The Exile and the Sorcerer (36 page)

“Tevi. Come here. I’ve found her. I’ve found Abrak.”

*

Jemeryl waited on the landing at the top of the stairs in the great hall. “I’ve found her. Come and see,” she called as soon as she saw Tevi enter below. “And I take back my scepticism. I think your story is entirely true. Almost.” Jemeryl ducked back into the study and took her place at the desk in the centre of the room.

Tevi arrived shortly. She pulled over a stool and sat at the other side. “What have you found?”

“Abrak. She was a herbalist from the school at Ekranos.” Jemeryl tapped on an open page. “That much, I could have guessed. But her real name was Lorimal.”

“She’s mentioned in your books?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d have expected. I’m surprised there isn’t more about her, if only as a cautionary tale. But there’s no doubt she’s the one. She was last seen one hundred and fifty-two years ago, paddling a small boat and talking to the seaweed off a beach in Walderim. More than that, she’s the only person in history who could have made the potion the way your story says. Everything ties in. Her speciality was potions producing permanent changes in the body. As a young woman, she was getting quite a name for herself, but then she made her big mistake.” Jemeryl looked up from the book. “Did I tell you how herbalists work by watching the harmonics of auras and projecting their observations back though the underlying planes?”

Tevi’s face screwed into a bemused frown. “Maybe.”

“Lorimal wanted to improve the process, so she developed a potion to give her intrinsic empathy with plants. After she’d taken it, she could look at a plant and intuitively deconstruct its aura.”

“She could do what?”

“She said the plants talked to her.” Jemeryl was aware that she was being less coherent that usual.

“And she made a mistake?” Tevi was clearly struggling to keep up.

“The mistake was that after she’d taken it, she empathised totally with plants, and there was no antidote. Have you ever tried talking to someone who thinks like a daffodil?”

“My Great-Aunt Wirry?”

Jemeryl laughed. “I’m sure your aunt isn’t in the same league. What happened to Lorimal was that she could no longer relate to humans. Your ancestors assumed that exposure had addled her wits, but she’d been like it for decades. After Lorimal took the potion, she carried on charging around the Protectorate, doing all manner of things that nobody could make sense of. Her only invention with any known use was a cure for mould that infects wheat in the eastern plains. One of the ingredients is a small amount of the farmer’s own blood. Some say it shows the way her mind was running. Most herbalists use plant extracts to heal people; she used people extracts to heal plants.”

“That makes some sort of sense.”

“It’s the only thing that did. Apparently, she once spent four months standing in a garden belonging to a weaver in Davering, acting like a rosebush. Don’t ask me why she didn’t starve to death. The book didn’t explain, but it’s no more bizarre than most of the other things she did. However, there’s plenty of evidence to show she’d have been capable of creating your strength potion, complete with gender bias. Her abilities were phenomenal. It’s tragic they were of so little use—from a human viewpoint.”

“Why would anyone want her chalice?”

“Perhaps someone’s got a turnip they want a chat with?” Klara said.

Jemeryl grinned at the magpie. “I’d guess it’s more likely they’re after some of her earlier work, though I can’t find any information about what that was. As I said before, I’m surprised Lorimal is so overlooked. I only came across her name in a history of Walderim written by my grandfather, and he was more concerned with whimsical anecdotes than herbalism. Lorimal hardly appears in any other book.”

“So it doesn’t help us find who took the chalice.”

“Lorimal’s name is a good starting point.” Jemeryl kept her voice level, even though her hopes soared at Tevi’s use of the word “us.” “The best thing would be for you and me to go to Lyremouth. There’s bound to be more information in the Coven library.”

Tevi’s brief burst of enthusiasm died. Her eyes fixed on the desk, and she dug at the grain with her fingernail. “That’s if I bother. I’m sorry, Jem, but you can’t come with me.”

“I have to.”

“I don’t want company.”

It was the old stalemate. Jemeryl’s patience snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you want. I’ve been ordered to go.”

Tevi looked shocked. “By who? And why?”

Instead of answering, Jemeryl kicked her chair back and stalked across to the window. She stared out over the valley. Ten days before, she would not have dreamed of telling the truth to a common, ungifted citizen. Now her emotions were so raw that the thought of losing face before Tevi was irrelevant. But would it help?

Jemeryl took a deep breath and turned back. “I wasn’t told why. My mentor contacted me a few hours before you came to the castle. She told me about you and the basilisk. She said that when you left, I had to go with you. She also took the opportunity to tell me I’m a disgrace to the Coven.”

“What!”

“Reports from the village have got back to Lyremouth.”

“But the villagers have got you all wrong.”

“It’s nice you think that, but I wasn’t able to convince my mentor. I’ve been removed from my post in the valley and ordered to help you on your quest. So I’m going with you, and that’s the end of it.”

“You have helped. You’ve found Lorimal’s name. I could go to Lyremouth on my own and ask someone there to do the rest.”

Jemeryl shrugged. “If I don’t leave with you, I might as well go straight to Lyremouth anyway. They like you there in person when your case is taken before the disciplinary tribunal.”

“You wouldn’t be punished?”

“Disobeying a direct order? Of course I would.”

“What would happen to you?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.” Jemeryl reclaimed her seat at the desk. “But it isn’t going to happen, as I’m going with you.”

Tevi licked her lips nervously. “Perhaps you could come as far as Lyremouth. When we’re there, I can explain that I don’t want you with me.”

“That will go down nearly as well as me deserting you.”

“Why?”

“I was hauled over the coals for upsetting the locals. Now I’ve done the same with you. I don’t know how.” Jemeryl’s head sank; her voice dropped as well. “Would it help if I said sorry?”

“You haven’t upset me. You’ve been really nice.”

“Oh, sure. I’m so wonderful you can’t stand being in my presence.”

“That’s not far from the truth,” Tevi mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jemeryl buried her face in her hands. “Tevi, please. Tell me what I’ve done to offend you. Give me the chance to put things right.”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Tevi, come on,” Jemeryl pleaded. “You can’t stop me following you, but I can’t stop you saying what you will to my superiors. If you’re going to wreck my life, you at least owe me an explanation.”

Tevi slumped backwards. Her knuckles were white on the tabletop. At last, she blurted out, “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“What is?”

“It’s me. I’m not fit company for any woman.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“No. It’s true. The quest for the chalice was a way to exile me while saving my family the embarrassment of a public trial.”

She’s murdered someone.
It was the first thought to shoot through Jemeryl’s head, followed quickly by disbelief. There was no trace of malicious violence in Tevi. It must have been an accident, or a mistake, or something else. Who could tell what the barbarian laws of the islands might be?

In a whisper, Jemeryl asked, “What did you do?”

“It was what they thought I was going to do.”

“Be sensible. Even Coven seers don’t punish people for what they’re going to do.”

“They were right.”

“If I’m any judge of character, you’re a decent, honest person. I don’t know what you think you were about to do, but I can’t believe it was anything that bad, and even if it were, it wouldn’t matter. The Coven leaders want me to go with you. I can’t see them being put off by a crime that hasn’t been committed yet, in a land outside their jurisdiction.”

“Wouldn’t they want to protect you from me?”

Despite the overwrought atmosphere, Jemeryl had to restrain the urge to laugh. “I think you’d have difficulty persuading them you presented any threat to me. I don’t mean to imply that you’re not a formidable warrior, but I’m a sorcerer. A dozen of you couldn’t—” Jemeryl broke off. “Tevi, you’re not making sense. What is this crime you’re going to commit? How could you harm me?”

There was a long silence. When Tevi finally spoke her voice was a dull mumble. “I have a problem with men.”

Jemeryl tried to understand. “I’m sure the same could be said for most women on your islands.”

“No, it’s different. I’m not sure how to explain.” Tevi’s eyes were devoid of fight and of hope. “There were slang terms on the islands, crude ones. I’ve not tried to find out what your words are for it. I thought it best to avoid the subject completely.”

Jemeryl opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again. Tevi was finding things difficult enough without interruptions.

Tevi continued, picking her words deliberately. “I feel about other women the way a normal woman would only feel about men. In my heart, I can only...”

The struggle to say that much had left Tevi shaking. She leaned forward and rested her head on her hands. However, Jemeryl was no more the wiser. It was obvious that the confession had taken a lot of effort, but despite turning the words around in her head, Jemeryl could produce no interpretation that was not totally absurd.

“I’m sorry, Tevi. I don’t understand what you mean.” Jemeryl spoke as gently as she could.

“Don’t play games with me.” Tevi sprung to her feet, knocking over her chair. In three steps, she had reached the door.

Jemeryl could not allow Tevi to escape. A pull on the sixth-dimension tensors sent the bolt sliding into its socket and all of Tevi’s superhuman strength could not get it to budge. After a few desperate attempts, Tevi let go of the handle and turned back.

Jemeryl was still seated. Quietly she said, “I’m sorry, but believe me, I’m not playing games. This is much too important to me.”

“Jem...”

“I really don’t know what you mean.”

Tevi slumped against the door. She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’m physically attracted to other women, not men. I fall in love with them. I can’t help it. It’s women that I want sexually. And right now, I want...” Tevi’s words died in a grimace of pain. She twisted around to face the barred door, resting her hands on the wooden planks. “Please let me go.”

There was utter, wretched despair in Tevi’s voice. Jemeryl could not refuse. The bolt moved back, and Tevi tore open the door. Her footsteps pounded on the stairs and away.

Jemeryl stared after her. She was still not certain she understood, but Tevi’s confession had struck a chord with something she had read earlier that morning. Thoughtfully, Jemeryl pulled her grandfather’s book towards her and thumbed back several chapters.

The section she wanted was a lengthy extract from a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old report by a Coven sorcerer named Bolitho. It had been made in the mistaken expectation of Walderim imminently joining the Protectorate. In the guise of an itinerant healer, Bolitho had travelled throughout Walderim while preparing extensive notes on the inhabitants. Some of his analysis reflected ideologies, fashionable at the time, that were no longer accepted. However, he had been a conscientious observer, and one of his findings seemed to offer the explanation Jemeryl needed. It took a few seconds to find the part she wanted, relating to gender stereotyping.

Jemeryl settled down to read.

*

Inherent to a hereditary culture has to be belief in the inborn superiority of the ruling elite. Other groups have their value assigned on a descending scale, with the lowest sections relegated to subhuman status. In Walderim, the main groups to suffer from this have been women and migrant workers from the north.

The position of women is especially bleak, partly due to the widely held belief that instead of being distinguished by minor statistical variations, the characters of the two sexes are in some way diametrically opposed. In fact, the phrase “the opposite sex” is in common use. There is a refusal even to accept that a male sorcerer has vastly more in common with a female sorcerer than with an ungifted man (although I suspect that this will change once Walderim joins the Protectorate).

I had a conversation with one of their philosophers. He explained how the universe was divided into male and female principles. Male was active, light, hard; female was passive, dark, soft. We had this conversation sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. I found a male and female wood louse in the rotten wood and asked the philosopher to illustrate these “universal” principles, using the wood lice as examples. The philosopher then accused me of being absurd!

The ideology results in a need to exaggerate any perceived gender difference into an unbreakable law of nature. For example, an inhabitant will state, “Men are taller than women.” If I point out that only a small average difference exists, and the divergence is such that many women are taller than many men, I am met with animosity, as if I am being deliberately perverse.