Longeye (37 page)

"Silly Gardener wanted to go home," the Brethren said with a yawn. "Longeye, too."

Becca looked to Meri. "It's saying that the holes go wherever we wish to go?"

"In which it is not dissimilar to the
keleigh
."

"When Altimere and I came through the
keleigh
, we still had half a day's ride through badlands until we came to Artifex," she protested.

"Fair enough. But you might have had a longer, if Altimere had wavered, and the
keleigh
let him out inside the mountains."

Becca closed her eyes—and opened them at Meri's soft laughter.

"Now," he said to the Brethren. "This new-or-old hole in the hedge. That would be Sea Hold's shortcut, surely?"

The Brethren tipped its head to a side and closed one sun-colored eye.

"I never did see the charm in these holes," Becca commented after it became clear that the creature was not soon going to produce a sensible answer. "Shall we go after Sian, to Xandurana? Oh!" She pressed her fingers to her lips and raised her eyes again to Meri's face.

He tipped his head, eyebrow well up.

"I only just recalled—to get to Xandurana, one must . . . traverse a shortcut."

"Which action, in the present climate, can only be seen as foolhardy," he agreed with a faint smile. "Well, then, are we to be less foolhardy than the Engenium of Sea Hold, and all the Queen's Constant?"

"Yes, but, Meri—" She shook her head, and showed him empty palms. "Why is the Queen calling the Constant in?"

"The heroes are busy, inside the mist," the Brethren growled. "There are more holes, even if it is all the same."

Meri nodded, his mouth grim now. "If I recall my philosophy correctly, the weight of the . . . rejected . . . trees is placing a burden on the fabric of the Vaitura which it cannot long support."

Becca frowned. "So there will be more . . . holes?" she ventured. "Until the Vaitura . . . tears?"

"I would think that among the more likely outcomes," Meri said. "In any case, Diathen must act, and in order to do so, she must convince the Constant to release the
kest
it holds in keeping for her."

"But, if Altimere and Zaldore are still missing?"

Meri shrugged. "If she has the majority of the Constant with her, so that she speaks fully with the will of the Vaitura, she will draw any
kest
withheld from her, like a sea spout draws water. If Altimere and Zaldore have returned to the elements which birthed them, then their
kest
will be one with the Vaitura."

"Because," Becca murmured, "kest is never lost."

"Aye."

"I can show you the way," the Brethren said, breaking its silence.

Becca sighed and shook her head. Meri bowed lightly.

"If you please, Younger Brother; show us the way."

Altimere had theorized—indeed, he had ardently desired!—a . . . livelier effect in a transfer which utilized living
kest
as its energy source, rather than the vapid release achieved by using
keleigh
-stuff.

Neither theory nor on-the-fly calculations had led him to expect the explosion of power that hurled him headfirst into his workroom. Who would have thought, he wondered, as he lay with his cheek pressed against the living wooden floor, that the Rangers had had so much to give? Cai's exultant anger would have lent an added fillip—had he not observed that principle in action with Rebecca? Yet it was true, he had not expected such a release, in such garish and thundering quantity that he had almost—almost—lost his focus. Happily, he had meditated for a dozen heartbeats upon the image of his workroom at the house in Xandurana before he had taken his place in the pattern.

Carefully, now, and noting aches and pains incompatible with one of his station, he pushed himself, first, to his knees, and then, by a process that included clawing his way up the leg of his worktable, to his feet. He rested, then, with his palms flat on the table's cool surface, shivering.

After a time, he began to feel stronger, and the relief that accompanied this observation revived him still more. He had expected some decline in his
kest
; the
keleigh
would have its tithe, after all. The sensation of weakness—of being without power—had been . . . distressing, but happily short-lived.

He straightened and looked about him. The workroom was orderly and well dusted, of course; his servants would scarcely neglect that duty, whether he had been absent a single night, or ten thousand.

And that, he thought, walking to the door, was a matter of not inconsiderable curiosity to him. How long, precisely, had he been captive within Zaldore's little whimsy? How long had he afterward spent wandering the mists of the larger
keleigh
? He felt a flutter of regret, that he would likely never know the precise number of days he had spent separated from the Vaitura. It would have been amusing to entertain Zaldore for the exact number of nights he had lain within her care. He would of course reveal his intention before the pleasantries began, and make sure to remind her occasionally of how long she had yet to suffer. Watching her vacillate between desire and dread of the coming hour would have lent an edge.

Well. Doubtless something else would recommend itself. There was, after all, no hurry—and tasks in queue before it.

The first of those being . . .

Simultaneously, he opened the door and extended his will.

There was a moment of—almost, he would have characterized it as
surprise
, save the Gossamers were incapable of such an emotion—or any other. He took note, and then forgot it as they manifested, tentacles weaving welcome, eager to receive his commands.

The welcoming scene before him smeared for a moment, as tears rose to his eyes. He blinked them aside with a vague feeling of disgust that was all but entirely swept away by an uprushing of joy as intoxicating as new-drawn
kest
.

He was home.

They followed the march of undead trees up the slope, Meri in the lead and Becca coming after. The Brethren made its own way, now and then allowing a glimpse of a tufted tail, as if to reassure them that they had its company still.

Becca moved with a graceful silence that she had surely learned from Meri, and kept the best distance she could from the unnatural trees. Before her melding, they had seemed to her to be strange in the extreme. Her new sensibilities pronounced them perversions. Her nerves clamored, lest the undead do some mischief to a true living tree, and therefore she kept a close lookout, even as she dreaded the need to come among them.

She shivered, wondering how Meri could tolerate such feelings of desperate horror and maintain so cool a countenance. Years of practice, doubtless—and the education bestowed upon a prince.

A stick lay in her path, concealed by grass and fallen leaves. Once, she would not even have seen it, much less avoided it altogether, choosing not to risk a stumble, should it turn underfoot.

Truly, she thought, she had gained all manner of useful things from Meri. It did occur to her to wonder, with a feeling of guilt, what he could possibly have learnt from her, to balance the richness of his lore. Making salves and mixing elixirs seemed tame stuff in trade, and of limited use to one who might merely ask a plant for its grace to be healed. Such a person had no need for lists of symptoms and hopeful cures, nor even—

"Here," Meri said, softly.

She stood at his shoulder and looked with him at what had once been a grassy knoll, now bedamned with undead trees, encircling a burned spot on the grass.

"What," she asked, keeping her voice low as well, "am I looking at?"

"The place where the shortcut was," he said. "Sian must have realized—and either closed it, or had it closed." She felt a ripple of mirth that was certainly not hers; it seemed to be directed at the scorched spot.

"I'd say she closed it herself," Meri added, giving her the key to his amusement.

"Ah," Becca smiled, seeing Sian flinging turquoise fire toward a mist-filled gateway crowded by silvered trees—and then frowned.

"Closing the gate—didn't help."

"Recall that they have been pushing trees out of the
keleigh
using their own methods for some while," Meri said. "The shortcut may have made it easier for them, but they could get on very well, without."

"This way," the Brethren growled, abruptly at Becca's knee. "The hole in the hedge."

Becca eyed him. "You say yourself that one hole is much like another," she commented. "Or, indeed, may be the other."

"We may wish to observe this one, in either case," Meri said. "Unless you prefer to run to Xandurana?"

She looked at him, reading weariness in his face—and wariness, too.

"Must we still seek Sian?" she asked slowly. "If the Queen is preparing to act . . ."

"We have seen what has happened, across the
keleigh
," Meri said. "Diathen must be told."

She frowned. "Because the Fey must repair that ill?"

"Precisely," he said, and took her hand, looking earnestly into her face.

"We destroyed our enemy, and his lands," he said slowly. "Then, like children, we hid from what we had done, and threw up the
keleigh
, to keep us safe. We have sundered the world, in our arrogance. Now, it lies with us to mend it."

"But—the Queen. Surely, she will know this and—"

"The Queen must convince the Constant," Meri interrupted, turning away. "And that were the problem before."

"The Constant . . . withheld its support? Its
kest
?"

He shook his head. "The Constant—you understand that the Queen is the focus for the will of the Constant. Not only did they decree the
keleigh
against every argument and persuasion she could bring before them, but . . ." His voice died.

But Becca had remembered, now. "Not only did they agree to the
keleigh
's construction, but they lent the builders their support. Through her."

Head still averted, he nodded.

"It is," he said, "no easy thing, to be Queen.

"Well." He shook himself and looked about, his eye lighting on the Brethren.

"Lead on, Little Brother. We are eager to behold this new wonder you have found for us."

In short order, Altimere was bathed and dressed. Others, perhaps, might think there were tasks more pressing than mere grooming confronting him. Indeed, it was true that he stood upon the edge of a momentous event, one that would, upon its culmination, change him, the Vaitura, and the world.

To present oneself as challenger at the foot of the throne, sweat-stained, and reeking of the
keleigh
—no, it would not do. A bookkeeper from a house of bookkeepers, Diathen surely was. She might be—indeed, she was!—his inferior in philosophy, and in artifice. Granting those things and a dozen deficiencies more, she was yet the Queen, and he would not make the error of believing her a weakling.

It was with these thoughts very much in his mind that he slipped his watch safely into his pocket and ambled into the dining room, where he partook of an excellent meal made up entirely of foodstuffs that had grown in the good soil of the Vaitura, rather than conjured from chaos-stuff. Afterward, he pleased to observe that he felt nearly much his old self, and that his
kest
was much improved.

"Excellent," he murmured and rose from the board, carrying his wineglass with him to the library.

The next step—ah, the next step . . .  He paused before the shelf bearing the bound notes of his completed projects, running his fingers lightly down the battered bindings. Surely, the next step was to claim his power in fullness?

Curiously, now that the hour was upon him, he found himself . . . reluctant. Altimere sighed.

He did not consider himself a romantic, and he had learnt long ago that tools were but the means to an end. It was folly of the worse sorry to consider even for a moment that he might preserve her inside the sleep, waking her for brief periods in order that he might partake of her pretty foolishness.

"No," he said firmly, turning from the shelves. "It will not do." Who knew better than he how very dangerous she was? While his Rebecca might regard him with the simple fondness of her kind, she
was
but a tool, vulnerable and unable to defend herself. Doubly unable to defend herself, now that the necklace had somehow been broken. Obviously, someone else had found her a tool fit to his hand, and worth considerable trouble. He, Altimere, dared not falter now. The tool was his, to retrieve, and to destroy.

And yet . . . Perhaps he might preserve some small portion of that unique and glorious power. Having perfected the technique, why should he not do so? A portion sufficient to animate an artifact—that was surely no danger to him. And it would give him, perhaps, some solace, or even pleasure.

He would think upon it, further. In the meanwhile . . .

He snapped his fingers, twice, and nodded at the Gossamers as they came to attend him.

"Bring me Rebecca Beauvelley," he said calmly, "and the artifact called Nancy." He paused, glancing around at his books, and added.

"I will see them in the garden."

"No," Becca said, staring at this newest manifestation of the Brethren's "hole." "I will
not
go into that."

Meri glanced up from his crouch far too close to the thing's perimeter, mouth grim and eyebrow quirked. "Pretend there is a unicorn chasing you," he suggested.

Becca pointed. "You do not fool me, sir! You are quite as terrified as I am."

"Am I? Perhaps that's true. And yet I see no other trail, if we are to gain Xandurana."

Becca sank to her knees on the rough ground, staring from him to the Brethren, and, reluctantly, back to the object of their study.

"It's a
rabbit-hole
," she protested.

"If it were, I would not be nearly so terrified," Meri said softly. "Nor would you. Well." He looked to the Brethren. "You had best come, Little Brother."

The Brethren made a rude noise. "The Queen will be pleased to see me."