Taminy (44 page)

He
wasn’t certain whether he should find her insolent or disturbing. “What I want
is to see justice done. The Assembly will decide whether the Osraed
over-stepped their bounds. If it were up to me, alone, I would proclaim your
innocence from the Throne and that would be that. But I think you understand
that this is something that must be decided by the Hall and the Throne
together.”

“Oh,
I do understand. But what of the Osraed?” She was looking at him now, green
eyes opaque.

“They’re
represented in the Hall ...Does that worry you? They make up only a fourth of
its membership.”

“That
doesn’t worry me, no.”

He
didn’t miss the inflection. “But something does.” Which means you are not
all-powerful. She declined to answer, so he continued, “Your claim is
...startling, to say the least. I guarantee it will shock the Assembly.”

“It
doesn’t seem to shock you.”

He
opened his mouth to admit it bemused him considerably, then thought better of
it. “No. It doesn’t shock me. But then, we are in a Cusp. In these times, one
must expect the unexpected. The Osraed were caught unprepared. They refused to
see you for what you are—to their detriment. Perhaps they now realize their
mistake. But recognizing their own error in judgment doesn’t mean they will
accept you. Chances are, they’ll now martial their forces against you, attempt
to try you again in the Hall. That is why strategy is important.”

She
looked at him aslant, then began strolling the parapet again, moving toward the
suspended walkway that linked the inner and out walls of the castle. “Strategy,”
she repeated.

“Indeed.”
He fell into step beside her. “And I believe your strategy should be silence.
Say nothing. Let the Osraed accuse if they will. Let my testimony and Daimhin
Feich’s pass without comment, and say nothing.”

“And
how will that exonerate me?”

“The
Hall is a representative body, Taminy. It is expressive of popular sentiment.
Especially where the Eiric and Ministers are concerned. By the time the Hall
convenes, the people of Creiddylad and its environs will know you on sight and
by deed. Beyond Creiddylad, you will be known by reputation. And you will need
to utter no words of defense, because the members of the Hall will read your
defense in the faces of their people. And their Cyne.”

They
had crossed over the outer ward now, and stood on the broad walk near the
gatehouse that overlooked the Cyne’s Market.

“All
that,” Taminy said, “in a week.”

Colfre
smiled at her. How sweet she was, how little she understood the dynamics of
statesmanship. He directed her gaze over the parapet to the Market grounds
below. There, people had seen them and stopped to stare and point. A small
crowd began to cluster in the shadow of Mertuile.

“Look,
Taminy. Already, people are drawn to gaze at you. Where you go, they will
gather, because of what they’ve seen and heard. Your story has been spread far
and wide, my dear. The people know of you. Soon they will come to care about
you.” I have seen to it, he wanted to add, but did not, preferring his own
manipulations to be at least a little obscured.

Taminy
leaned out over the wall, her long hair a streaming white-gold banner in the
Sea breeze, her cheeks flushed to rose by its briskness. She raised a hand and
waved to the people below. They, in turn, waved back, some removing hats and
fanning them overhead.

Colfre
stood back and watched, pleased, thinking that she began to understand his
intention. “Tomorrow,” he told her, “you will meet a rather important local
Osraed. His name is Ladhar and he is the Abbod of Ochanshrine. More than that,
he represents the Osraed in the Hall and on my Privy Council. He would be a
formidable ally.”

Taminy
turned to look at him. “He will be shocked by me, Cyne Colfre.”

He
smiled, taken, again, by her beauty. “Not if you do nothing to shock him.”

oOo

Eadmund
reached Ochanshrine in the early evening. For the first time in his life, he
crossed that sacred threshold and did not feel refreshed. The letter he carried
weighed upon him, making his steps unsteady. He wanted to be rid of it more,
almost, than he wanted anything else, but there was a ritual he must keep
before he handed his burden over to Abbod Ladhar.

The
Shrine was nearly empty at this time of day; the Cleirachs and Osraed were at
their evening meal. One lone Aelder Prentice sat in the last row of low, padded
benches in the circular amphitheater, staring soulfully down at the room’s
centerpiece. Eadmund smiled in a wash of empathy, turning his own eyes to the
Thing around which Ochanshrine was built.

It
sat upon a pedestal of fine, hard, dark wood. Gold filigree and sea shell was
inlaid among cleverly carved sea motifs, suggesting an ocean treasure trove. If
a paean could be sung in wood, that pedestal was it. If a benediction could be
said in solid stone, the Osmaer Crystal was that benediction. Twice as large as
a man’s fist, it glittered beneath an evening shower of lightglobe radiance,
its perfect facets presenting their flawless planes to the glow of manmade
light and returning a rainbow to the unadorned beams. Colorless, it was, clear
and pure, waiting for some attuned soul to call forth its Eibhilin colors.

Eadmund
approached it hopefully, full of need, full of desire. He thought he heard
someone call his name, but ignored them and gave the Osmaer his all. He was trembling
by the time his feet trod upon the thick, verdant carpet that underlaid the
pedestal.

It
had been a decade since he had seen the Meri—since She had pressed burning lips
to his brow and branded him to his very soul. This relic was as close as he could
come, now, to meeting Her face to Face. He relived his Pilgrimage every time he
came here, relived it and savored it and wished, with all his heart, that he
had been assigned to Ochanshrine instead of Halig-liath. For Osraed Eadmund, in
his own soul, valued devotion above justice, contemplation above
administration. He did what he did at Halig-liath, served as he did both
Council and Hall, because he had to, not because he desired it. He would gladly
relinquish all temporal power to Ealad-hach or Faer-wald or Kynan, who seemed
to delight in it. He would gladly have given the letter he carried into some
zealot’s hands or told Ealad-hach to deliver it himself. But he had been asked
to carry it by an elder, by a member of the Triumvirate, by a Brother. It had
become duty. Eadmund took duty seriously.

He
turned to the Crystal for release, now. He supplicated the Force behind it for
wisdom and steadfastness. He looked to the Stone of Ochan and the Stone
answered.

A
light. A very tiny light, at first, that blossomed to bathe the supplicant’s
face with warmth and radiance. Eadmund’s eyes, wide, reflected that radiance in
awe. He had not excited that response in the Crystal since the year of his
Grand Tell. Tears started and the Crystal swam in them, warm, aglow.

“Osraed
Eadmund!”

Startled,
he straightened and glanced about. Across the circular Shrine, at the top of
the shallow bowl formed by its terraced floors, Osraed Ladhar stood just inside
the western doors, accompanied by a Cleirach of Eadmund’s acquaintance.

While
Eadmund stared stupidly, still in the thrall of the Stone, Ladhar dismissed his
companion and trundled down the sloping aisle. “My God, Eadmund! What are you
doing? You should have come to me immediately. What in the name of all things
holy is happening in Nairne? I have heard nothing but wild rumor since the Body
was called. Who is this girl Colfre has brought to Creiddylad? Is she really
Wicke?”

Eadmund’s
eyes moved only momentarily to the Abbod’s flushed face before going back to
the Osmaer. Then he gasped in dismay; the Crystal’s Eibhilin glow was fading.
He puzzled, reaching out a hand as if to steady the light, but it did no good.
By the time Ladhar reached him, Ochan’s fantastic Crystal was no more than a
beautiful rock, lit only from without.

The
Abbod dropped a meaty hand to his shoulder and shook him. “Come, Eadmund! Are
you ill?”

Eadmund
managed to control his tongue. “No, merely weary. I ... I have a letter for you
... from Osraed Ealad-hach.”

“Come,
then—to my chambers. We can talk there.” The elder Osraed prodded him into
motion, leading him to his private chambers on the first floor of the Abbis.

“Tell
me about Nairne,” Ladhar said before Eadmund had even settled into a seat by
the hearth. “What’s happening at Halig-liath?”

Eadmund
allowed his body to slump into the chair’s padded depths. He wanted sleep
suddenly, hungrily, but must be content to sit beside this fitful little fire
and entertain questions he had no answers to. “What is happening at
Halig-liath?” he repeated. “I can’t begin to tell you ...There is a fork in our
path, Abbod. A fork caused, I assume, by this Cusp. And somehow, this girl,
Taminy, is forcing us to confront it.”

“This
girl ... the one the Cyne has brought to Creiddylad?”

Eadmund
nodded. “And Bevol with her, since he was her sponsor and defender.” He felt
the letter, again, as a guilty weight, but was loathe to produce it. “The Cyne
arrived at Halig-liath as the Osraed Body questioned her regarding a charge of
heresy-”

“Yes,
yes. I know that. Or at least I knew there was an inquiry. I thought it ... a
local matter, easily handled by those closer at hand-”

“You’ve
no need to defend your absence, Abbod. Your duties here are important. It was
not, after all, a universal call.”

“I
was defending nothing,” said Ladhar with some vinegar.

Eadmund
blushed. “I meant no disrespect, Osraed. However, it is now more than a local
matter. The Cyne felt ... feels ... that the Osraed Body over-stepped its
bounds and that the girl was being unjustly accused and unfairly treated.”

“That
decision hardly rests with him.”

“Of
course not. Which is why he has brought her to Creiddylad to stand before the
Hall.”

Ladhar
frowned, his broad brow becoming a field thick with furrows. “To what end, I
wonder? To what purpose does he import Nairne’s problems to Creiddylad when she
has so many of her own?” His eyes moved sharply to Eadmund’s face. “You said
you had a letter.”

“Ah,
yes. I ... I do.” He took it out reluctantly and gave it into Ladhar’s hands. “Understand,”
he said, “that Ealad-hach is, himself, the girl’s main accuser.” A weak thing
to say, he reflected, as he watched the Abbod’s eyes devour the epistle.

Ealad-hach’s
attack on Taminy-a-Cuinn had been nearly single-handed ... in the beginning.
But Eadmund could not bring himself to speak ill of his elder and, in truth, he
understood little of what was happening. Perhaps Ealad-hach possessed insights
denied the rest of them.

He
glanced at Ladhar. The Abbod’s face was mottled red, his expression, fierce
enough to terrify. Eadmund decided the struggling fire was a preferable subject
for his gaze and watched it play restlessly among the perfumed coals.

“You
know the contents of this letter?” Ladhar had finished reading and raised his
eyes to spear Eadmund to the back of his chair.

The
younger man cleared his throat. “I do.”

“And
you are in agreement with it?”

Ladhar’s
scrutiny was more than he could stand. Eadmund got up and paced away across the
room, trying to look ruminative while sweating inside. “I ... I am unable to
arouse in myself the hatred our brother obviously feels toward this girl.”

“Hatred
or lack of it is not the issue, Osraed. The issue is the danger the girl poses
to Caraid-land.”

“I
find it difficult to believe she is dangerous. She’s a girl. A seventeen year
old girl-”

“Who
claims to be inextricably linked to the Meri. Who spouts unheard of doctrine;
who performs acts of Craft-”

Eadmund’s
arms moved in a convulsive gesture of desperation. “Perhaps she is merely
confused.”

“Then
she has done none of these things Ealad-hach writes of?”

“Yes.
Yes, she has done those things. And, yes, she has made those claims, but-”

“But?
Osraed Eadmund, this girl is obviously a heretic. The proof of that seems to
have come unforced from her own mouth. Moreover, she is a heretic who
apparently has a mastery of the Wickish Craft. A heretic who has drawn the
attention—no, more than that, the support—of our Cyne. Ealad-hach suggests it
was her will that brought Colfre to her defense at Halig-liath. If that is
true, then she cannot fail to be a danger ... to all of Caraid-land.”

“What
if she tells the truth?”

“What?”

Eadmund
stopped to watch the fire’s unsteady crawl across the curved ceiling. “I said,
what if she tells the truth?”

“That
the Meri regenerates in this ... unimaginable fashion? Unthinkable!”

“So
Osraed Ealad-hach found it.”

Ladhar
was silent. Eadmund’s ears picked up the soft crackle of flame—like muted
applause, far distant. It was a silly thought; there was nothing to applaud
here.

“And
you,” the Abbod asked, “do not?”

“I
am at a loss to know what to think. But what Ealad-hach proposes we should do-”

“May
be entirely necessary. Osraed Eadmund ...” Ladhar’s voice lost its sharp edge
entirely. He leaned forward in this chair. “Eadmund, I recognize that you are a
compassionate man. That is a quality we dare not belittle or undervalue. But
you must realize what is at stake, here. The souls of untold thousands of
people, of our Cyne, of-”

“I
understand what is at stake,” Eadmund murmured. “We are at stake. We Osraed.”

“Precisely.”
Ladhar shuffled the pages of the letter and folded them back into their leather
packet. “I am to hold an audience with this girl. Tomorrow morning. At the Cyne’s
request. I will decide, then, what is to be done.”