The Spirit Stone (22 page)

‘That is so. You see, many nights ago I received a message from Javanateriel. He and his companions had travelled west a fair ways, so he felt they could not yet journey to the trading grounds until more time had passed.’

Aderyn nodded sagely.

‘Um, may I ask why not?’ Nevyn said.

‘Because of the plague that killed off the Horsekin invaders,’ Aderyn said. ‘Or to be more precise, the fear of it. It’s somewhat of a rule among us Westfolk, that anyone who rides too far west can’t return to the main camps until he’s sure that he’s not carrying it.’

‘Wait a moment. You must mean the plague that raged during the destruction of the elven cities in the mountains. That was a thousand years ago.’

‘Oh, I know, and it’s probably an unnecessary precaution. By all accounts the illness sprang from tainted food.’ But Aderyn sounded doubtful. ‘Still, you never know. Better safe than sorry.’

‘Truly spoken.’ Valandario took up her tale again. ‘So, on his way home, he met some distant herders. They in turn passed his message to me, that he had a marvellous gift he wished to give me. He wanted us to meet at the trading grounds.’

‘So,’ Aderyn said, ‘he told you he was bringing you a jewel of some sort.’

‘He did not, just that he was bringing a gift. But I dreamt about it, which is why I know the gift to be a gem.’

Nevyn felt like heaving a deep and weary sigh. It was just like the Westfolk to ask someone to travel a hundred miles out of their way on the strength of a dream alone. A fortnight, a month or two—those measures of Time had the same importance to them as an afternoon would to a human being.

‘He also told me,’ Valandario continued, ‘that he had found a gift for you, Master Aderyn. But I dreamt not about that one. Gems call to me, as you know, but naught else does. However, Jav should be here soon. Now I’d best go help my alar set up the tents.’

With a cheerful wave she trotted off, heading back to camp.

‘Soon, is it?’ Aderyn gave Nevyn a twisted sort of smile. ‘My apologies. Let’s hope the wretched thing truly is a gem.’

‘Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s good to see you, so I’m glad I made the trip, no matter what this mysterious gift turns out to be.’

Much to Morwen’s relief, none of the Westfolk mentioned her fight as she and Evan walked around the camp on the morrow morning. Since she had a reason to look for them, she noticed other squabbles that broke out quickly and died even faster. She made a point, however, of avoiding the woman she’d knocked unconscious. She also noticed that none of the other children teased Evan nor Danalaurel, either, when the two little ones set about playing with Evan’s ball.

Not long after the noon meal, Loddlaen sought her out. She was returning to Devaberiel’s tent to put Evan down for a nap when he walked up behind her, so noiselessly that she nearly yelped in surprise when he spoke.

‘How’s the hand today?’ Loddlaen said.

‘Ye gods, you startled me!’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s a fair bit better, my thanks. I can close my fingers now without it hurting.’

‘Good. Tell me somewhat, will you? What do you think of Gwairyc?’

‘I’m not sure. At times he’s pleasant enough, and at others he frightens me. Why do you ask?’

‘He’s a cursed strange apprentice for a herbman.’

‘Well, that’s certainly true.’

‘I was wondering if you knew why he seems to hate Tirro. I went down to look at Wffyn’s goods, and I saw Gwairyc treating Tirro like a dog. Some of the women here in camp told me that he follows the lad around and yells at him for the least little thing.’

‘I saw him do that on the way out here, too, but I don’t know why. You could ask Nevyn.’

‘I’d rather not.’ Loddlaen looked away, his eyes wide with fear. ‘He might tell Gwairyc I asked.’

‘So?’

‘What if he challenged me? Gwairyc’s the kind of man I’ve always hated, a swaggering bastard of a warrior. They usually hate me, too.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ He made a sharp bark of sound that might have been a laugh. ‘But be that as it may, there’s somewhat else I wanted to ask you. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

‘My thanks, I would.’

‘Come at sundown, then.’

Loddlaen looked as if he was about to say more, but Evan began whining in a wordless sing-song and pulling on her hand.

‘I’ve got to get him to sleep,’ Morwen said. ‘I’ll see you at sundown.’

When the time came, Devaberiel offered to take care of his son so Morwen could have a little time to herself. She took the offer, but reluctantly. Since Loddlaen’s tent stood a fair distance away from the campground proper, she enjoyed being so far from its noise, but at the same time it vexed her to be away from Evan, even though she was leaving him with his father and Nevyn as well.
He’ll be perfectly safe,
she kept telling herself.
And he’ll have to grow up and grow away from me sooner or later.

When Morwen arrived at Loddlaen’s tent, she was surprised to find Tirro there. Morwen disliked the merchant’s apprentice, but since Loddlaen was the host, she decided that it wasn’t her place to argue about the other guest, especially as Tirro had sweetened his welcome by bringing a basket of griddle cakes with him to supplement the meal. The Westfolk seemed to eat mostly meat, along with various raw leaves, dressed with oil and herbs, and wild fruits, a diet she was finding difficult to digest. The three of them sat down on the ground cross-legged by a fire burning in a circle of stones. Loddlaen had sliced chops from a lamb slaughtered the day before. They cooked them on a flat stone slab of the sort that a Deverry woman would have used for baking bread, then laid them on top of the griddle cakes.

‘These are delicious, Tirro,’ Morwen said. ‘I miss bread ever so much.’

‘Well, we do trade with Deverry farmers for grains and flour,’ Loddlaen said. ‘But bread and porridge and the like are for the winter camps. When it’s damp and cold they fill you up.’

‘You live so differently than people do in Deverry,’ Morwen said. ‘I’m still getting used to it.’

‘No doubt. I’ve often wondered what it would be like, living there, but I’ve never quite got the courage to go try it.’

‘Well, you’d fit in better than most of your folk. You could be a herbman like Nevyn.’

‘Truly,’ Tirro joined in. ‘You don’t even look that much different, and Loddlaen sounds like a Deverry name to me. Some of the names around here would twist your tongue, they would.’

‘True enough, but Loddlaen’s just a nickname. I was named after my grandfather, Alodalaenteriel.’

‘I’m not even going to try to say that. Tirro’s not my real name, either. It’s Alastyr.’

‘Much grander,’ Morwen said. ‘Tirro suits you, though.’

Tirro glanced her way with a scowl, then smoothed the expression away.

‘So tell me, Tirro.’ Loddlaen intervened quickly. ‘Are you going to be a horse trader the rest of your life, like Wffyn?’

‘I am not.’ Tirro put ice into his voice. ‘I’m marked for greater things, I am. Once we get back to Cerrmor, I’m going to sail to Bardek and learn to be a proper merchant. I want to deal in exotic spices and silk and precious gems, not frying pans and knife blades.’

‘What’s Bardek like?’ Morwen said. ‘I’ve never heard anything about it but the name.’

‘You wouldn’t, up in Pyrdon.’ Tirro thought for a moment. ‘Um, well, I’ve not been there yet, mind. But lots of Bardek folk come to Cerrmor.’

‘I’ve heard they’re black as pitch,’ Loddlaen said.

‘What? That’s just one of those silly things people say. Some have dark skin, truly, but most are just brown or tan, and a few look no different from Deverry folk.’

‘That’s truly interesting.’ Loddlaen leaned forward. ‘I’ve often wondered what it would be like to go to Bardek.’

‘When I’m a rich merchant with my own ship, you can come with me.’ Tirro paused to smile. ‘Well, assuming I truly do get rich and own a ship some day. There’s a bit of work ahead of me twixt now and then.’

They all laughed. Loddlaen proceeded to ask a good many questions, keeping Tirro talking about the Bardekians and his own city of Cerrmor, too, a place that seemed as exotic to Morwen as those foreign islands far across the Southern Sea. They finished the dinner, and Loddlaen brought out a skin of mead, something Morwen had never tasted. Since it was made from honey, Morwen was expecting it to be sweet; its dry sharp taste surprised her, and she took only a couple of small sips for the sake of politeness.

Loddlaen and Tirro talked on, passing the skin back and forth, while Morwen let her mind wander, worrying about Evan despite her best efforts to enjoy herself without him. She was just thinking that she might as well leave when she suddenly felt she was being watched. She turned around to look.

By then night had fallen, and they sat in a pool of firelight on the edge of darkness. Behind her the grassland stretched out seemingly forever, half-seen in the faint starlight.
There’s naught there,
she told herself, but in the instant she had the thought, she saw and recognized the elven woman she’d seen on the journey west. She was standing just beyond the light. In one hand she carried an unstrung bow, and a quiver of arrows hung at her hip.

Morwen got up and walked a few steps to greet her. The woman smiled at her, but her eyes were pools of sadness.

‘Have you found your daughter?’ Morwen said.

‘I’ve not, but it’s very kind of you to ask.’

‘It saddens my heart to think you’ve lost her.’

‘Does it? Then my blessings upon you, child.’

At that moment the woman began to change. She grew taller, grew huge, towering above Morwen, smiling down at her as she stretched out one hand to bless her. Her hair now hung around her face in a shining golden mane, decorated with jewels. Her clothing, a medley of greens, shimmered and rustled as if she stood in a private wind. Her bow gleamed with gold, and gems studded her quiver.

From behind her Morwen heard Tirro yelping in surprise and the sounds of the two men scrambling to their feet.

‘The nine in one,’ Morwen whispered. ‘All goddesses in one vast soul.’

‘Not her, but myself alone. I am Alshandra.’ The woman’s voice sounded like a silver gong, struck for each word. ‘I am the huntress from the edge of the stars.’

She floated free of the ground, then hovered for a moment, smiling upon them all. All at once she vanished, leaving Morwen shaking and cold.

‘The goddess.’ Tirro was trembling, too. He stretched out his arms to the sky. ‘The goddess came to us.’

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Morwen said. ‘What?’ Tirro’s voice squealed indignantly. ‘How would you know?’

‘I’ve studied at the temple, that’s how. She didn’t have the right attributes, and besides, she claimed she wasn’t—well, I can’t tell you that bit of lore. It’s secret.’

‘Oh how very convenient for you! I say she’s a goddess.’

‘She’s not. I don’t know what she was, mind, but she wasn’t the goddess I’ve gone to worship at the Temple of the Moon.’

‘Oh very well, another goddess, then!’ Tirro turned on her with a snarl in his voice. ‘What does it matter? A goddess appeared to us. Didn’t you see? Have you lost your wits, Morri?’

‘I’ve not, but you have.’ Morwen stamped a foot. ‘I tell you, I know lore, and that wasn’t any true goddess.’

‘Lore? Huh! What, then? Tell me why you don’t believe her.’

‘I can’t tell you. I swore a vow to keep things secret.’

‘I’m supposed to believe you instead of my own eyes, and you can’t offer me any proof. I –’

‘Whist! That’s enough!’ Loddlaen stepped forward. ‘I’ll wager Morri’s right. She’s studied the lore, and we’ve not. I believe her.’

Tirro hesitated, looking back and forth between them. His expression reminded Morwen of Evan’s when he’d been denied some treat he wanted, a disappointment utterly pure because so childlike.

‘Well, I –’ Tirro said at length. ‘She was so beautiful, so strange. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.’

‘Lovely she was,’ Loddlaen said, ‘but there are plenty of beautiful spirits, and I wouldn’t trust a one of them. My da told me about them—he knows lore, too—and they’ll lure you and then betray you. Ask him about it. He’s the Wise One in this camp.’

The snap of bitterness in his voice made Morwen realize he was speaking of his absent mother. Tirro stared at the ground and considered this, his mouth working. Finally he looked up with an artificial smile.

‘I’m going to pray to Alshandra from now on,’ Tirro said. ‘If she answers my prayers, we’ll know she’s a goddess. And if she won’t, then we’ll know she’s not.’

‘That could be very dangerous,’ Morwen said. ‘She might be one of the—’

‘Oh stop it!’ Tirro turned his back on her. ‘Loddlaen, my thanks for the dinner. I’d best get back before Gwairyc comes after me.’

Tirro turned and bolted into the darkness. They could hear his running footsteps until he disappeared into the camp.

‘Do you think he’ll ask your da about spirits?’ Morwen said.

‘I doubt it,’ Loddlaen said. ‘He’s a craven little soul. Maybe I can help him.’

‘That’s kind of you, truly.’

‘I want to be a good healer one day, whether it’s here or in Deverry. And Tirro seems to have some sort of wound deep in his soul.’

‘True spoken.’ Morwen considered staying, but the apparition had taken the bloom off the evening, somehow. ‘You know, I think me I’d best get back to my duties. I wonder if Dev’s managed to get Evan—I mean Ebañy—to go to sleep?’

‘Probably not.’ Loddlaen grinned at her. ‘He’s probably talking as fast and loud as the winter wind and wondering why his lad’s not nodding off.’

‘That’s like him, truly, but he’s one of the best-hearted men I’ve ever met.’

‘Most bards are.’ Bitterness crept back into Loddlaen’s voice. ‘Why shouldn’t they be? Everyone grovels in front of them and heaps praise upon them and gifts and the like.’

‘Well, I suppose they do.’ Morwen suddenly felt uneasy, though she was at a loss to know why. ‘My thanks for the dinner. I truly must be getting back.’

As she walked off, Morwen glanced back to see Loddlaen sitting down by his fire, his shoulders slumped, staring into the flames. At moments, she realized, he frightened her.
Ye gods,
she told herself,
who’s the craven soul now?