouth twitched. “We have you. At least for the time being.”

“And
no one else?”

“Yes,
there are the Osraed Dhui and Piobair, but they’re on mercy rounds just now,
tending those too sick to be moved. I was once able to perform a
Healweave—though never so efficiently as you did. Now, I can deal with cuts and
bruises. There are a few others—again, none of them as accomplished as you. The
Meri has not blessed Creiddylad with many Osraed of late—your arrival was quite
a surprise. And the ones that are sent eventually take up work in the Abbis or
in Mertuile, at the Cyne’s ... request. The Eiric hereabouts appreciate having
their children educated by select Osraed and Cleirachs.”

“But
what about the children here? They must be educated, too; they need healing.
Does the Cyne offer these Osraed no choice?”

Fhada
glanced at him askew. “Would you decline an offer to work in the Cyne’s Clinic
or the Eiric’s schools to work here?”

“Yes.”

Fhada
stopped walking and gave him a long look. “I believe you would. But why?”

“Because
this is what the Meri has commissioned me to do.”

“To
squander your talents among the ruins?”

“To
improve the lot of those I am sent to serve. My talents are hardly squandered
if I can do that.” He peered into Fhada’s face, trying to read his expression.
He was able to read more than that. “Why are you here, Osraed Fhada?”

The
older man raised his eyes to the shadow-pocked ceiling of the corridor. “Because
I once felt as you do. That this was my place. That I had a ... mission, I
suppose. As I said, I once could perform a Healweave. But over the years, it
seems I’ve lost my ability to concentrate, to feel the Touch ... Her Touch.”

Leal
felt the bitterness of that—the loneliness. Impulsively, he reached out his
hand and laid it on Fhada’s arm. “She is nearer than your own soul, Osraed.
Reach for Her and She will answer.”

Fhada
shook his head, “I’ve reached for Her in desperation for ten years. I’m
exhausted with the effort. Once in a while I think I’ve recaptured something—a
spark, a warmth—then things conspire to snuff it out. She no longer speaks to
me.”

“Perhaps
She is speaking to you now,” said Leal, and was stunned by his own audacity.

Fhada’s
brows ascended. “And what does She say to me?”

“That
this is wrong.” Leal’s gesture took in the crumbling building around them.

“That
I see, already, Osraed Lealbhallain. My question has always been—what can I do
about it? Except for a few tough-minded souls, like our Hillwild Dhui, I have
had the best talent siphoned away to the schools of the wealthy, to the halls
of Mertuile.”

“You
could have spoken to the Brothers at Ochanshrine.”

“Why
do you assume I haven’t?”

Leal
blushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that. Did you go to them?”

“Yes,
and they spoke to the Cyne and the Cyne pledged his support. But then came the
rebuilding of the Abbis and the changes to the Cyne’s Cirke—surely more
important than feeding and educating a handful of orphans or the sons and
daughters of un-landed commoners.”

“There
are more than a handful of orphans here, Osraed Fhada.”

The
older man turned his face into the shadows. “That is pathetically true.”

“The
Cyne must know.”

Fhada
uttered a bark of laughter. “He knows. He doesn’t care.”

“Then,
Osraed Fhada, he must be made to care.”

The Shrine of your heart opens to your enemy
and closes in the face of your Friend, for you have taken the love of another
into your heart. Listen to the True Friend Who loves you for your own sake and
not for your possessions. Will you show disloyalty to such a Friend?

— Utterances of Osraed Aodaghan, Verse 24

Alone
in the sunny classroom, Ealad-hach forced himself to relax. He was almost happy
here among scattered books and papers, with light from the tall windows
flooding every corner. He came here now to think and plan, and told himself it
was because of the sunlight. He had not been inside his aislinn chamber for
three days.

With
his students gone, he found his mind revolving, again, toward what he now
believed was a dark conspiracy. He knew not who, among the conspirators, were
culpable and who were ignorant puppets, but he knew that at the core must be a
powerfully gifted Wicke who wanted her prodigies at Halig-liath, who surely had
designs on Halig-liath itself. He must find her, expose her.

Again,
he murmured a prayer to the Meri to open a door in the wall of uncertainty he
pressed against. Sighing, he rose to erase the white wall; the names of Cynes,
of great Osraed, the history of Caraid-land, disappeared under the powdered
fleece.

Malcuim,
who first heard the Meri’s chosen; Bearach Spearman, who, with the great Osraed
Gartain, protected the Osmaer crystal from Claeg usurpers; Liusadhe the
Purifier, who checked the influence of the Wicke in his time. There had always
been heroic Cynes to be found at previous Cusps. He erased the name of Colfre
and wondered if this Cyne would be equal to the task.

He
moved to the shelves near the door next, replacing text books, gathering
written assignments. It put him in precisely the right spot to hear the
conversation in the hallway. Later, he would think it the answer to his fevered
prayers.

“Will
you tell none, then?” Scandy-a-Caol’s Northern accent was unmistakable.

“Who
am I to tell?” That was Brys-a-Lach. “She’s an Osraed’s pet. He no doubt taught
her everything she knows.”

“In
the time she’s been here?” Phelan’s reedy whine ended in a pronounced squeak. “I
don’t believe it.”

“Why
not? She didn’t do aught that were so grand.”

“She
mended a broken tree branch,” said Brys dryly. “That’s more than you or I could
do.”

“Mended
it and put it back on!” snorted Phelan.

“Aye,”
said Scandy, “and I heard Cluanie Backstere say she healed a sheep’s broken
fetlock.”

“That’s
not all Cluanie said. Did you catch that twaddle about the Meri regenerating?”
Brys uttered a sharp laugh. “Osraed Ealad-hach would have a fit if he heard her
version of history.”

The
volume of their voices was falling; they were moving off down the hall.
Ealad-hach hurried to the door and peeked through. They were headed away from
him toward the main corridor.

“Look
Brys,” Scandy was objecting, “shouldn’t we tell someone?”

“It
wouldn’t do any good. Especially since Wyth’s grand announcement. We’re to have
female Prentices. Next thing you know we’ll have female Osraed.”

The
three boys disappeared around the corner. Ealad-hach, shamefaced, scurried to
keep within earshot.

“But
this in’t the same thing, Brys. She’s saying and doing stuff I never learnt,
and you saw the way of things there, in tha’ damn glen o’ hers. There was a
gatherin’ a’ tha’ pool, Brys. I’d swear’t. Tha’ Taminy’s calling up a coven.
And on Cirke-dag, more’s the sin. God-the-Spirit, I’m wishin’ we ne’er went
poking after ’em.”

Ealad-hach
all but choked on the air he breathed. He heard the boys steps cease and Phelan
ask, “Did you hear something?”

Afraid
they might turn back and find him cowering there, Ealad-hach slipped into an
empty classroom. His shame at hiding from a trio of mere boys was quickly
eclipsed by a dreadful rapture. It was certain now; Taminy-a-Gled was a Wicke.
But was she
the
Wicke? Was she the
power source he sought, or merely a gifted minion? Either way, his course was
clear. He must find a reason to call the girl out and expose her.

oOo

“My
Lord, the Osraed Lealbhallain to see you.” Durweard Feich’s voice and face were
both devoid of expression as he addressed his Cyne. They were in the throne
room this morning, receiving visitors and petitioners.

Leal
counted himself as just one more of those, or would have if Cyne Colfre had
not, upon seeing him, leapt to his feet exclaiming, “My dear Osraed
Lealbhallain! How good of you to visit me! Come, sit ...Refreshment,” he
ordered the ether, and servants scattered.

Visiting
courtiers, Eiric by the cut of their clothing, muttered and looked annoyed at
the intrusion. Colfre waved them away from the throne. Leal sat where he was
bidden, in a chair on the Cyne’s dais recently vacated by a rotund gentleman
with a beet red face.

“How
may I serve you?” Colfre asked, dipping his head.

Leal
was taken aback. He was certain he had offended the Cyne at their first
meeting—offended and disturbed him. He had expected nothing more than cool
indifference. He chose his words carefully. “Sire, the Care House is in great
need of supplies, staff and renovation. I have observed how fond you are of
such projects and as Care House has always been associated with Mertuile and
lies in her shadow, I thought you should know that it stands in need of your
loving attention.”

Watching
the Cyne’s face, Leal caught his sideways glance at the hovering Durweard. He
also caught, as one catches a distant tune, a shift in the interest of the
courtiers, who stood in a knot just within earshot. His spine tingled.

The
Cyne smiled, amber eyes exuding warmth. “You read me well, young Osraed. But I
regret that I am already over-extended in the area of renovations. No doubt
Osraed Fhada has informed you that I am overseeing the renovation of the Abbis
at Ochanshrine as well as the alterations to the Cyne’s Cirke.”

Leal
nodded. “And the work here at Mertuile, which is a wonder to behold.”

The
Cyne inclined his head, accepting the compliment.

“Which
is why,” Leal continued, “I suggest that the funds to mend the Care House and
its inmates be placed directly in the hands of Osraed Fhada. He’s a competent
man and knows, better than anyone, what needs to be done there.”

“Did
Fhada ask you to make this request?”

“No,
sire. This is my recommendation.” He stressed the last word.

The
Cyne made a rueful noise and shook his head. “I regret, Osraed, that, with the
improvements being made to the Abbis and the Cirke, the funds are also rather
over-extended.”

Leal
glanced down at his folded hands. His prayer crystal rested between them. “Sire,
may I then recommend that you disengage some funds from these other projects
and allot them to the Care House? There are lives involved there—the lives of
children, largely. Surely, those lives are more important than ornamentation.”

Again,
Leal felt a subtle shift of energies in the room; the courtiers and servants
laid their eyes upon the Cyne and waited for his reply. Colfre glanced again at
Feich and bowed his head.

“In
the life of every Cyne, Osraed Lealbhallain, comes a time when he needs the
wise counsel of the Chosen in order to make a decision. Apparently, my time has
come. I have been remiss. Rest assured that a remedy is forthcoming. If you
will tender a list of your needs to Daimhin Feich, he will see to them.”

Leal
did not recall having asked the Cyne to fill a shopping list. He did not say
this, but instead asked, “And the Osraed’s funds?”

“Have
been managed well by our Chancellor. We see no compelling reason to change.
Surely, Osraed Fhada could do without having to juggle finances along with his
other, more important duties. After all, he will soon have renovations to
oversee.”

Lealbhallain
regarded his Cyne’s smiling face for a moment, then inclined his head slightly.
It was not the time for a shoving match. Not the time to over-reach himself. “You
have exceeded my expectations, sire. I’ll inform Osraed Fhada of your generous
response.”

He
rose and left, then, and did not miss the look Colfre exchanged with Daimhin
Feich, though he didn’t see it.

oOo

“I
dreamed last night, Bevol,” she said, and the dark circles beneath her eyes
gave mute testimony that the dreams had not been pleasant. Her breakfast sat,
half-uneaten, on her plate.

“What
did you dream?”

“Flashes
of fire and a great tumult. I dreamed of a collision of paths, a confusion of
lives. I dreamed of our future, fast approaching.”

Bevol
nodded, his eyes seeming to focus on something outside the dining nook window,
but she knew he saw nothing external. “To be expected, I suppose. It worries
you?”

Taminy
slipped a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “May I tell you what really
worries me?”

“Of
course, anwyl.”

She
smiled at the endearment. It comforted. “I am distressed by my own feelings.”
She pressed interlaced hands to her breast. “People look at me strangely and
whisper. I hear my name on the lips of people I don’t even know. People who
smiled at me two days ago, now frown and look away. Brys-a-Lach ...”