Crystal Rose (33 page)

She continued her prayers until the oppressive presence was
gone, then calm, if weary, she rose to take up her pen and write, pouring words
onto the pages stacked upon her little writing table. In a few hours Wyth would
arrive to collect them, add them to the volume he painstakingly compiled
against the future.

An uncertain future, Taminy thought. She leaned back in her
chair and rubbed weary fingers, Weaving warmth into them. She glanced at the
window. The Sun wove too, applying a pale wash to the panes—blushing silver
gleamed on a coat of crystalline frost.

Pages stacked where Wyth would find them, Taminy dressed in
warm, sturdy breeches, boots and sweater, pulled on a quilted jacket—product of
Gram Long’s loving skill—and left the fortress. The lookout marked her passage
with a bow. Perched high above her on the gate-top, he reminded her of a
morning bird bobbing in silent song.

Once she had cleared the shadow of Hrofceaster’s walls, and
headed down the trail to Airdnasheen, the silence was broken by the calls of
jays and daws, crows and ravens. Taminy wondered why winter’s birds had such
grating voices. She had never thought to ponder that during her time in the
Meri’s Realm. That sojourn had taught her why men thought women beings apart,
and why the Deasach had darker skin and different ways than their northern kin.

She knew that beyond these lands were others Deasach and
Caraidin alike would find strange, exotic, dangerous, even repellent. She
understood that beyond this world were others, peopled with men and women that
the citizens of this world would not be ready to meet for a thousand thousand
years. Yet the voice of a crow was a mystery she had never plumbed.

She took a narrow, snow-brushed turn-off just outside the
village and made her way to the grotto of Airleas’s latest defeat. There was
solace here and solitude and hours before anyone would seek her out.

Ah, but not so. Even as she slid into the aislinn state
wherein the Gwyr-Meri, and even dear Bevol, were more real to her than the
rocks she sheltered against, she felt eyes on her. She ignored them and slipped
completely into the Realm of Light.

The deep pool wore diamonds in this Realm and the air was
warm and sweet and laced with pine perfume. The leaden gleam of dawn on frosted
stone was transmuted into Eibhilin gold. Coin was never as dear nor flame as
bright as this Light. Taminy basked in it, fed upon it, took instruction from
it. There was not, in all the world at that moment, as glorious a place as the
Gwyr’s grotto.

Time had no place in this placeless realm and so Taminy had
no way of knowing how long she had visited there when the sounds of approach
tugged at her physical senses. She read astonishment there, and a little fear
mingled with a stronger imperative—she was the thing sought.

Folded behind the Eibhilin veil, she waited. Would fear be
overcome? She rose—a matter less of motion than of will—and moved to the center
of the jeweled pool.

Above, on the slippery, rock-strewn descent, fear trembled
more mightily. Yet, the visitor came on again, ignoring fear. At the edge of
the water, movement ceased. Taminy turned her attention to the figure wavering
on the rocky shore, his breath issuing in a cloud from his open mouth.

Come, Airleas
, she
told him, wordlessly.

Head up, eyes wide, he dropped to his knees and began to
pray.

COME
,
Airleas
, she repeated, and lifted a hand
to him, knowing that in his eyes it appeared as if it might singe him.

He stood and took a hesitant step to the very edge of the
water. There, he lowered his eyes to regard it with dismay.

Come, Airleas.

He hesitated. Could she mean for him to swim to her in the
icy pool? He considered that. Accepted it. Began to step into the water.
Hesitating, he raised his eyes to her again.

She read the bemusement in them, the sudden comprehension
and excitement. He eyed the glittering wavelets speculatively. She beckoned.
Excitement rippled through the golden atmosphere of the vale, uncertainty close
on its heels. Surely, he could not—yet, she did beckon . . .

Wielding determination, Airleas stepped from the shore and
walked the liquid trail to Taminy’s side. Wonder poured from him as she took
his hand and continued the walk, leading him to a jut of rock just beyond the
fall’s bright veil of perpetual mist.

They sat upon the rock in a blanket of soft, radiant and
silent warmth, Airleas gazing open-mouthed around the pocket of enchantment.

Finally, Taminy spoke, though not aloud:
You came to find me?

“I . . .” Airleas’s voice was swallowed in the bright haze. He
abandoned its use.
Osraed Wyth sent me to
collect your pages this morning.

He’s busy early today.

I was to take them to
him directly—he was in a great hurry to begin work.

He always is.

But—forgive me,
Mistress—I disobeyed . . . a little.

A little?

I paused to read them.
Just to see what you’d written.

And what had I written
that brought you here?

He turned toward her, face bathed in Eibhilin radiance.
The Heart of the Covenant.

She nodded.
And that
is?

He licked his lips, squirming in puppy-ish anxiety.

Worship the Spirit in
this way: If your devotion ends in fire, alter it not. Even so, if your rewards
are glory and peace. This alone, is the devotion fitting for the people of the
Covenant. This worship, alone, is worthy of the Spirit of this All. Your
adoration born of fear is unseemly. Worship begotten by desire for reward makes
God’s creation His equal. This is the Heart of the Covenant: That you love That
Essence for Its own sake, fearless of destruction, with no desire for even
Eibhilin riches.

Taminy smiled.
You
memorized it perfectly
.

Is that it? Really?
The Heart of the Covenant?

She nodded.

I wanted . . . want to
be Cyne.

And so?

Is that wrong?

Why do you want to be
Cyne?

It’s my place. My
duty. I’m The Malcuim.

And the riches a Cyne
possesses?

They’re nice, but . . .
Do you know what I really want?

She did, as it happened, but let him provide his own answer.

Loyalty. Respect.
Mother says people loved my grandfather. I’d like people to love me the way
they loved him. I’d like to be as good a Cyne as Ciarda was.

And were you thinking
that if you worshipped God and devoted yourself to me—to the Meri—you’d be made
Cyne?

Shame flooded the Eibhilin place.
I did think that, Mistress, but no longer.

So now you’ve no
reason for your devotion.

His eyes widened and words leapt from his mouth. “But,
Mistress . . .
you’re
my reason for
devotion!”

And?

He hesitated.
And
perhaps, if I’m devoted to God, He’ll make me worthy to be Cyne.

Perhaps
.

Letting go of his hand, Taminy got to her feet and moved
back across the glittering liquid path. To Airleas’s eyes, she knew, she seemed
as a feather or a cloud or the Gwyr Herself, suspended there above the water.
On the opposite shore, she turned to where he now stood on the rocks,
uncertainty eddying around him. The Eibhilin world receded until the pool was
only a pool—an icy one, at that—and the veil was one of mist and ice crystals,
not light. The damp chill of the grotto clung to cheeks and hands and Airleas
shivered.

“Don’t forget, you’ve a sword lesson after breakfast,” she
reminded him, raising her voice above the riot of the falls.

“But . . . !” The boy glanced around anxiously. “But how am I
to cross the stream?”

Taminy pushed cold hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I
can think of several ways. The choice is yours.”

She left him to puzzle that out for himself and began the
long, steep ascent to the trail. She was nearing the end of the climb when the
sharp regard of another watcher pricked her aidan. She paused, catching a flash
of consternation before it was shielded.

Deardru. When a moment more of hesitation failed to draw the
Hillwild woman out, Taminy continued on her way back up to Hrofceaster.

oOo

Daimhin Feich brought his troops into Nairne with banners
flying. He put the Malcuim standard at the forefront, making sure that his own
was tactfully buried among the other Houses’.

Likewise, he chose Mortain Jura and Iobert Claeg as his
riding companions, placing his own allies and their House Elders just behind.

As he expected, the sight of Taminy’s Claeg ally had a
pacific effect on the people of Nairne. They displayed curiosity, but neither
fear nor hostility. Even when armed kinsmen took up positions in their streets,
they seemed unperturbed, although Feich thought an old crone standing outside a
Weaver’s shop had sneered at him.

Wicke, he thought, were everywhere.

The Teallach had joined them, as agreed, just outside the
village, increasing their numbers gratifyingly. As Ruadh had suggested, he had
the quay fully guarded by Teallach and Graegam men. Thinking it a sensible
move, he took any female “warriors” (he could not entertain the thought without
smiling) up the long tree-covered ridge to Halig-liath. The ascent seemed to
take forever; the Deasach cannon, impressive as it was, reduced their speed to
an aching crawl.

It would be worth it, Feich thought, just to see the look of
astonishment on the faces of those damned turn-coat Osraed when they saw the
thing.

Daimhin Feich was hard pressed to control his own
astonishment when they took the last wooded turn in the cobbled road and the
gates of Halig-liath came into view. Those gates, once barred against him, were
now wide open.

oOo

They were not surprised to see Daimhin Feich and his
entourage; Taminy’s warning, passed through Iseabal, had given them plenty of
time to prepare. Still, the sight of all those mounted and armed men and
women—and that cannon . . . Even forewarning couldn’t eliminate all surprise or
sense of awe.

Osraed Saxan-a-Nairnecirke could admit that awe only to
himself. When he and the Osraed Tynedale and Calach faced Daimhin Feich and the
other Chieftains, they kept it well hidden.

No need for fear
,
Saxan told himself,
Taminy and Airleas
are safe.
He repeated that numerous times as he watched a furious Daimhin
Feich pace and posture in the Osraed council chamber.

“What do you mean—they’re not here? Where have you hidden
them?” The Regent whirled on Saxan, violence in his eyes. “Are they in the
village? I swear I will tear down every hovel if I have to. Interrogate every—”

“They are not,” Osraed Tynedale interrupted calmly, “in the
village.”

Feich heard that somehow, through his own rantings, and
pinned the portly Osraed to his chair with a fierce, spear-sharp gaze. “Then
where are they? If you dare lie to me, so help me, I’ll—”

“I wouldn’t think of lying,” Tynedale returned with dignity.
“I am waljan—Chosen. They are in the Gyldan-baenn, Regent, and have been there
for several months.”

Saxan’s attention was on the faces of the assembled
Chieftains and Elders as Feich reacted to this news. Claeg and his apparent
allies were mildly amused. The Dearg was dark with anger, The Teallach plainly
disgusted.

Reading Feich was more difficult. Oh, there was surprise and
anger, to be sure, but it hardly required a Gift to read that. Beyond the
obvious—or beneath it, for Feich struck Saxan as a pool of murky depth—lay currents
of thought and emotion that challenged the Osraed’s nascent abilities. Very
disconcerting.

Doubly so when Feich reined in his temper and turned to the
Osraed with sudden, calm diplomacy. “You must forgive my outburst, Osraed. I am
understandably anxious about Airleas Malcuim’s welfare, and eager to see him
returned to Creiddylad. I should have realized that the Wicke would flee with
him—that she would take advantage of her Hillwild connections. They are at
Hrofceaster?”

Tynedale inclined his head and Saxan said, “Yes, Regent
Feich. They are indeed at Hrofceaster.”

“Then I suppose that is where I must go to retrieve them.”

“Begging pardon, Regent,” said Saxan, “but the passes up to
Baenn-an-ratha are closed.”

“Closed.”

“Impassable. The snows are early this year and quite fierce.
Several parties of travelers have been forced to turn back already.”

Feich’s jaw bunched. “Indeed. Well, perhaps they did not
have my tenacity.” He collected his party and departed.

Saxan found himself yet unable to read Feich, but before
leaving the room, Iobert Claeg sent him a glance with a subtext: Daimhin Feich
would be discouraged from attempting any advance into the Gyldan-baenn.

“What do you think he’ll do?” the Osraed Calach asked when
the huge carved doors of the council chamber had swung shut.

“What
can
he do?”
Saxan returned. “Taminy and Airleas are safely out of his reach until the
Spring thaw. Surely by then there will be a web of such strength woven between
Taminy and the people that he will be unable to break it.”

Calach and Tynedale exchanged glances.

“Reasonable words, Saxan,” said Tynedale. “Still, I can’t
help but wonder, exactly how tenacious is our Regent Feich?”

Saxan shifted uneasily. All three of them had reason to know
that Daimhin Feich was very tenacious indeed.

oOo

Feich’s temper struggled to free itself from the icy
control he’d imposed upon it. Would the damned inn-keep never leave? Were he
not providing food and drink, Feich would have shouted him from the room.
Eventually, the wine and tea were poured, the supper laid, and the inn-keep was
asking if he could do any more for the Chieftains and their noble kinsman. At a
glare from Feich, he bobbed nervously and quit the chamber, drawing the thick
door closed behind him.