Crystal Rose (7 page)

One by one, the others reported as well, with varying
degrees of success; Gwynet and Eyslk had done well—Phelan, not so well.
Meanwhile, Taminy and Desary listened closely—and did more than listen.

When all was accounted for and the students sat cupping
varying degrees of satisfaction or disappointment in their hearts, Taminy
dismissed everyone but Aine and Iseabal into Desary’s hands to work at their
Weaves. The two girls curled, expectant, by the hearth.

Taminy joined them on the great braided rug, crossing her
legs carefully beneath her. She glanced from one to the other, making them
fidget, then said, “Aine, summon Wyth to us, please.”

Aine blushed and smiled simultaneously, then closed her eyes
and sat in perfect stillness. To Taminy her thoughts were bells pealing out a
summons. Melodic, they were, but forthright, even demanding. They tolled a
message that would no doubt take its recipient by surprise and sheer force.

Taminy smiled wryly and hoped Osraed Wyth wasn’t handling
anything delicate at the moment.

Aine’s eyes opened and she flushed a deeper red—her face
competing with her hair for vividness. “I got him!” she whispered. “He’s
coming. He was just down the hall in his study. For just a second, I saw the
room through his eyes.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Will I ever get
used to being able to do this?”

Taminy laughed. “Someday, I suppose. Although I hope you’ll
always marvel at it. I do.”

“
You
do?” Aine
shook her head. “How can that be?”

Taminy gazed down at her entwined fingers. How, indeed. “I
live between two worlds—this and That. The world of Form and Shadow and the
World of Light. When I’m pulled into That world, it seems as natural as . . . as
breathing. When I’m in this, I stand amazed that I ever knew That, at all.”

“Do the two worlds never merge?” asked Iseabal, and Taminy
felt her concern as a warm stole about her shoulders.

“Oh, more and more,” she said, smiling reassurance. “Day by
day.”

The chamber door opened just then, admitting a damp chill
and a startled-looking Wyth Arundel. Wide-eyed, he all but tip-toed across the
floor.

“Did I . . . ? Did you . . . ? Did
Aine
summon me?”

“Well, don’t sound so surprised, Wyth Arundel. Why might I
not be able to summon you?”

Wyth gave the girl a wary glance, then perched himself
carefully on the edge of a chair.

“What did you want, then, Aine?”

Aine stopped just short of tossing her head. “Nothing at
all. It was Taminy bid me call you.”

“There’s a Claeg force arriving from the lowlands,” said
Taminy. “They’re bringing us about a dozen more pilgrims. We’ll need to make
arrangements for them. Catahn and the Aeldra will find them lodging, I’m sure,
but it means the classes will expand and I think you’ll have to teach some
yourself.”

Wyth sat back in his seat. “But Mistress—Taminy . . . I
thought you were training these girls to be teachers.”

“I was, but, well . . . of the group, only Aine and Isha are
quite ready to teach and I need them elsewhere, now. That is, if they’re
willing to go.”

Both girl’s heads snapped about as if tugged by puppet
strings.

“What? Where, Taminy?” said Iseabal and, “Needed where?”
asked Aine.

Taminy rose and began to pace the braided pathways beneath
her feet. “Winter’s fast coming and the passes will be all but closed. We’ll
lose touch with Creiddylad and with Nairne, as well, unless someone there can
Weave a strong enough Speaking rune. Leal could. Fhada could. I can reach them
in their dreams, in their unguarded moments, but to get word
from
them—well, they need to be taught
the discipline. It’s a lost skill among the Osraed these days—or all but lost.
Even in my days at Halig-liath, a boy was thought to be a prodigy if he carried
a strong enough Gift to Weave images as you girls did today. And only if that
spark showed early, was it fanned.”

She stopped pacing and faced them. “Well, you
are
prodigies, but more than that,
you’ve now got the discipline to make your Speakweaves consistent and clear.
And you can teach others. Iseabal, I’d like you to go back to Nairne to teach
your father and anyone else who dares to learn. And Aine, I’d like you to go to
Creiddylad to instruct the believers there. Most especially Lealbhallain and
Fhada.”

Aine’s eyes flickered to Wyth’s suddenly ashen face while
Iseabal cried, “
Leave
you, Taminy?
Leave you? How
can
I?”

Taminy dropped to her knees before the distraught girl and
took her hands. “Anwyl,” she said, and let the endearment carry her love
between them. “It wouldn’t be forever. And you’ve family there, so you wouldn’t
be alone. You and I will always be able to touch somewhere above and beyond
this.” She squeezed Iseabal’s fingers. “But your poor, dear father has only his
dreams. Of the Osraed at Halig-liath faithful to the Meri, only Tynedale has a
great Gift for the Speakweave, and he’s half-forgotten how to use it. Through you,
I would be able to speak to them, and once they’ve learned to discipline the
aidan—”

“Then I could return?”

Taminy nodded. “Then you could return. Will you go to
Nairne, Isha?”

“I’ll attempt anything you ask, Taminy. You must believe I
can do it.”

“I believe you can do anything that needs to be done,”
Taminy told her. She raised her head to regard the other two, very much aware
of the tension skittering between them. It was no more than she expected.
“Well, Aine, will you go to Creiddylad?”

Aine flushed. “Surely you can’t mean for
me
to instruct
Osraed
.”

“Well, there are no doubt things they can teach you, as
well, but yes, that’s just what I mean for you to do.”

“But Creiddylad . . . it’s so far away. I’ll be among enemies,
strangers—”

“Now, Aine. Leal-mac-Mercer is hardly a stranger to you.”

“But I’m sure I couldn’t send a Speakweave that far or
receive one.”

Taminy shook her head. “Distance makes no difference. You
know that. Aine, I know I’m asking you to do a hard thing, but I must ask.
There’s no one else to send.”

Aine bowed her head, trying to hide her expression. That she
might hide from Taminy, but not the fears and anxieties and disappointments
that lay behind it, filling her eyes with tears.

“I know. And I understand why someone’s needed there, it’s
just . . . I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go.”

Wyth cleared his throat noisily and said, “You’ll want them
to leave with The Claeg, then.”

“I hope he’ll agree to take them. I thought he could head
north to Nairne and leave Isha with her family, then ferry Aine to Creiddylad.”

Wyth nodded, his eyes, for a moment, seeming unable to
focus.

Taminy knew his thoughts had had similar problems of late.
“Is there something wrong, Wyth?” she asked softly.

The large, dark eyes snapped to sudden clarity. “Ah, no,
Mistress. I was just meandering.”

Aine, her tears abandoned, clambered to her feet. “Well,
that’s that, then. I’d best go pack my gear.”

A sonorous tolling began outside, bringing Wyth to his feet,
as well. “That will be the Claeg coming in. I’d best consult with Catahn. How
long do you think they’ll stay?”

Taminy regarded him soberly, knowing she made him want to
twitch. “Some days, I imagine. His men will be weary.”

He nodded. He glanced at Aine. “I’d best go, then.”

Taminy got to her feet, bringing Iseabal with her. “You
girls, too. Aine’s right. You’d best start packing; make sure you’ve got good
warm traveling clothes. If you’ve not, tell Eyslk or Eldress Levene.”

Iseabal gave her a kiss on the cheek and left quickly; the
others lingered for a moment more as if caught in an invisible eddy, then
scurried to the door, nearly colliding on the threshold. Aine, seeming near
tears again, shrugged through first and ran off down the hall.

“Wyth.” Taminy halted him before he’d quite gotten himself
back in motion, and came to him at the door. “What is it, Wyth?”

He closed himself up for a second, then hesitated, then
opened himself, revealing a thick stew of confusion and not a little
embarrassment. He said, “Must you send, Aine?”

“Must I send Aine,” she repeated, laying subtle stress on
the name.

“I’ve grown fond of her.” He searched her face, eyes direct.
“But you know that, don’t you?”

Taminy smiled. “Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but you
do scrap a lot.”

He blushed. “I suppose we do. It’s uncertainty, I guess. We’ve
not spoken of it, even to each other. Most of our conversations, as you’ve
obviously noticed, seem to be Aine thrusting and me parrying. She’s a
strong-willed girl.”

“Like Meredydd.”

Wyth could hide neither his surprise nor his wistfulness at
the mention of that name. “I . . . In some ways, yes. She is like Meredydd.
Though she’s more sure of herself than ever Meredydd was . . . No. I’m wrong in
that, aren’t I? Meredydd knew what she wanted . . . It wasn’t me. It couldn’t
have been me. She was destined for the Meri. She . . .” He shook his head.

“It’s still difficult for you to talk about.”

He took a deep breath. “Some days. Some nights. Some
moments. Yes. Meredydd is still with me. And when the Meri speaks to me, it’s
Meredydd’s voice I hear.”

“You asked if I must send Aine. The answer is ‘yes, I must.’
Listen,” she insisted, when he opened his mouth to protest, “and I’ll tell you
why I must.” She glanced past him into the hall. “Please close the door and
come back to the fire.”

He did as bidden and they sat before the great stone hearth,
knee to knee; she, holding his elongated hands; he, trying to read her eyes.

“I didn’t lie when I said Aine and Iseabal were the most
ready.”

“I didn’t mean—!”

“Shush! Now, Airleas has a powerful Gift, and Gwynet and
Eyslk are purer channels. But Airleas must stay here with me, and Gwynet is too
young for this task, and Eyslk is just discovering her Gift.”

“There’s still Phelan.”

“Phelan lacks the native talent. He’ll do his best work for
you in the academics when he’s fully trained.”

“What about Skeet? I know he Speakweaves as easily as he
speaks aloud. He seems as comfortable with the Art as you do.”

“Yes. But Skeet must also stay here—for my benefit,” she
added when his lips moved to ask why. “The only other people I could send would
be Desary, who would draw immediate suspicion in Creiddylad . . . and you.”

“Me?”

“You’ve the Gift and the power and the discipline. Do you
wish to finish your work in Creiddylad?” Now he wanted to look away and could
not. She held his eyes tighter than she held his hands.

“But . . . but, Taminy—
Mistress
.
The Meri, Herself, made me Weard to the Covenant.”

“Aye, she did.”

“You
are
the
Covenant. The embodiment of it. To leave your side would be an act of betrayal.
Nor can I complete my work apart from you. The collection of the ancient texts
is all but finished. What I commit to writing now must fall from your lips.”

“This is all true,” she agreed. “So you see, I’m left with
Aine and Iseabal.”

He grimaced and nodded. “I do see.”

She smiled at him. “Go to Catahn,” she said. “He’s looking
for you. He’s in your study just now.”

When he was gone, she wondered if she might have been just a
bit more honest with him. Aine was a good choice for Creiddylad, but Desary was
better. She was more disciplined, more comfortable with her aidan, which was
unusually strong, and she was more confident in her ability to use it. And it
really wouldn’t have been too difficult to disguise the Hillwild girl to pass
among lowlanders. She already knew and had used a Weave that changed the color
of her startlingly black eyes. She knew, also, how to lose her Gyldan accent.
But, of the two, it was Aine who reminded Wyth of his lost Meredydd, and Wyth
who reminded Aine that she was only a Lorimer’s daughter.

oOo

“Airleas!” Gwynet caught him up halfway down the corridor
from their classroom. Desary had let them go for the mid-day break. In the
afternoon, Osraed Eadmund would give them their lessons in the more mundane
arts of reading, writing and history.

Now, Airleas fled as if pursued by demons instead of a
bright-eyed little girl.

Gwynet fell into step beside him. “Airleas, whatever was
wrong, just now? You looked as if you’d gone to sleep with your eyes wide.
Didn’t you hear Desary? You knew the answer, why didn’t you give tell?”

“God-the-Spirit, Gwynet! Do you stop to
breathe
? I was just . . . daydreaming.”

“Daydreaming? You? Oh, Airleas, you
don’t
. You
never
.”

The hallway ended in a cross-corridor with deep window
embrasures set along its outer wall. One lay just before them, streaming pale
light over the chill stone floor. Airleas moved to the window and leaned out
toward the iron-framed panes, peering into the courtyard below. Through the
faceted glass, he could see only a portion of the hectic activity around the
Airdnasheen gate. Claeg warriors were everywhere and their banner was even now
being run up the fortress standards to flutter and snap beside the Hageswode
pennant of white stars on a dark blue field.

Airleas pulled himself up into the embrasure and curled
there, chin on knees. Gwynet stood and watched him for a moment, then crawled
up into the casement across from him.

After a moment of brooding silence he said, “Why Aine and
Iseabal?”

Gwynet puzzled. “Why Aine and Iseabal what?”

“Why did she keep them by her and send the rest of us away?”

Gwynet shrugged. “I reckon she wanted to talk to them
privy.”

“I did as well as either of them.”

Now he’d lost her. “What does the one have to do with
th’other?”