Dark Haven (40 page)

“The villagers aren’t going to make distinctions if they start burning crypts,” Jonmarc said, taking satisfaction at seeing Astasia startle. “There aren’t enough vayash moru to kill them all—and if you did, how long do you think it would be until Staden brought his army down to keep the peace?” He glared at Uri again. “Or did you forget? The title wasn’t granted by the Blood Council.

I’m liegeman to King Staden. Attack me, and the king is oath‐bound to retaliate. Don’t start a war you can’t finish.”

Gabriel moved between Jonmarc and Uri. “There will be no war. We all have too much to lose.”

He glanced sharply at his fellows on the Council. “Jonmarc’s right—if the mortals strike back, none of us is safe. See to your own houses. We need to bring the murderers to justice—swiftly and publicly—if we expect the forbearance of the mortals.”

The festival night had a subdued feeling about it. Dark mead and rum cakes, the traditional foods this night, were in ample supply, along with blood pudding. The musicians played a lively tune. Carina noticed that their songs became bawdier as the night went on, as if they were trying too hard to rouse the crowd to higher spirits. This evening, the guests ranged from vyrkin and vayash moru to merchants and farmers. Carina even glimpsed the ghost girl among the night’s revelers in the shadows along the wall. Despite the ale and the minstrels, the gathering felt different. Carina was certain the happenings in the village had dampened the mood.

In honor of the weaver‐Crone, the evening’s dances were circle dances where men and women clasped arms and wove in and out to the music. Taking a break from the dancing, Carina wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. It was a gift from Lisette and Eiria, a beautiful piece from one of the village’s best weavers. Alerted by Neirin, Carina had returned a similar gift to each of her friends. The dress Carina wore was Jonmarc’s gift this night—finely woven linen with an intricate border done in the style of the local artisans. The match between the shawl and the dress was so perfect, Carina suspected that Lisette and Eiria had known of the gift in advance.

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Jonmarc’s cloak, set aside for the moment in the warm room, was Carina’s gift, a heavy coat of woven wool that was sturdy enough even for a Principality winter.

As the bells tolled the eleventh hour, Gabriel touched Carina on the shoulder. “It’s time to make your gift to the Lady,” he said, and held out her cloak. Lisette appeared, holding a deep crockery bowl filled with cream and honey. Jonmarc fell into step beside her as they left the great room, with the rest of the merry‐makers behind them.

Outside the main doors of Dark Haven, bonfires lit up the courtyard. In the center was an ancient oak. It towered above the manor house, and its branches spread above much of the courtyard. Neirin had schooled her on the proper way to present the gift of cream and honey to the Weaver‐Crone, but Carina still felt nervous as she approached the ancient tree. The snow had been cleared from its base, and its roots buckled up beneath the cobblestones of the courtyard.

At its base, Carina knelt, carefully holding the bowl in front of her. “Lady of the loom, we offer our gifts,” Carina said. “Grant us favor.” She gradually tipped the bowl, watching steam rise from the warm cream as it poured onto the roots of the old tree.

As the cream spilled out onto the tree trunk and the cobblestones beneath, Carina felt energy crackle around her. Welling up from beneath the ground, traveling like lightning along the deepest roots, old power rose to envelop her. An image burned into her mind, of fire and rending and a red orb torn free, leaving a gash like a bleeding wound. There was an instant of agony, as if a clawed hand had reached into her body and torn loose her heart. In her mind, Carina saw a vision of the ground shaking, the west wing of Dark Haven collapsing in rubble, and panicked mortals running in fear. The Flow reached out to her, and the image of healing the ghost girl filled her mind. Pain, fear and desperation washed over her. Then, darkness.

“What happened?” Carina was still wearing her dress from the night’s festival and lying on her 343

own bed. Jonmarc. sat beside her, holding her hand. Lisette pressed a cool cloth to her forehead.

Gabriel stood in the corner opposite the fire, watching with concern.

Jonmarc shook his head, and Carina saw worry in his dark eyes. “You tell us. One minute you were presenting the offering to the tree. Then all of a sudden, you stiffened up and fell backward. Your eyes were open, but they sure weren’t seeing anything. We brought you up here. It’s been almost half a candle‐mark.”

Carina shut her eyes and swallowed, groping for words. “When I poured the cream on the tree roots, I saw a vision.”

“The Crone?” Jonmarc asked with concern.

Carina shook her head. “I don’t know. She recounted the vision at the foot of the tree. When she finished, Gabriel and Jonmarc exchanged glances. “And you’ve felt something like that before?”

Gabriel asked.

Carina looked from Jonmarc to Gabriel. “Yes. Earlier today. When the ghost came.”

Lisette stepped forward. “She healed the ghost girl, the one who died in the plague. I saw her.”

Feeling foolish, Carina recounted what happened. But this time, she added her impression that something had been watching her. Gabriel’s frown deepened.

“We assumed that healers saw no reason to come to Dark Haven because vayash morn had no need of them. We thought they were afraid. Perhaps there was another reason. Maybe they felt something here they couldn’t explain, something that made them uncomfortable.”

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Jonmarc looked down. “This is all my fault. I never should have brought Carina here. It’s too dangerous.”

Gabriel shrugged. “There’s no changing it. There’ve been storms in the Dhasson Pass. Snow as deep as a man’s waist. No one’s going to be traveling anywhere.”

Carina took Jonmarc’s hand. “I wouldn’t go if I could. This is my home now. Here. With you.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Carina smiled. “Nothing’s going to. Whoever, whatever it is had the power to hurt me if it wanted to. It’s more like it wants me to know something, do something.”

“Promise me you won’t try anything foolish,” Jonmarc said. “I promise.”

Gabriel laid a hand on Jonmarc’s shoulder. “We’d best return to the feast and let the guests know Carina is resting. Mention how hard she’s been working with all of the patients who have come to see her. Perhaps that will keep too many stories from spreading.”

Jonmarc leaned down to kiss Carina on the forehead. “I’ll be back to check in on you later. Now as you’re so fond of telling me, get some rest.”

Carina smiled and leaned back against the pillows. “You have the makings of a great healer.”

The door closed behind Jonmarc and Gabriel before Lisette spoke. “Here’s something odd, m’lady.” Lisette held a book in her hands. The leather binding was cracked and broken and the pages yellowed. “This book was open on the table when we came in, but it wasn’t there when we left. It’s a record of the families of the Lords of Dark Haven. Births, feast days, marriages, 345

deaths. Look here,” she said. Carina followed Lisette’s finger. The cramped handwriting was faded with time, but she could make out the inscription.

“Raen, daughter of Lord Brentig, died in the great plague on the twenty‐first day of the Crone Moon,” Carina read. “Raen, is that the name of the ghost?”

“She was watching from the shadows when Lord Jonmarc carried you up here. She didn’t leave until you came around. That name seems familiar.” Lisette frowned and went to the bookshelves. She returned with a thin leather‐bound journal. “I picked this up a few days ago—it had fallen on the floor. I thought it an accident at the time, but now, I’m not so sure.” The journal was filled with neat, feminine handwriting. The name “Raen Brentig” was centered on the page, and a date.

“That’s about a year before the last great plague struck.”

Carina gently touched the page. “It’s almost as if she wants us to know her,” she said. Lisette removed the pillows from behind her so she could lie flat. “I seem to have made a friend.”

Carina pulled the covers up around herself, handling the book carefully. “Has it always been the custom for the noble daughters in Principality to read and write?”

“It was fairly common when I was mortal,” Lisette said. “I didn’t know Raen, but she would have been alive close to the time I was brought across. A large manor is as complicated to run as any trade. A smart man wanted an educated wife to help keep the accounts.”

Carina found herself drawn into the entries in the journal. Most were notes about the ups and downs of a young woman’s life, with comments about parties and invitations and young men who caught Raen’s eye. The lavender is blooming in the garden now. I’ll have to take some for a fresh sachet. The ball is only a fortnight away. Carina turned the page. Another entry, dated just a few days after the first. Not feeling well. Hope this passes by the ball. The rest of the pages 346

were blank. Carina set the journal aside, lost in thought.

“Lord Jonmarc was right, m’lady. You must rest. Fear nothing. I’ll watch until dawn.”

Carina let herself sink into the mattress, warmed by the down comforter, her mind still on the journal and its sudden end. In the distance as she dreamed, she could hear Raen singing to her.

When Carina awoke, the first light of dawn was streaming through her windows. She lingered for a moment beneath the warm covers. Jonmarc had already left for the day’s tasks, and Lisette had gone to rest. Few of the mortal servants were stirring. Dark Haven was quiet.

As Carina belted her healer’s robe over her dress, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Raen stood in the shadows.

“Hello,” Carina greeted the ghost girl. “Thank you for your song last night.”

Raen moved toward the windows. The fire had warmed the room enough to fog the glass. As Carina watched, letters traced themselves in the fog. “Come.”

Carina looked at Raen, perplexed. “Come where? Why?”

Another word formed as an invisible finger traced the letters. “Heal.”

“You want me to heal someone? One of the ghosts?” Carina shook her head. “I don’t know if it 347

will work—I’m still not sure how I did what I did for you.” More letters appeared. “Hurt.” “All right. Let me gather my things— although if it’s a ghost who needs my help, they won’t be of much use.”

Carina collected her pouches and opened the door. The corridor was empty. Raen glided out of the room and into the darkened hallway, visible as a green glow. Torches lit their way. Carina followed Raen down the back staircase to the second landing. The ghost halted at a door. “Those rooms haven’t been restored,” Carina said. “No one lives there now.”

Raen glided through the closed wooden door. Carina reached for the nearest torch and took it down from the sconce on the wall. No footprints except for the scrabbling of mice marked the dust‐covered floor. It was cold, and Carina shivered. “How far?”

Raen beckoned for her to follow. They passed a row of long‐abandoned bedrooms. The corridor smelled musty, as if water had gotten in. At the end of the hallway a stairway descended into darkness.

“This is the East wing, isn’t it?” Carina said, looking from the ghost to the dark stairs. “It’s dangerous down there—Jonmarc said that’s where the walls collapsed when the orb was stolen.”

Raen reached out an insubstantial hand to lead the way. Carina pulled back. “We should wait. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Raen moved back into the hallway, where a thin shaft of light struggled through a dirty window.

The dust on the floor began to move. This time, the ghost drew a bare‐limbed tree, and beneath it, one word. “Understand.”

Carina looked at Raen. “The power that touched me last night, the presence that’s making it hard for me to heal—that’s what you want me to understand?” Raen nodded.

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Carina weighed her fear against the frustration of her gradually waning power. “Can I reach the bottom safely? You can go through solid rock, but I can’t.”

Raen moved toward the door. As they started down the stairs, Raen’s form began to glow, adding to the torchlight in the lightless stairway. From the cramped turns and narrow tread, Carina guessed that it was a servant’s passageway. She grimaced as cobwebs brushed her face.

No one but the spirits had passed this way in many years. Carina counted the steps as they descended, making note of the landings. They kept going, as the stairway grew colder and the air damp. Carina was quite sure they were beneath the ground. Finally, they stopped in an antechamber. By the torchlight, Carina could see that deep cracks ran through the stone walls.

Through the next archway, the darkness was broken by a silver glow. Carefully picking her way through bits of fallen rock, Carina realized that the archway was the opening to a natural cave.

Raen walked beside her as Carina crossed through the archway. Inside the cave, large pieces of rock littered the pathway. The walls glistened with crystals, and in the distance, Carina could hear falling water. A doorway on the opposite side of the chamber had collapsed. Coruscating light filled the cave, surrounding them with an evanescent glow.

Once before, during an Eastmark winter, Carina had glimpsed the Spirit Lights in the cold night sky. The ribbon of colored light glistened yellow and green, painted in bold strokes across the darkness. Like the Spirit Lights, the glow that filled the cave changed colors, as if the air were filled with diamond dust. The walls shone as the light hit crystals, reflecting in millions of tiny facets.

Carina could sense the power around her like a thunderstorm overhead. This is the Flow.

The glow became brighter, its colors began to shift. Gone were the tranquil shades of yellow and green. Deep pink and fiery red came over the glow as if reflecting a vivid sunset. At the same time, Carina felt power reaching out for her. New images filled her mind. She felt the rending of the Flow as a shock to the heart, gasping for breath as pain seared through her, seeing in her mind Arontala wresting the Orb from its pedestal in a glare of blue mage fire. Images of dark 349