The Spirit Stone (23 page)

When she returned to Devaberiel’s tent, she found Nevyn sitting by the fire in front of it. The bard and his son were inside, where Dev was still trying to get Evan to sleep. She could hear the child wail that he wanted his Morri, which brought an immediate song from his da.

‘I should go in,’ Morwen said.

‘It won’t hurt Evan to learn how to go to sleep for someone else,’ Nevyn said. ‘Soon enough he’ll have to learn how to go to sleep on his own, after all.’

‘Well, that’s true.’ Morwen joined him on the ground. ‘Besides, there’s somewhat I want to tell you about. A truly strange thing happened at our dinner.’

Nevyn listened to her account of Alshandra’s appearance with intense interest. She told him as well about her encounter with the same being on their trip out to the Westlands.

‘I thought later I must have been dreaming,’ Morwen finished up. ‘Which is why I didn’t tell you then.’

‘I can understand that.’ Nevyn took his chin in his hand and rubbed it while he stared into the fire. ‘I quite agree. That was no goddess.’

‘Was she one of the Seelie Host, then?’

‘I think so. The Westfolk call them the Guardians, because, or so I gather, they’ve done the folk many a favour in the past. But I wouldn’t trust them.’

‘No more I, never fear.’ Morwen made the sign of warding with crossed fingers. ‘I didn’t want to say the name at first, there in front of Loddlaen, because of his mother and all, but I did wonder. We heard about those spirits in the temple lore.’

‘Did the lore say if they sometimes masquerade as gods? Or can you even tell me?’

‘Oh, that bit wasn’t secret. They do, or so the high priestess told me. I wanted to warn Tirro, but he wouldn’t listen, and then he ran off.’

‘I suspect that Tirro’s had a very painful life. This Alshandra creature must have looked splendid to him.’

‘He said she did, truly. I hope he doesn’t come to any harm.’

‘I hope so, too. If he gives me a chance, I’ll talk to him about it.’

‘Splendid! I wager he’ll listen more to you than to me.’

As far as Morwen could see, however, Tirro was determined to avoid both Nevyn and Aderyn as much as possible. During the days that followed, the apprentice had his work to do down at the merchant camp, and in the evenings, he took to sticking close to Loddlaen, if for no other reason than Gwairyc seemed inclined to ignore him as long as he was in Loddlaen’s company. Occasionally, when Devaberiel wanted some time alone with his son, Morwen would join the pair of them. She still found the Westfolk too alien to try to make friends among them, though she repeatedly told herself that eventually she would have to. Tirro never mentioned Alshandra again. Nevyn told her that he was probably afraid that she’d talk him out of his belief.

‘Some men are so hungry for god lore,’ Nevyn remarked, ‘that they’ll eat chalk if they can’t get cheese.’

Loddlaen eventually offered Morwen a glimpse of an even more exciting type of lore. After some five days of camping in the same spot, their horses and the caravan mules had eaten down the best fodder. The entire market fair, Wffyn and Westfolk alike, moved upstream some five miles to a new campground on the southern tip of a small lake. While the horses had plenty of flat grazing ground to the west, just to the north lay a low semi-circle of rocky ridge that provided shelter for the tents from the endless winds off the grasslands.

Loddlaen as usual pitched his tent some distance from the rest, close to a tumble of big granite boulders at the foot of the ridge. In mid-afternoon Morwen took Evan out of the way of all the unpacking and joined him. He’d already gathered wood for a fire and was laying out kindling and tinder in a circle of stones.

‘It’s so warm,’ Morwen said, smiling. ‘Surely you’re not going to light a fire now.’

‘I’m not,’ Loddlaen said. ‘I just like to have one ready. I hate the dark. You never know what might sneak up on you out of it. Come sit down, though. I’ve made some honey-water and put in some spices from Bardek. You’ll like it better than mead.’

He brought out two crudely glazed pottery mugs and filled them with a sweet-smelling drink from a pottery jug. Morwen had never tasted cinnamon before, and she loved it immediately. So did Evan. Since the mugs were too heavy for him to hold safely, she gave him sips from hers, but each sip turned into a long gulp.

‘Careful now,’ Loddlaen said to him. ‘You don’t want to get a sour stomach.’

Evan merely grinned and wiped his sticky mouth on the back of his hand.

‘How do you like the life of the camps so far?’ Loddlaen said. ‘I’m afraid my folk can be wretchedly noisy.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind that!’ Morwen paused to smile at him. ‘It’s splendid, compared to the life I had before. I’ve not had to scrape out a henhouse or pull rocks from a field or carry in hay for weeks now.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way. They must have worked you like one of the mules.’

‘Everyone works on a farm. Even my nose-in-the-air sister had her share of the hard jobs. Life here seems a fair bit easier, though, truly, Dev did warn me that the winters can be miserable. Well, they weren’t any better in Pyrdon, when the snow came up over the windows and the food ran low.’

‘At least we can take the herds south where it doesn’t snow much at all. I was just wondering if you found us all strange.’

‘Different, but not strange in a bad way.’

‘Good. But if you have any questions or the like, just ask me.’

‘Well, here’s a thing I don’t understand. Why do your people call Nevyn and your da “Wise Ones”?’

Loddlaen hesitated for several long moments. ‘Because they have dweomer,’ he said finally.

‘Oh here! Now you’re teasing me. Seriously, why do they?’

‘It’s no jest. They have dweomer, and they studied long and hard to get it, too, so they deserve to be called wise.’

‘I truly do hate being teased like this.’

‘So do I, and that’s why I’m not teasing you. Why do you think I am?’

Morwen was about to snarl and demand he stop, but he looked so honestly puzzled that she refrained. ‘I’ve always been told,’ she said instead, ‘that there’s no such thing as dweomer.’

‘Oh.’ He paused to grin at her. ‘I should have known that Roundears would be so stupid.’

‘Are you truly telling me that there’s such a thing?’

‘See for yourself.’ Loddlaen pointed at his fire circle, then called out a few words in Elvish.

Two salamanders appeared on either side of the tinder and kindling. Evan squealed in delight as they rose up on their hindquarters; one even waved a steaming orange paw in his direction, and its flat broad mouth gaped in what might have been a smile. She heard Loddlaen snap his fingers. The bits of grass suddenly burst into flame. When Loddlaen snapped his fingers a second time, the flame went out.

‘The salamanders will light fires for you,’ he said. ‘If you know how to ask them. Learning how is part of the dweomer.’

From behind her a masculine voice suddenly swore. She twisted around to see Tirro staring, as open-mouthed as the salamander. Loddlaen jumped to his feet.

‘What are you doing here?’ Loddlaen snapped.

‘I’m sorry.’ Tirro took a step back. ‘My master let me have a little time to myself, a reward, like, for helping move camp. I’m sorry. I’ll go away.’ Tears came to his eyes.

‘What? Don’t!’ Loddlaen said. ‘You just startled me, and you’re not supposed to see things like this.’

‘I won’t tell! I promise. I truly truly won’t.’

‘It’s all right, then. Here. Come sit down.’

Like a dog who fears a beating, Tirro walked up one slow paw at a time. When Loddlaen gave him an encouraging smile, he sat down a few feet farther from the fire circle than Morwen and Loddlaen. His eyes still glistened with tears, but he seemed to have forgotten about them in his awe at the blackened tinder.

‘Did I really see you light a fire without anything?’ Tirro whispered. ‘No flint, no steel, naught?’

‘Well, the Wildfolk are the ones who actually did the lighting,’ Loddlaen said.

‘Oh, of course they did!’ Tirro grinned at him. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I can see why you don’t want to tell me how you did it.’

‘I already did tell you,’ Loddlaen said with a sigh. ‘But no matter, indeed. Please—I can’t say this enough—never ever let my da know what you saw here. He’d have my hide on the wall of his tent. We’re never supposed to let outsiders know about dweomer.’

‘I shan’t say a word.’ Tirro suddenly looked so sad that he seemed to have aged fifty years. ‘You’re lucky, Morwen. You belong here now. You get to see the marvels.’

‘So I am.’ All at once she felt sorry for him. ‘Well, though, who knows? Maybe there are marvels for you somewhere else.’

‘Where?’ Tirro spat out the word. ‘In Bardek? Not beastly likely!’

‘From what you’ve told us, just being in Bardek will be a marvel in itself,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Let me get you a mug and somewhat to drink. Mead or honey-water?’

‘Mead, and my thanks, if you can spare a bit.’

When Loddlaen got up, Evan leaned against Morwen and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He was watching Tirro with his pale brows furrowed in a little frown.

‘You look tired, sweetheart,’ Morwen said to him. ‘It’s time for your nap. Let’s go to Da’s tent.’

Instead of whining, Evan merely nodded agreement.
He doesn’t like Tirro, either,
Morwen thought.
I always knew my lad was a smart one!

As they were walking back, Morwen was wondering if she should tell Nevyn what she’d seen. The old man seemed so wise, and he knew the Westfolk so well, that he might be able to explain more about this mysterious dweomer. She could simply never mention Tirro and so protect Loddlaen. Yet fear stopped her. Tirro had said that she now belonged to the Westfolk. She wanted it to be true, but deep in her soul she felt that she’d never belong anywhere. If she caused any more trouble, they might cast her out, or so she feared. Her mother had always told her, ‘when the bucket’s full, don’t swing it around and spill the milk’.
Good advice,
she thought.
I’ll just wait and see if Loddlaen will tell me more.

In among the tents she met Gwairyc, striding along with a grim look on his face. He paused and hailed her.

‘Have you seen Tirro?’ he said.

‘I have. He’s with Loddlaen, over by the rocks.’

‘Ah. Good.’ The grim look softened to his more usual neutral expression. ‘I’ll just make sure he’s not up to some wrong thing.’

‘And just what that might be?’

Gwairyc considered her for a long cold moment. ‘You never know,’ he said at last, then strode off, heading for the rocky ridge.

Gwairyc was keeping so strict a watch over Tirro mostly out of boredom. Stuck out here, so far away from the war in Cerrgonney, he was finding the days long and tedious. Even the royal court intrigues, which he’d always hated, would have been more interesting than watching the Westfolk trade horses for Wffyn’s ironware.

When he found Tirro and Loddlaen, they were passing a skin of mead back and forth and laughing at some jest. At the sight of Gwairyc, however, Tirro’s laughter died with a squeak.

‘Having a bit of fun, are you?’ Gwairyc said.

‘We are,’ Loddlaen said. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Does my master want me?’ Tirro said. ‘I’ll come. I’m sorry.’

‘Nah, nah, nah!’ Gwairyc said. ‘Go ahead, lads. Enjoy yourself. Drink all you want, Tirro. There’ll be plenty of work on the morrow.’

Bewildered, Tirro stared up at him. Gwairyc gave them both what he assumed was a pleasant smile, then turned and walked off again.
Get howling drunk, you dog,
Gwairyc thought.
It’ll keep that ugly little cock of yours limp.

The children that Gwairyc was so assiduously protecting had mothers, of course. Once he got used to their strange eyes and even more peculiar ears, Gwairyc found them beautiful. They didn’t return the opinion. Every time he smiled at a woman or tried out the few Westfolk words that he’d picked up, she would politely but firmly turn her back or walk away with some muttered excuse in Elvish that, of course, he couldn’t understand. Later he’d often overhear these same women speaking perfectly good Deverrian to Wffyn or Nevyn, but if he tried to pursue the acquaintance, they would avoid him ever after.

After some days at the camp, Gwairyc found one woman who let it slip that she knew Deverrian. When he asked her name in the most pleasant way he could manage, her eyes grew wide in something like fear. She crossed her fingers in a warding gesture, backed away, and ran off. Gwairyc swore under his breath and turned around to find Nevyn grinning at him.

‘By the black hairy arse of the Lord of Hell!’ Gwairyc said. ‘What is this, my lord? Have I grown pusboils all over my face or suchlike?’

‘Naught of the sort,’ Nevyn said. ‘But you’re from Deverry. Westfolk women think that all Deverry men are household tyrants and wife-beaters.’

‘I see. Well, then, it’s no wonder they’re so cold to me. Here I thought that mayhap there was somewhat wrong with me.’

‘Perish the thought.’ Nevyn rolled his eyes skyward.

Had Nevyn been a man of his own rank or just somewhat below it, Gwairyc would have challenged him right then and there. As it was, though, Nevyn had dweomer, and with that, or so the Ram lords always said, there was no arguing.

‘Somewhat very odd happened to Morwen,’ Nevyn said. ‘One of the Guardians appeared to her, or at least, I think Alshandra’s a Guardian.’

‘She is,’ Aderyn said, ‘and a very nasty one, at that.’

‘That’s unfortunate. Morwen told me that Alshandra was scouting out the camp, like, looking for her stolen daughter.’

‘Stolen daughter?’ Aderyn frowned, thinking. ‘I wonder what she means by that? I don’t know, but I’ll wager it’s an evil omen.’

The two dweomermasters had walked out into the grasslands, mostly to get away from the noise of the Westfolk camp, but also to take advantage of the warm sunshine while it lasted. On the northern horizon clouds were piling up in huge white drifts, gleaming in the sun for the nonce but threatening rain later.

‘Morwen also told me,’ Nevyn continued, ‘that Tirro saw her and decided she was a goddess.’