The Lioness and Her Knight (17 page)

"This will be useful the next time I drop something in the fire," Luneta commented.

"Not so useful as all that," Lady Morgan replied. "The fire may feel cold to you, but it will still blister your skin. Feelings are not reality, child."

Luneta also learned the limits of magic. Lady Morgan told her, for instance, that no spell could force a human to do something against his or her own will. "People speak of the philosophers' stone," Lady Morgan said, "that will turn lead into gold. But that's nothing: a mere parlor trick. The true quest of all sorcerors is to gain control over the human will, and hundreds have sacrificed all in the attempt to learn that skill."

"And failed?"

"Always. Oh, I don't mean that it's all that difficult to get people to do what you wish, especially men"—the beautiful enchantress smiled to herself—"but it has to be done with guile, not with magic, and even then"—she glanced wearily at Luneta—"it doesn't always work."

Luneta knew what Lady Morgan meant. One thing that had become clear to both of them during their time together was that they were both used to getting others to do what they wanted, and they had both expended a great deal of energy working on the other. But, since they were both skilled manipulators, they recognized each other's tricks and only ended up frustrating themselves. Luneta had always been proud of what she thought of as her "persuasive" arts—for instance, inducing Laudine to betroth herself to the man who had just killed her husband—but in Lady Morgan she had met her match. Judging from Lady Morgan's frequent mutterings about "mule-headed chits," her mentor felt the same way about her.

At last, one day—if it was, in fact, day—Lady Morgan said suddenly, "I've done."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've done. Your training is over. You know as much as any enchantress should know as she begins, and far more than many ever do."

"I don't know as much as you do," Luneta pointed out.

"Nor will you ever," Lady Morgan said.

"I might someday! I don't think I'm so bad as all that!"

Lady Morgan gave Luneta her almost-a-smile. "If ability were all that mattered, you could be quite as powerful an enchantress as I am. I admit that freely. But you won't, because you don't care enough about magic to devote yourself to it as I have. And even I don't devote myself to it as some." Luneta looked questioningly at her, and Lady Morgan continued, "My sister, Morgause. She cares for nothing but power, both magical and earthly. Thus she devotes her whole life to learning the techniques of power and is a very powerful enchantress indeed."

Luneta nodded. "But you care for other things more?"

Lady Morgan turned a direct gaze on Luneta. "Yes," she said. "And I am the weaker for it. I would not use my powers, for instance, to hurt King Arthur—even if by doing so I could rule the world." Then she looked away, to a small cabinet by the fire. "But we have one more lesson. Go to that shelf, Luneta, and bring me the three bottles you find there."

Luneta did as she was told, bringing her teacher three small crystal vials.

"These," Lady Morgan said, "are the final lesson of your training. Each of these contains a higher and more powerful sort of magic than any you have yet learned. You may take one of these with you when you return to that other world."

"What's in them?"

If Lady Morgan had been less majestic, she would have rolled her eyes. Instead, she said, with only a trace of sarcasm, "Actually, I was about to explain that to you, even without your helpful prompting."

"I'm sorry, my lady."

"No, you're not," Lady Morgan said with a sigh. She picked up the first of the bottles. "This vial contains a love potion. Place a drop in a man's drink, and the very first person he sees after drinking it he will love forever."

"That doesn't make sense," Luneta said promptly.

Lady Morgan bowed her head in mock humility. "I do beg your pardon. Indeed, I beg pardon on behalf of the entire magical realm for snot meeting your approv—"

"No, listen," Luneta said. "Haven't you taught me that we can't use magic to influence other people's wills? Well, then, how can we make someone fall in love?"

"You are confusing two similar things, my dear. It is true that we cannot change a human's will, but we certainly may change that person's emotions. As you grow more knowledgeable, you will learn that there are any number of potions and spells that can cause humans to have certain feelings. But feelings are not the same thing as decisions."

"That's just splitting hairs," Luneta said.

"Is it? Let me give you an example. Suppose a man were attacking me. I could, by means of magic, make that man suddenly feel terrified. What I could not do is make him run away; that would be his own choice. A strong-willed man would continue in spite of fear."

Luneta thought about this for a moment. "So this potion could make someone feel desperately in love with someone else, but it couldn't make him, for instance, keep a promise to the person he loves."

"That is correct."

Luneta wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Sounds pretty useless to me. What's the next bottle?"

"This potion, once taken, will give you—ah, how did I hear you phrase it one time?—will guarantee you an
unearthly
beauty."

Luneta smiled, slowly at first, then more broadly. "I see," she said, glancing once, quickly, at her great-aunt.

"Yes, you impertinent scamp, I did choose this one, if that's what you're wondering."

"Well, I was, a bit."

"And so does nearly everyone else, I might add. How do you think your kindhearted bosom-bow Laudine overcame her adolescent plainness?"

"Yes, of course," Luneta said, taking the vial and turning it slowly in her hand. "She would." She looked up suddenly. "But this potion guarantees that the one who drinks it will have great beauty, doesn't it?"

"That
is
what I said, I believe."

"Then all of Laudine's messing about with complexion creams and eye brighteners—it's all silly and unnecessary, isn't it?"

"Just so. Laudine would be beautiful dressed in rags and with no beauty lotions at all."

"What an ass she is, to be sure," Luneta said. "What's in the third bottle?"

"A healing potion."

"Healing? That sounds useful."

"Not as useful as all that. It has some limits. It cannot bring anyone back from the dead. It can only be used on a person once—no one cheats death forever—and, most unfortunate of all, you cannot use it on yourself."

Luneta looked at the three bottles for a minute. The love potion just sounded stupid, and she ruled that out immediately. The beauty drink was a little better, but whenever she looked at that vial, all she could think of was silly Laudine and her fixation on beauty. As for the healing potion, Lady Morgan was right: it had bothersome limitations, and Luneta didn't like having limits. In the end, though, she took up the third bottle and said, "I'll take this one."

For the first time in Luneta's memory, Lady Morgan allowed herself a real smile. "I was almost certain that you would, although it's rare enough for anyone to do so. Indeed, in all my years of training enchantresses, I've known only one other who did."

"Only one?"

"That's right. Your mother," Lady Morgan said.

Luneta bid farewell to Lady Morgan with genuine gratitude and even, to Luneta's surprise, a certain amount of affection, but her mind was elsewhere. Even when Robin appeared to escort her back to the World of Men, while she greeted him with pleasure, her thoughts were far away. She was thinking of the chilly vastness of Orkney Hall, where her very ordinary mother kept home and estate together.

Mother, an enchantress?

It was impossible, but Luneta knew it was true. She remembered her mother riding out in her little cart, drawn by a fat old mare, to visit the sick on the estate. She remembered her mother's exhaustive knowledge of herbs and medicinal plants. She even remembered the tiny windowless room behind the kitchen where she kept these herbs to dry—and no doubt brewed her own potions and prepared her own enchantments. Of course she was an enchantress.
The most boring enchantress that has ever lived,
Luneta thought bitterly, but as soon as she thought this, she had to admit that her mother no longer seemed as dull as she had used to.

"Robin," Luneta said to her elf friend as they walked back through the forest away from the tiny pond, "I don't suppose you know my mother, do you?"

The little man giggled. "My dear, I've known Lynet since she was your own age. Oh, yes, I know your mother quite well."

"It seems that everyone does," Luneta said. "Except for me, of course."

"Quite a promising girl, your mother was," Robin said reminiscently. "I've only known one who showed more potential." Luneta glanced at the elf from the corner of her eye. "Ay, that's right. You." The elf stopped and swept a deep bow to her, and when he spoke again, his voice was earnest. "My dear Luneta, I expect nothing but great things from you."

Luneta felt a warm glow inside, but she allowed nothing to show on her face. "Instead of talking nonsense, why don't you explain to me why it's so warm? It was early December when we left for the Other World. How long have I been gone?"

"Just three months, my dear."

"I see," Luneta said slowly. "And where are we going now?"

"Why, back where you started, of course, to the good fool Rhience and the right holy Hermit of the Hunt."

"Is that how Godwulf is known?"

"It's how I think of him."

"And are you sure that Rhience is still there? Why would he wait so long?"

"He
was
a bit concerned when you disappeared," Robin admitted, "so I took the liberty of speaking to him after I left you with Lady Morgan. I let him know today that you'd be back this afternoon, and he's expecting you."

And so he was. When Luneta stepped out of the trees into the warm, grassy area before the hermitage—sensing as she did so Robin fading away from her—there was Rhience, leaning against a wooden post in the sun, idly stirring a great cauldron. "Hallo, there, lass," he called.

"Hello, yourself," she replied, suddenly self-conscious. "Listen, Rhience, I'm sorry about leaving you without warning back—"

"By what that little green fellow said, you really didn't have much choice."

"But I did," Luneta replied. "No one made me go with him. Did Robin frighten you?"

"Not really," Rhience replied. "You see, we'd met before. He was the shepherd boy who directed me to the Storm Stone last April. He seems to be behind rather a lot. And now I suppose you've been off somewhere magical that I wouldn't understand and that you can't tell me about?"

Grateful to Rhience for not asking her directly, Luneta said, "I ... don't know if I can or not, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. Have you been well? It can't have been very pleasant, spending the winter at a hermitage."

Rhience grinned. "It hasn't been too bad, actually. When I left the monastery, I thought I had no taste for the religious life, but I might have a bit more inclination to holiness than I'd thought."

Before Luneta could reply, the hermit himself appeared from the forest carrying an armload of wood. "Ah, she's come back, has she? Welcome, welcome! Stay for dinner! Stay as long as you like! How's the brew going?"

"Look for yourself," Rhience replied. "I tried to keep the fire low."

The hermit leaned over the pot that Rhience had been stirring, then beamed at him. "Just right!" He looked back at Luneta. "Are you hungry? You don't look as if you've been eating well."

"I'm very well, thank you. Not hungry at all."

"Skin and bones is what you are! Good Rhience, if you'll stir up another fire, I'll take over here. This batch is just coming to a ticklish bit."

"Oh, ay, a ticklish bit that will require you to taste it regularly just to make sure that it's doing what it should," Rhience answered good-naturedly. "Why don't I go make a fire?"

"Good man," the hermit said. "Remember that we're cooking for five, now that this lady's back."

"Five?" Luneta asked.

"Oh, yes," Rhience said. "The three of us, Ywain, and another guest, a knight from the Round Table named Bleoberis who's been with us this month and more. You might say that he's found a great affinity for the austere life of a hermit, too. He's off hunting just now, though I don't know what we'll do with his game. Ywain's still providing us with more than we can eat."

Luneta moved closer. "So Ywain's still living naked in the woods, hunting barehanded and bringing the food here to be cooked? He's no better at all?"

Rhience shrugged. "Can't say if he's healed any or not. He's not so jumpy as he used to be, but that might be just because he's gotten used to us."

At the word "healed," Luneta gave a visible start. Of course, that's what he needed: healing. And she had in her pouch a healing potion.

The hermit's voice boomed behind them. "The best batch yet! We don't want to waste any of this!"

"We never do," Rhience replied, grinning.

"Waste any of what? What is that stuff?" Luneta asked.

Rhience's eyes grew bright with merriment. "As it happens, before the good hermit Godwulf was articled to a butcher, he spent some time in apprenticeship to a brewer."

"That's beer?"

Rhience said, "Godwulf calls it 'Merry-Go-Up.'"

Luneta looked at Rhience, then at the hermit, then back at Rhience. "This is the austere life of a hermit that you were talking of?"

"All right, not austere, exactly," Rhience admitted.

"More meat than you can eat and more beer than you can drink?"

"If you want to put it that way."

"'The right holy Hermit of the Hunt,'" Luneta said slowly. "Holy indeed."

"To tell you the truth, I believe he is," Rhience said suddenly. "Oh, I know that such a life wouldn't be especially holy for most people, but our good Godwulf—my dear, you've never seen a man who was more thankful for what he has than our friend there."

"Why wouldn't he be thankful? He has everything he wants."