The Dark Mirror (47 page)

When it came time for history, a shared class, Ferada seated herself on
one side of Tuala and Ana came to settle on the other, and after that the three of them sat together every morning. For this hour, at least, Tuala could pretend she was not alone here. One of the green-clad seniors, Derila, conducted this class, a welcome relief from Kethra’s sharp questions
and scathing comments. Derila was both clever and fair; she expected every student to participate and dealt kindly with errors. There was no keeping silent in Derila’s classes.

Ferada was clever, too. Her hand shot up in response to every question; if she disagreed with a position she would argue with wit and cogency. Tuala began to reassess her.

Ana, too, was talented in this subject. Less
ready to dispute, she nonetheless held her ground in debate and learned quickly, being the kind of student who rises early in the morning to study while others are still abed. Ana was capable of doing fine needlework and reciting the ancestry of the kings of the Folk both at the same time, with no error in either. She could make maps in a tray of sand, and identify which stars meant a fortunate time
for a child to be born and which presaged a life of struggle. She could sing and play the harp.

As for Tuala herself, this became the lesson in which she was not afraid to speak. She responded cautiously to a question, then answered another, and was asked to tell what she knew about kin signs and the different ways they were used on the carven stones, depending on whether one were in Circinn
or Fortriu. The explanation took some time, for it was a complex issue, often debated with Wid and Erip. The class sat mute, listening, and so did Derila. From then on, the tutor asked Tuala often for elucidation, and sometimes engaged her in discussion after class. It was not quite like the old times at Pitnochie, but it was good.

Scrying was quite the opposite. This discipline, the noble daughters
did not study; during these sessions they were allowed to go riding, their own mounts being stabled at the farm outside the walls. Ana’s guards were never far away; they, too, were quartered at the farm while their charge was at Banmerren. In inclement weather the noble daughters sat together sewing and chatting; what Tuala overheard of this generally involved a detailed comparison of various
young men of their acquaintance.

Tuala and her fellow juniors gathered in a cold room under Kethra’s gaze, a bronze bowl on the table before them. Kethra was explaining the rudiments. “You’ll probably see nothing more than your own reflection . . . quite usual . . . need to focus the mind . . .”

Tuala stared at a stain on the wall that was somewhat in the shape of a little dog; she looked at
the scratch marks on the benches, the rushes on the floor, the clasped hands of the girl beside her.

“Concentrate the will . . . shut out distractions . . . make the breathing slow and steady as I showed you . . .”

Odha, white-faced with tension, was leaning over the bowl, which another girl had filled from the heavy jug set on the table. Tuala gazed at Odha’s felt slippers; at the door frame;
at Fola’s cat, Shade, which sat in a corner glowering. Anything, anything to keep her eyes away from that shimmering surface, bursting with secrets. Anything, not to reveal what she would be able to see there.

“Breathe, Odha. Clear your mind . . .”

A long wait in silence. At length Odha straightened up, small features anxious. “I couldn’t see anything at all,” she said, crestfallen.

“This skill
is in the gift of the Shining One,” Kethra told her, not unkindly. “In your prayers, speak to her and seek her wisdom; it will come in time, when she deems you ready for it. Such aspects of our craft are not learned in a day, or a season, or a year, but with exacting discipline and rigorous practice over all the time of our service. This is not a test, child, merely a beginning. Tuala!” Her tone
had changed sharply; ice had entered it.

Tuala started. “Yes, Kethra?”

“No doubt you find those rushes on the floor deeply fascinating; perhaps they don’t bother with such niceties where you come from. This is a time for learning, not dreaming. Or maybe you feel I have nothing to teach you, is that it? That you are already expert in all the skills I have to impart?”

There was a ripple of giggles,
quickly suppressed as Kethra’s quelling gaze swept around the circle. Tuala looked down at her hands. She did not want to tell a lie; it seemed to her the Shining One would expect the speaking of complete truth here in the house of her wise women. “I don’t think I should be in this class,” she said quietly.

No laughter now, but a general, horrified intake of breath. Kethra’s tongue was universally
feared; nobody ever challenged her. Besides, as Fola’s principal assistant, Kethra was known to be a font of wisdom. That her classes were to be endured rather than enjoyed made no difference to that.

“You may be correct in that,” Kethra said drily. “There are some students who never manage to master the art of divination; from whom the images of the scrying bowl are forever veiled. We do, at
least, expect everyone to try
It is for your elders to determine whether you have aptitude or not. Other tasks can be found for those without talent.”

“Scrubbing floors,” someone muttered.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tuala said in desperation, willing herself to stay quiet but unable to hold her tongue under the wise woman’s gaze, which seemed to place her at the level of something one would
squash beneath a boot sole. “I would prefer not to do this here, in a class it’s best performed alone, with prayers and due ritual “

Kethra’s look changed again; now there was something in her eyes that was truly alarming. “Do I have this correct?” Her tone did not match her look; it was silken. “You, a new student, a child of the forest taken in only through the kindness of our senior priestess,
are trying to tell me how to conduct my class?”

Tuala shook her head; misery fought with anger in her breast. She met Kethra’s gaze, still doing her best not to let the shining water cross her vision. “No,” she said in the politest tone she could summon. “I am neither wise woman nor teacher. But I have been brought up in the love of the gods and in the strict observance of ritual. I have studied
these matters since I was a little child. I am sure you know what is right for your students. All I can say is that, for me and for others of my household, this practice was always a thing of solitude, a rite shared only between seer and spirits.” It was not quite true; she had looked in the Dark Mirror side by side with Bridei, each seeking their own visions. But Bridei was part of herself, and
she of him; it was different. “I ask to be excused from this class; I will spend the time practicing alone. Or scrubbing floors, if that is deemed appropriate.”

Kethra regarded her for a long moment. Then she stepped aside, and the bronze bowl was suddenly in full sight, the still water catching the light of two tall candles set on the table close by. The surface danced with images, drawing Tuala
closer despite herself. The room went very quiet.

“Your turn,” Kethra said softly. “Tell us what you see, little wild girl.”

By then it had gone beyond choice. The water called her; the vision beguiled her and she must look. Tuala moved closer, and the world of tutor and students, of flickering candles and quiet chamber and stone walls dissolved around her as the eye of the spirit drew her into
trance.

A tall woman walked across the mirror, the embodiment of the Shining One herself, clad in robes of silver, her face so radiant Tuala could not look at it, could not see features or expression, but knew they were lovely beyond
compare and full of a sweet compassion. On her shoulder was perched an owl, its eyes round and lustrous, its plumage purest white. In the goddess’s arms lay an infant
robed in snowy fur; she held the babe tenderly, as if it were a precious thing. She faded away, and in her place a scene appeared so strange that for a little Tuala could not put its pieces together and make sense of them. It was all frenzied activity, men cutting trees, shaping their trunks into smooth logs; men working with ropes, fashioning a net or harness; men digging deep in the earth.
Men by the water’s edge building a great raft. Men on guard as if expecting an attack. Some of them she knew: Donal with the rope workers, Enfret on guard, Ferada’s brother Gartnait standing by a wall, not doing anything, just watching with a twist to the lips. Then, a terrible sight: a great mound of bodies, burning. Tuala bit her lip, hearing with the ears of the seer an outcry of women, a desperate
keening farewell. It seemed the battle was over; Fortriu had triumphed. But what were they doing?

Then, at last, came Bridei: she felt the tears well in her eyes to see him. Alive; still safe. He stood on a hilltop, the wind in his hair. He was giving orders and men were scurrying to obey them. He looked so tall; so solemn. So much a man.

More digging; astoundingly, it seemed they were loosening
a huge standing stone from its bed deep in the earth, lowering it with ropes, many men on these to control the weight until the monolith lay on tree trunks set as rollers. As she stared dumbfounded at the images, the massive thing was conveyed down the hill, men running to move the lengths of wood from back to front, others leaning their whole weight on the ropes to slow the descent, and all
the time Bridei beside them, exhorting, encouraging, altering the angle of the precious burden that it might not have to be lifted again, a task surely beyond even such a great force of men. A dark, wild-looking fellow beside Bridei, his mad grin at odds with the tears in his eyes. A long and grueling march, men straining on ropes, hauling forward now on flat terrain, and the runners maintaining their
endless lifting and replacing of the heavy rollers. At last the water’s edge, and a complicated transfer with wedged timbers, long levers, and thick ropes, the stone maneuvered from elevated bank to a kind of net cradle within a barge. Tuala wondered if the whole thing would sink without trace; if the gods would punish these men of Fortriu for what seemed an act of outrageous mischief, although
the thing they stole was indubitably their own. But, to a chorus of wild cheers—it was a wonder these men had breath left for more than a whisper the
Mage Stone floated, nestled in its rope hammock, its vessel borne up by the choppy waters of what must be King Lake, at the western end of the Great Glen. Talorgen clapped Bridei on the shoulder in hearty congratulation. Donal was close by, his tattooed
features transformed with pride. Gartnait was not to be seen.

Bridei was smiling. Tuala knew that little smile, and she knew by the shadow in his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his hands showed white at the knuckles that for him this double victory held also some kind of defeat, some perceived failure. Now it was over and they would come home. They would come home, and Bridei would need
to talk, he would need to tell someone what burdened him, what it was that set a darkness in his spirit, that confused his thoughts and tugged at his heart. Such secrets as these he could not speak to Donal, not fully. He would not let Broichan see his tears. Bridei would need her, and she would not be there.

She was not sure, afterward, if she had willed the image away or if it had faded of
itself. For a long time she stood in a daze, departed from the world of the seer, not quite returned to the other. Then a voice said, “She’s crying.”

Kethra spoke then, her tone quiet, wary. “Hush, Reia. One of the first things you must learn is not to disturb a person in trance. They must be given time to emerge; time to come back to themselves.” Then, after a carefully judged wait, “Tuala?”

Tuala blinked; the candles flickered, the circle of faces came into view, young, staring faces, their eyes uniformly big with amazement. She felt weak, sick; it was so long since she had seen him, too long, and now this . . .

“Sit down,” Kethra said. “Odha, fetch her water. You others, give her some space. Breathe slowly, Tuala.”

The big cat, Shade, chose that moment to stroll over and jump up
beside Tuala on the bench; he pushed his head against her, purring, and she reached a hand to scratch behind his tattered ears. That touch was reassuring; it brought the everyday world back in a way human speech had not.

“Drink this,” Kethra said, putting a cup of water in Tuala’s hands. “Girls, there is much to be learned from this. If nothing else, it shows you the dangers of experimenting
on your own, unsupervised. Don’t do it. Such an experience taxes both body and mind. Until you have attained a certain level of control you must always have a watcher.” She turned her attention back to Tuala. “So,” she observed, “you were telling the truth. What did you see? Share it with us.”

Protesting was pointless; a refusal would only draw more attention. Kethra was not going to leave off
before she got an answer. “I think these were images of now, or of recent times,” Tuala said. “Of course, sometimes these visions are only of what may be, or what might have been. It’s not always possible to see what you think you need to see. Sometimes there are no answers. Other times the answers are there, but hidden. I saw glimpses of King Drust’s men on their campaign. You know they have traveled
under the chieftain Talorgen’s command far down the Glen in the hope of reclaiming the territory of Galany’s Reach, where the Mage Stone stands.”

Her audience was completely silent, waiting for more.

“This seemed to show that they had won their battle. And . . . they were moving the stone. Lifting it from the earth with ropes and timbers, bringing it down to a barge, so it could be floated back
up to our own lands.” She would not speak of the Shining One; she would not mention Bridei.

Kethra wore a little frown. “Why would a child like you be sent such a vision?” she asked. “What could you know of such matters?”

“
Moving
the Mage Stone?” queried Reia in amazement. “Isn’t it supposed to be taller than a giant and as thick as the neck of a bull? How could they move it?”

Tuala saw again
Bridei’s young features, full of purpose; his bright eyes in which awareness of the gods was never far below the surface.
With the right leader, men can achieve the impossible
. “They did it with druid magic, and with cleverness,” she said.