The Ordinary (25 page)

To find a way to be alone required simple brazenness. At the end of the meal, as Jedda held still for Arvith to wrap her outer great cloak around her shoulders, Malin abruptly took it from him, maneuvering the richly brocaded garment around Jedda's neck, helping it to fall gracefully over Jedda's outer layers.

“The rain has stopped,” Arvith was saying, “so we won't need all your wraps.”

“I'll be taking Jedda home in my carriage,” Malin said, turning back to Jedda. She had looked at Arvith without the least curiosity, thinking him a servant and nothing more. “Is that all right with you?” Malin asked Jedda.

“Yes, that's fine.”

Malin gave a short nod. “I've plenty of room, after all.” Two of her own attendants were drawing a great cloak around her, from behind, with eyes cast down to the floor. “We'll have room for your servant, as well.”

“I am most grateful, madam,” Jedda said.

Malin led the way, followed by her own bearers; Arvith showed no reaction whatsoever, simply fell in step ahead of Jedda, who followed, with her own cloak bearers taking up their place behind her. Only a short way down the corridor, Malin threw off the cloak and unpinned a bit of her hair. “The show's over,” she said, looking back at Jedda, continuing purposefully along the plush carpet.

Jedda unfastened her own cloak again, relieved to be rid of the weight. “We don't need these for the weather?”

“The carriageway is covered, we'll be fine.” She had slowed her step and her bearers parted to make room for Jedda. They walked not quite arm in arm but close enough. Malin towered over Jedda by a head, a supple, graceful body, hypnotic in its way of moving, all arms and legs. She shed all her clothing down to the trousers and tunic, all black, the fabric a thin velvet. Pieces of the formal garment lay in the arms of this bearer or that one. Jedda walked fast but still struggled to keep up. At the carriageway, Arvith helped her out of the outermost of her own gowns; by the time the carriage arrived, she was feeling lighter, down to a short skirt over leggings and the formal tunic, stiff and cream-colored.

They hardly spoke in the rain, listening. Now that they were alone there was no more hand-holding; they had lost their ease. At the door to Jedda's tower, Malin looked at her. “I'll let you out here, then.”

“Will I see you again? Before I go?”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow. I don't know the time, it's up to your uncle.”

She nodded. A look of something, like a shadow, passed across her face. She set her chin. “You'll see me, then,” she said. “Go inside, let your people get dry.”

The servants had raised a canopy and were waiting, water streaming over their hoods and slickers. She took pity on them, stepped down from the carriage, feeling at once the heaviness of her body away from Malin. She tripped through the rain to the front door and heard the carriage pull away. She felt a fool, stepping inside.

The storm raged as fiercely as ever, wind tossing the tops of trees for miles, visible in the lightning and the constant fount of radiance from the tower. Jedda stood at the window and brooded. The wine had caught up with her, if she was feeling this disappointed.

A few minutes later, when there was a knock at the door, she was equally piqued by the sudden elation that filled her; really, none of her feelings felt quite right. She opened the door to find Malin there, hooded and cloaked and appearing to stretch herself upward as she stepped into the room. “He's put you in here, has he?”

“In here?”

“This is the Evaedren, the Tower of Twelve. These are rooms Edenna Morthul kept for herself, when she was mistress here. Or so goes the story, anyway.”

“Not very sumptuous.”

“Maybe they were more luxurious in those days.” Malin shrugged. “It was a long time ago; people have been adding to this house since it was first built. But this is one of the oldest towers. Which was why Lady Edenna favored it.”

“She's part of your history that I haven't heard about.” Jedda led Malin to the fireplace, then stood awkwardly as Malin removed her rain cloak, which was quite dry. Jedda took it from her, hung it on a cloak stand as she had seen Arvith do.

“She's very old history.”

They looked at one another, and each grew quite shy. “I was right to come back, wasn't I?” Malin asked.

“Yes, you were right. It's what I wanted.” Jedda's voice failed at that. She poured herself a glass of water and Malin signed for one as well; they stood at the window sipping their water, listening to the crackle of the fire.

“You know what you're getting into?” Malin asked.

“No. Not really. Do you?”

“I know you go away tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And I don't mind.”

“You're disinterested?”

“I'm very old, and very patient. I gather I'll be seeing you again.”

“Yes. But not for a long time.”

A change, a look of slight pain, crossed Malin's features. “Oh, well, then.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Yes. Not so much, but some.” Still, Malin took Jedda's hand, led her to a seat by the fire, and then to a couch farther back, where they could sit side by side. Jedda felt breathless, waiting. Malin's fingertips slid gently along the skin of Jedda's neck. “You're not afraid of me.”

“No. I suppose I should be, but I'm not.”

Malin laughed. “That's worth waiting for, to hear that, and believe it.”

When they kissed, for Jedda, it was like finding her youth again; she felt all the tremblings in her body that she had feared lost to time. Later, in the wide bed, she felt more of the same, her body opening. They were seasoned women, they came together with some skill and a good deal of greed; neither could have faked the pleasure or the surprise in a way that the other would have believed, and so they were opened by their pleasure, and by their freshness in it. For Jedda it could mean only one thing, a thought she preferred to avoid, so when the rounds of sex were over she tried to sleep, tried not to enjoy too much the feeling of a golden contentment that lit her as she lay next to Malin. Jedda was leaving, really and truly, tomorrow in the morning or at least as soon as her departure could be arranged. Leaving, really and truly, to return to her own time, a secret she had managed mostly to keep from Malin. Though the good-bye to come was already etched between them.

“Remarkable,” Malin murmured, as if she had known Jedda was awake all along. “To feel so much, after one night.”

“Do you feel so much?”

“It's plain enough I do.”

Jedda nodded. “Thank you for saying so.”

“For someone as old as I am, it's a treasure you can't even imagine.” She drew herself over Jedda on her arms, looking down. “How long will I have to wait to see you again?”

“I don't know. A very long time, I think.”

She nodded. After a while she stood from the bed. “We shouldn't talk any more about it, then.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Not till morning.” Looking back over her shoulder, smiling, her face framed by the halo of her pale hair. Her body firm and inviting, breasts with their lovely heavy sway. She could have been Jedda's age, or younger.

“I'm glad.”

How long would it be, after all? For Jedda it would be a moment, the crossing of all those years through which Malin must plod. Malin would come to see this as a tryst, nothing more. A spark of emotion, used to warm the spirit for a few years; maybe even a bit of a fire that would last; still, even Jedda knew that for Malin centuries would pass. Perhaps this was knowledge they both shared as the dawn light crept into the room through the east-facing bank of windows. After a while they gave up pretending to rest; why sleep when at best they would have a few tiny moments in which to stand at the window anyway, to watch the sun rise over the eastern forest beyond the three hills.

Near the final moment, Malin straightened from the window, pulled Jedda close, and opened the blanket to her one last while. “We make what we can of what happens,” Malin said. “I'm glad to know you.”

“I feel the same.”

“These are good gifts to give.” Malin pulled away, closed the blanket around herself. “You may as well get ready now. My uncle is coming here very shortly.”

“How shortly?”

Malin gestured with her head toward the center of the room, where a light was growing. Jedda pulled her own bit of blanket around her shoulders, feeling heaviness in all her limbs. At least she was sobered from the wine.

After a moment she could simply see him in the room; no more fanfare than that. He smelled of wind, as before, and moved in the same nets of gems and bracelets as the day before. He looked from one of them to the other. “You will forgive my intruding. But Arvith must get Jedda's things together for her return. And I have things to show her.”

“You're taking her to Ellebren?”

A long look between uncle and niece. Not a jot of change in Irion's expression. “Yes. Of course.”

“May I come, too?” Malin asked.

He studied her for a much longer moment than before. “You would put yourself in my hand?”

Malin trembled, as if he had touched her. “Yes, Uncle.”

He shook his head. “How will I ever make an adversary of you if you trust me this way?”

She smiled, looking into the fire, then reaching for Jedda's hand. “You never will.”

He stepped forward, slid his hand along her cheek. To Jedda this seemed unremarkable, but Irion and Malin held their breath through the long moment. “My dear,” he said. “Yes, I'll bring you with us to my tower. Take a moment to close yourself as best you can.”

She nodded. She was close to tears. Simply watch, Jedda told herself, don't try to understand everything. She started to dress, hurriedly.

A moment later they were placeless in what felt like a high wind and then in a room where another kind of wind scoured strongly through the windows. Irion handed Jedda a long coat; she slipped her arms into it as he turned to Malin, dressed in the black trousers and tunic of the evening before. “Do you remember the last time I brought you here?”

“Yes. That would be hard to forget.”

“Stay off the high place this time, my dear.” He laughed, turned to Jedda. “Welcome to my highest house. This is my preparation room, and up yonder, through those stairs, is where I work.”

“What do you call this place?”

“The room? In one style, pirunaen, the wizard's room, or the Room-Under, as it is called in the older style of Edenna Morthul. The workroom, I call it.” He strode some paces away down a long row of tables; the room was very broad, windows open to the sky on all sides, rain splattering and draining into gutters cut into the stone. Irion gestured and the windows all swung closed, the sudden quiet surprising. “I like the feeling of the weather most of the time, but this morning it's a bit much.”

“And when you travel as you do?”

“Kinisthal, mist moving. It's only safe when I'm close to a high place, like this one.”

“Magic,” Jedda said. “I've seen Malin do it, once.”

He shook his head. “You likely saw her hide herself in some other way. She doesn't know the higher forms of kinisthal. Your technology can accomplish this or not?”

“No. Shifting matter directly through space? No. We'd like to be able to.”

He was silent for a moment. Malin was watching, but she had heard nothing of this exchange. He considered her for a moment. “It pains me to hold her in this way. But she shouldn't have her suspicions confirmed any more than necessary.”

“Is this painful for her, to be under your control?”

“Not unless I wish it to be, and of course, I have no such wish. It's uncomfortable for her. She's been Prin for a long time, she has her pride, in spite of the fact that she denies it.”

Malin spoke, startling them both. “I'm sure you're both enjoying this. I just thought I'd warn you that I plan to go on standing here, no matter what. You're welcome to muck about with my senses as long as I can keep watching, uncle.”

He nodded his assent toward her. Stepping toward Jedda. “The trick, then, will be to allow her to see you as she chooses and yet never to understand what passes between us.” He stopped to consider a moment. “Or, better yet, to see only a part of it.”

In his hands were a letter, sealed in a heavy envelope, and a ring. He offered the ring first, pressing it into her palm. “This will replace your novice ring. When you wear it, no one but you will be able to see it, which will be important when you return. You may wear it for a great deal longer than you can an ordinary novice ring, with no ill effects, since I've keyed it to you, but even so you must take it off when you rest. When you take it off your finger, keep it on the chain close to your skin and no one will be able to touch it or find it. That much is important. If you lose the ring you'll be in a lot of trouble with your captor, and so will I.”

She looked at him, at the storm through the windows, at Malin who stood watching without any sign of comprehension. “You're making this sound terribly dramatic.”

“No more than it is.” He touched her hand fondly. “There'll be no one close enough to help you for a time.”

“How long?”

“I won't say. I can't say, entirely. Not anymore. Not since I've interceded in this way.” He took a long breath, and she could see the edge of his fear. What could make such a creature frightened? “Use the ring. It will teach you to manage your pain. The lessons are part of what it's designed to do, simply wear it and you'll see. And when the time comes, when you make the decision you must make, it will help you and me both.”

“How?”

He shook his head again. “I'm giving you hints, nothing more than that. Don't ask for more.” He gestured with the parchment. “This letter is for Malin. I'll have Arvith put it among your clothing in your luggage, though you'll be separated from it. Malin is hearing and seeing this part, are you not, my dear?”