The Dark Mirror (48 page)

“Hmm,” said Kethra. “It is a strange tale, indeed. An unlikely one; why would they do this, when the stones are set in place as symbols of the ancient descent
of our people from the seven sons of Pridne? They are markers of both territory and blood; to move them seems almost an insult to the gods, an act of ill omen. Who would choose to do this at a time of victory in battle?”

“I can understand the reasons,” Tuala said. “It does seem a strange act; an act that might cause an imbalance in the fabric of our land. But that place, Galany’s Reach, is within
the boundaries of Dalriada now It was lost to Fortriu years ago. Talorgen’s forces could take the settlement, but not hold it; it is too isolated from our own strongholds. This campaign was never intended for the purpose of seizing back the territory of Galany’s Reach. It was a symbolic strike; a warning of more to come, should Dalriada seek to expand its grasp further into the Glen. The bringing
back of the stone is an act of courage, of bold inventiveness. Difficult; back-breaking; inspirational. It must have put
great heart into our men and further unsettled the enemy. At least,” realizing she had said a great deal more than she intended, “that is how I see it.”

“How do you know all this, anyway?” challenged one of the girls. “Battles and territories and everything?”

“She’s making
it up,” someone muttered behind a hand.

“I’ve had excellent teachers,” Tuala said. “I was lucky”

“Luck is part of it,” said Kethra crisply “Making astute use of your own good fortune is also an advantage. Then there’s natural talent. Girls, I hear the bell. There will be food and drink for you in the dining hall. Don’t run, Odha, you’re not starving.”

The room emptied; only Kethra was left,
and Tuala sitting on the bench, knowing this was not finished yet.

“I’m sorry” Tuala said, and meant it. “I did try not to look, but it happens like that sometimes. The visions are there, waiting for me.”

Kethra sucked in her breath and let it out again. “You have learned this skill before you came to Banmerren, obviously. Who taught you? Broichan?”

Tuala would have laughed if she were not
so nervous. “I was taught many things by my two old tutors, but never this; never the arts of druid or wise woman. And Broichan didn’t teach me anything at all.”
Except how to be afraid
. “He didn’t think I needed any education.”

“It would seem,” Kethra observed as she tilted the basin, emptying its contents back into the jug, “that in respect of scrying, he was absolutely right. You are telling
me this is self-taught? That you can summon these visions without technique, purely through an effort of will?”

“Oh, no,” Tuala said, shocked. “Such images are sent by the gods; they cannot be called up by man or woman alone. It is possible, sometimes, to bend or shape them with the mind. To shut out some parts and strengthen others.” That was what she had done when the Good Folk had sought to
fill her mirror with images she did not want. Then, she had called on the Shining One and the goddess had shown herself in the clear water. “I think that if the seer has a particular need to know something, perhaps to interpret an augury for the future, the gods shape the visions in a way that will help. At least, that has been my experience.”

“I see.” Kethra looked stunned, baffled. Her deft
hands wiped out the basin with a cloth, covered the ewer, clasped themselves before her as she came to stand by Tuala. Tuala got to her feet respectfully.

“Tuala,” said Kethra.

“Yes?”

“I think it best if today’s lesson is not discussed openly among the girls. If they question you about what happened, give them a brief, truthful answer and leave it at that. Don’t allow yourself to be drawn into
discussions of technique, nor tempted to demonstrate. These are beginners, and vulnerable. Do you understand?”

“Of course. They won’t ask me, anyway. They don’t talk to me.”

There was a brief silence.

“Did we make an error, housing you on your own?” Kethra asked.

“Oh, no!” Tuala was filled with horror at the prospect of being moved into those communal chambers, to be surrounded by whispering
girls at all hours of day and night. The tower was hers, her place, safe, silent; the oak was her refuge, her piece of Pitnochie here in an alien realm. Whoever had made the decision to put her in the tower had shown wisdom and kindness. “I am happy where I am. It suits me very well.”

“Perhaps,” Kethra said. “You may go now Tomorrow, instead of attending this class, you will go to see Fola. She
wanted a progress report, and it’s time. I will tell her to expect you. Now hurry up or you’ll miss the food.”

Tuala was almost out the door when Kethra spoke again, behind her.

“Do you think it’s true? Have they really brought the Mage Stone up the lake?”

“I suppose we will find out when Talorgen’s men come home,” said Tuala, seeing Bridei’s face in her mind and knowing in her heart that every
scrap of her vision was a true and exact record of the way things had happened. Another image crept across that bright memory: a man clutching at his throat and dying in agony. In today’s image, Bridei had not yet worn his battle marks. Still, Broichan had promised action: there would be a taster now, and extra guards. All the same, she longed to know Bridei was back at Pitnochie and safe again.

“I suppose we will,” said Kethra. “If true, this could be a powerful portent of good times to come for the Priteni. Most powerful.” Her tone changed. “Off you go, then,” she said. “I’ve things to do if you haven’t.”

NEXT MORNING AS
the others made their way to class, Tuala waited at the entry to Fola’s private chamber. Shade,
too, was outside the door; she
had seen him earlier in the garden, stalking birds. He sat now, ears pricked, tail twitching irritably, impatient for admission. The cat had his routines like the rest of them at Banmerren and did not appreciate their disruption. But Fola’s door was closed; from within, her voice could be heard, measured and calm. Tuala bent to stroke Shade’s coat; layers of ancient
scars had left it rough and threadbare. Eyeing her with an old cat’s skeptical gaze, he purred despite himself.

The door opened abruptly and the girl who emerged had to put out both arms to avoid falling over the two of them and sprawling flat on the rush-strewn floor.

“Oh—I’m sorry—here—” Tuala reached out a hand to steady her.

The girl flinched away, eyes wide and blank. Tuala vaguely remembered
her from the very first days at Banmerren; a thin, solemn-faced thing, very quiet. What was her name: Morna? Morva? She had not been in any of the classes recently; now that Tuala thought about it, she hadn’t seen the girl walking on the grass with the others or seated at table for a long time. Perhaps she had been ill. Her eyes were very strange. Now she turned and vanished like a shadow,
not out to the communal area but back toward the place where the senior women had their sleeping quarters. It was only after she was gone that Tuala realized Morna had not been wearing the blue robe of the junior girls, but garments of pure white.

“Come in, Tuala.” Fola’s tone gave no suggestion of her mood. Shade had already made his way in and was up on the bench beside the wise woman, circling
on a cushion. Tuala wondered if the cat ever had the temerity to sit on his mistress’s knee. Maybe that would be too undignified for both of them.

“Kethra has spoken to me of what occurred yesterday,” Fola went on, “and of your own request not to practice scrying with the other juniors. You surprised her.”

“I’m sorry—I did try to tell her—”

“I was, perhaps, unfair, both to you and to Kethra.
This comes as no surprise to me; my intuition seldom fails me, and I detected something in you when we first met, something that would in time come to fruition and be both powerful and perilous. I have waited a long time for you to join us at Banmerren; waited while your tutors at Pitnochie provided a grounding far beyond what can be offered in this house of women. I could have warned Kethra and
the others what to expect. It seemed to me better to let matters
run their course for a while; to see what you made of Banmerren and what Banmerren made of you.”

Tuala said nothing. This felt uncomfortably close to Broichan’s games of strategy, games with human pieces. She remembered that Fola and the king’s druid were old friends.

“Do you think your vision was an image of the present time?
A reflection of truth?” There was an eagerness in the wise woman’s tone now, the same Tuala had heard in Kethra’s, asking this. Neither had missed the true import of Tuala’s vision.

“I know it was,” Tuala told her.

“You
know?
” asked Fola sharply. “That is arrogance, child; we cannot know the gods’ intentions until these portents become reality.”

“I do know. I know because Bridei was in it,
and I always see true for him. Except when it is the future, which can be changed.” She shivered; but for Broichan’s swift action in sending that warning message down the Glen, the future might have been bleak indeed.

Fola’s eyes had narrowed. “Bridei. You did not mention Bridei to Kethra, not by the account she gave me. What was his part in this?”

Tuala bit her lip, suddenly reluctant to tell
more, even to someone who had always seemed a friend.

“I mean no harm to him, Tuala,” Fola said. “Quite the opposite. Like Broichan, I am committed to Bridei’s future. You can trust me; this is the truth.”

“He was leading the endeavor when they brought the Mage Stone down to King Lake,” Tuala said. “It was his idea, his vision, his undertaking. They all followed him, warrior and chieftain alike.
He awoke the light of inspiration in their eyes, the touch of the Flamekeeper. I think men will long remember this.”

Fola nodded. “Broichan will rejoice to hear it,” she said. “And so will the king. These are indeed interesting times. Momentous times.”

“Fola?”

“Yes, child?”

“I have tried to work hard since I came here. I’ve tried to do as I promised. I’m sorry I made Kethra angry.”

Fola regarded
her in silence for a moment. “Kethra’s not angry,” she said. “Perhaps a little annoyed with herself for not seeing this earlier, but not in any way aggrieved with you. Like me, she appreciates talented students; we
get them seldom enough. I asked all your tutors for a progress report. Kethra has recommended you have private tuition in most of the branches of the craft that she teaches, either
with her or with me. Derila tells me your background in history, geography, and politics is exceptional; she would prefer to keep you in her class, as I gather some of the noble daughters are quite apt and that all of you can benefit from robust debate.”

Tuala nodded.

“Derila’s enjoying herself,” Fola said, smiling. “The best crop of students she’s ever had, she tells me. Have you made any friends,
Tuala?”

“Friends.” Tuala could hardly think what that might mean, here among these girls who seemed so different they might be from another world. “Not really. Fox—Ferada sits by me; Ana has been kind to me. They are the daughters of chieftains; I am—what I am. I don’t think we could ever be friends. The others—well, they look at me and whisper and laugh behind their hands. It doesn’t matter.
It was already like that at Pitnochie before I came away”

Something in her voice or her face made Fola lean forward, scrutinizing her closely. “What do you mean, Tuala?”

Tuala’s voice came out unevenly, despite her efforts at control. “I became unwelcome. Broichan never wanted me there. But the rest of them did. Until I started to grow up. Then they were afraid of me. It was stupid, but I couldn’t
change it. That was when Broichan said I had to go.”

“What about your friend? Bridei? Is he afraid of you, now that you are a woman?”

Tuala stared at her, outrage robbing her of speech.

“It’s a reasonable question,” Fola said calmly. “A very apt one, indeed, since the young man is of exactly the age to be most vulnerable in such a respect, one might think.”

“He’s been away,” Tuala said, blinking
back sudden tears. “And of course he isn’t afraid of me. Of course he isn’t. It’s not like that between us . . .”

“Not like what?”

Tuala pressed her lips tightly together. This was unfair; cruel. Nobody understood the way it was; nobody but herself and Bridei. Nobody but the Shining One, who had brought them together at Midwinter, long ago.

“Let us leave that for now, since it distresses you,”
Fola said. “Perhaps you came here just in time. As for the other matter, we’ll alter your day’s work to fit in private tuition with me in the mornings, in place of Kethra’s lessons.
You’ll continue in Derila’s classes. I sense you do gain something from those, as a natural scholar. The noble daughters will be returning to court once Talorgen comes to Caer Pridne; if your visions are as accurate
as you believe, that may be quite soon. After that, Derila may make use of you to help teach some of the other girls, if you agree to it.”

Tuala stared at her. “I don’t think they would welcome me as a tutor—it would make them resent me still more—”

Fola’s brows rose. “If it is in the service of the Shining One you would do it regardless, would you not?” she asked.