ZYGRADON (4 page)

Mrillis decided that Graddon had come in response to a vision, to find the
children and test them, to learn the sound and feel of their spirits and minds. He talked
with the metalworkers in the Stronghold and the ladies in charge of the great
looms--about what, the boy had no idea, but knew he would learn in time. It only mattered
that the man felt familiar, like an old friend who had come back to visit.

When Graddon left the Stronghold, he promised to come back every four
moons to visit, to talk with them about prophecies and history and the making of pretty
things. He left copper, bronze and silver wire for them to play with, to braid and to
flatten with little hammers, so they could learn the feel and response of the different
metals. He told Ceera to remember her dreams, and to weave pictures of what she
saw.

"Why?" the boy asked Le'esha, when they bade farewell to the seer and
Graddon had vanished into the twisting passages that guarded the Stronghold. "What did
he see in his vision, that made him come look for us?"

"If I told you, my lad, that might change everything. Be content with the lessons
he has given you to learn now." The Queen of Snows bent and scooped up Ceera and
settled the child on her hip. "Don't pick up the hammer that is too big for you to hold,"
she added with a wink and a smile.

Mrillis groaned, but he grinned before he hurried ahead to open the door to
the stairs for her. On one visit to the forges, he had tried to pick up a hammer with a
head bigger than both his feet put together. He had nearly dropped it on his foot, it was
so heavy.

"What do you think I'm supposed to do, when I learn to be a metalworker?" he
persisted, as the three started up the stairs.

"Who says you are to be the metalworker? Or a weaver, for that matter?
Perhaps Ceera is the one who will put her visions into metal and cloth, and your duty is
to guard her and bring her whatever she needs."

Mrillis nearly stopped short. He frowned and studied his feet as he continued
climbing and thought about that possibility. It had never occurred to him that Ceera
would do anything that he hadn't done first or that he hadn't taught her. He wasn't sure
he liked the idea of the little girl, as much as he loved her, being better than him at
anything.

"My lad..." Le'esha paused on the next landing, where a shuttered window
rattled a little under the renewed pounding of the wind coming off the sea. She adjusted
Ceera in her arms and sat down on the bench placed there for those who stood watch.
"Why is the Warhawk a great man?"

"He--he's the smartest and the bravest and the strongest warrior." That question
was easy. He smiled up at her and hooked his thumbs into the braided cloth belt he
wore.

"Why is he?"

That answer wasn't so quick in coming. Mrillis chewed on his lip and tried to
think about the things he had heard about Afron, son of Maksin Warhawk.

"The Estall gives us many gifts, many talents," Le'esha said, speaking softly, as if
weary. "We are bound by honor to use those gifts to their fullest. The Warhawk's gift is
to lead men in war, to protect Noveni and Rey'kil from the Encindi. He is a great man
because he knows his duty to the Estall, and he does it. He was trained from childhood
to be a warrior." She smiled and tipped her head so her cheek rested against the top of
Ceera's head.

"And what does that have to do with you? Suppose your gift, my dear, is to
guard Ceera. To keep her safe, to give her the tools and supplies she needs to do great
and good things." A tiny yawn escaped Ceera, making woman and boy laugh.

"If that's what the Estall wants me to do..." He sighed, feeling rebellion churning
deep inside him.

Like every boy in the dormitory, he wanted to do exciting things. He wanted to
ride a fast horse and explore the whole world. He wanted to invade and conquer Flintan
and see all the dark and strange places where the Encindi lived. He wanted to explore
Moerta and learn why star-metal was poison there, but it did no harm to Lygroes. He
wanted to be a warrior like his father, a spy, a scholar who unraveled the great secrets of
the ancient prophecies that had yet to come to pass.

He didn't want to be stuck in the shadow of a little girl all his life, keeping her
out of trouble, bringing her beads and yarn and keeping the older boys from teasing
her.

Then Mrillis thought of the day Ceera had almost fallen into the fire. He
thought of the pain he had endured, and the fear that still lingered, that he might have
no
imbrose
left.

He thought of how proud Le'esha had been, and how grateful he had been that
Ceera hadn't been hurt.

"I don't know, Lady," he finally admitted. "Why can't I do everything?"

"Indeed, why can't you?" She winked, stood and started up the stairs, leaving
the boy dumfounded and staring after her.

Ceera raised her head from Le'esha's shoulder when Mrillis caught up with them
at the next landing. She blinked sleepy eyes and whispered something that only Le'esha
heard.

The Queen of Snows stopped short and shifted the little girl so she could look
her in the eyes. She went utterly still, sending a chill down Mrillis' back that had nothing
to do with the icy air seeping through the gaps around the shutters.

"Lady?" he whispered.

"Say it again, Little Star," she said, and stroked Ceera's silvery hair out of her
face.

"Dream." Ceera closed her eyes and snuggled close against the woman's
shoulder again. "Pretty dream. We made a bowl out of stars. We put the whole world in
it." She giggled. "Like an apple. A bad boy tried to take the apple, but the bowl gave you
a sword and you stopped him." Sighing, she tucked her face into the collar of Le'esha's
dress and fell silent.

"Bowl and sword," Le'esha whispered, and her eyes flickered white with the
mist of Seeing. A moment later, she shook her head and tried to smile. "There, you see,
my lad? You will do both. Warrior and artisan. Guarding Ceera. Guarding the world, like
an apple in a bowl," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A bowl that you must
make, or help make. A sword that you must help make, or the sword that you will be. A
vision is never truly clear until it has fully come to pass."

That chill grew stronger in Mrillis, making him shiver, but excitement grew out
of it. He wished he weren't a little boy, barely seven years old. He wanted to be old
enough to walk the tunnel to Wynystrys and study with the other boys. He wanted to
be old enough to ride out and watch the warriors guard Lygroes from the Encindi. He
wanted to be big enough, strong enough, to make the bowl Ceera had seen.

A bowl made of stars.

* * * *

On the evening of his seventh birthday, Le'esha took Mrillis through the Mist
Gates and walked in silence with him until the mists vanished and they crossed the Lake
of Ice to stand on the shore. The boy stayed with her, quietly waiting, watching, his dark
eyes wide with interest, the pulse in his wrist fluttering against the light grip of her
fingers. Though he had gone through the Mist Gates to greet people or make farewells,
he had never stepped off the ice. She knew he sensed, without her saying a word, that
this simple walk on his birthing day had great meaning.

When she let go of his hand, he waited. Le'esha spread her hands, gesturing for
him to go. The words caught in her throat. She knew what lay hidden by the mist, what
surprises lay in the outside world. The dangers for a boy threatened before his birth, with
two terrible futures waiting for him.

Mrillis didn't sense the dark shadows of the future. He was only a boy, set free
on the shore of what had likely snared his attention and imagination for years, simply by
being forbidden. His face lit with excitement. He laughed and darted away, to race along
the curve of the sandy, rocky shore.

Until he found the first pile of bones.

Le'esha smiled softly with pride and some pity for the child, when he didn't cry
out. His crunching, light footsteps stopped abruptly. She stayed where he had left her,
knowing what he saw. The shape of a man, huddled down among the water-smoothed
stones, sunk to his calves in sand that had melted in reaction to the hatred in his heart,
trapping him. She closed her eyes and tried to see through the boy's eyes. The rotting
leather tunic, the rusty iron buckles, wrist and armbands, which the Encindi barbarian
had worn in a futile attempt to shield against Rey'kil magic.

"Lady?" Mrillis returned to her with slow steps, head bowed, fists clenched in his
new braided leather belt--a birthing day present. The boy frowned, deep in thought, and
the Queen of Snows saw in that expression the man who would guide and guard
Lygroes, through turbulent centuries ahead.

If she did not fail in her duty to put him on the right path. If she and her allies
did not fail in discovering the Child of Blood, to keep him from destroying this boy who
was as precious to her as if she had given birth to him.

"Magic is a double-edged blade, my lad," she said. Le'esha took a few steps
further up the shore and sat on a boulder dusted with ice crystals. "It can do wondrous
things, just as the knife of a healer can clean away rotted flesh and dig to retrieve arrows
from wounds. You have seen Andienha do such things when you have fetched and
carried in the healing rooms, have you not?" She watched the boy for the first sign of
confusion.

He nodded, gaze fixed on her, little face serious.

Perhaps the healing rooms, at the base of the cliffs, were not fit places for small
children. However, Le'esha had decided almost from the day Mrillis was born that the
boy would be allowed to go where his curiosity led him, so he could learn as much as his
hungry mind could accept. Who knew where the spirit of the Estall would lead him, to
prepare him for future duties? She would have stopped Mrillis if nightmares had come
from his furtive visits to the surgery rooms and the infirmary where wounded Rey'kil and
Noveni warriors came to be tended.

"And, in the reverse, a knife can take life and cause grievous wounds that scar
and cripple," she continued. "Just so, the
imbrose
, which the Estall gave the
Rey'kil, can be a tool and a weapon. Weapons protect and they destroy, depending on
the hearts and hands of those who use them. Magic protects us. A fence is pretty and a
harmless defense, but what do we do when the enemy tries to climb over the fence to
harm us?"

"We have to stop them from climbing over," the boy whispered. He glanced
over his shoulder at the dim, huddled shape along the curve of the shore.

"You have stood with the sentinels when they question those who approach the
Mist Gates." Le'esha stood and held out her hand to the boy. They walked along the
shore, away from the bones. "Have you felt the power, spun in webs around the minds
and hearts of those in the mists?"

"The sentinels read their hearts and minds like I read scrolls." The boy flashed
her a grin that lacked its usual mischief. He was rightly proud of his ability in reading and
doing quick sums.

Nobody told the boy he was a prodigy, years ahead of his age-mates in lessons.
Le'esha wondered if he would ever guess it. The fact that he tried to pass on all his
lessons to Ceera, and she treated all their lessons as games, helped in Le'esha's mission to
keep the boy humble and to consider his quick mind as ordinary.

It struck her then that she dreaded the day Mrillis learned he was highly gifted,
unique even among the most gifted Rey'kil.
If
he lived up to the potential in his
blood and the Seeing that had come to her and Graddon and High Scholar
Breylon.

Always, the future was one enormous, shadowy 'if'.

"Yes, the magic sees into their intents, to tell us if they lie, if they come to us
hoping to do harm, to make themselves rich, to find wisdom or shelter or healing."

"If they lie... if they want to hurt us..." Mrillis swallowed loudly and glanced
over his shoulder. "The magic punishes them."

"They punish themselves. What justice is there if we do not warn those who
violate our laws? Everyone is given warning. Everyone is given a chance to escape
unharmed. And alive. Those who refuse, who rage and try to attack, are trapped by their
own evil and the power of their hateful hearts."

Le'esha stopped and turned back. Her head ached when the memory returned,
and she could hear again the curses the Encindi flung at her, until the sound echoed,
crashing off the towering cliffs, cutting through the mist.

"We do not punish those who try to harm us, my lad. Always remember that.
We give them the tools to destroy themselves. It is their choice. Never allow your
enemies to make you feel guilty when their choices bring destruction on their heads.
Your duty is to warn them, not to think for them, and protect them from the
consequences of their choices and actions." She shook her head and forced a smile. "Ah,
what terrible things I am saying to you, and this is a day of celebration. You are seven
years old today. We should rejoice."

"Would my parents rejoice?" the boy whispered.

Le'esha's voice caught in her throat. Tears touched her eyes. She knelt and held
out her arms, and the child of portent became only a child who sniffled and huddled in
her embrace. She ached for his pain and joys, victories and losses, adulation and
loneliness through the centuries.

"They would be very proud of you. They would spoil you terribly," she
whispered. "Come, my darling, I have said such things to prepare you. Now that you are
seven years old, you are old enough to take short trips from the Stronghold. In the
spring, you will start to ride with the Stronghold's warriors, to make use of all their
lessons. You will learn all the land around us, and you will ride with my couriers. These
years ahead of you are wonderful years, when you can try any craft, any art that touches
your heart, so we can learn where the Estall wishes you to serve.