The Thirteenth Scroll (29 page)

As she sat, eyes closed, during one of these times of companionable quiet, a strange noise began to touch the very edges of
her awareness. It was both familiar and yet unlike any she had ever heard. Recognition nagged at her.

“Talog,” she said finally, “do you hear that sound? Do you know what it is?”

“
Plantgan yrAwyr
,” he said. “Where the Great River entereth the Up-world, the
Plantgan yrAwyr
, Children of the Air, make their homes where the two worlds do meet. They give their song unto the air which is their home.
The Holy Words say the
Plantgan yrAwyr
were fashioned from the joy of the Divine, and they give their songs in thanksgiving for Life.”

“Plantgan yrAwyr,” Lysandra tried. As she spoke the words, recognition dawned. Children of the air… singing their song…

They were birds
.

“Birds,” she said aloud to Talog, “we call them birds. And there must be hundreds of them to make this much noise.”

Excited now, she swung partway around. “Do you hear them?” she called to the boat behind her.

“Yes,” Renan called back. She heard the sound of his paddle in the water. His boat was beside hers when he spoke again.

“Do either of you know what the sound is?” he asked.

“Birds,” Lysandra replied confidently. “At this time of year, it’s probably mostly the nestlings singing, calling for food
from their parents. Talog calls them the
Plantgan yrAwyr
, the Children of the Air. Isn’t that a lovely name?”

“… ‘The hollow places where the children sing,’” Renan quoted Tambryn’s words.

“Yes,” Lysandra agreed. “We found it. What do we do next?”

“I’m not sure,” Renan replied. “Talog—do you know what’s ahead?”

The Cryf shook his head. “It is Up-world,” he said.

Although the twists of the river made it impossible to see very far ahead, the echoing sound was growing ever louder. Soon
they needed to shout in order to hear each other. With a gesture, Lysandra gave up trying and sat back, grateful that her
Sight
had chosen to return this morning.

The river course turned again and she
saw
the brightness pouring in from the distance. It was the light of the Up-world, the light of the sun and for Lysandra, it
was a light she welcomed; it was the light of home.
But what about Talog?
she suddenly wondered.
How will he fare in this new brightness?

Just then she felt a blast of fear and pain coming from him, too powerful to be hidden or controlled. “Talog,” she said, automatically
reaching out for him.

He could not hear over the growing din of the birds and he jumped, startled, at her touch. He looked at her over his shoulder.
His already-large eyes were now huge with his fear and, above them, his brow was furrowed against the pain that the growing
brightness was causing him. Lysandra could feel how badly he wanted to close his eyes, to bury his head in his arms. She wished
she had enough experience with boats to take over so he could turn away.

The river was carrying them along in its current, but it was Talog’s guidance that kept them where they should be in the flow,
guided them around obstacles and rocks,
and made certain that their passage was as safe as it was swift. Lysandra could do nothing more than admire the strength of
purpose and character that kept Talog at his task.

There was one thing she could do. She had only ever tried this with an animal, never with a human—or a Cryf. And the last
time she had failed, she thought, remembering the sick ewe. She was not certain she could reach past the presence of so many
thoughts, past the emotions and fears—and now pain—that were part of a sentient mind. To do so, to absorb the pain into herself,
meant she had to be able to keep her own mind clear so that she could remain receptive.

But for Talog, she was willing to try.

During the time she had spent in the Realm, the Cryf’s nearness had never overwhelmed her; their emotions, when she felt them
at all, had usually come in soft waves. Not so with Talog’s feelings now. They were sharp and pounding. If Lysandra could
receive them so intensely, she could hardly imagine what they must be like for the Cryf.

Closing her eyes to concentrate, Lysandra willed her own mind to silence. Then, taking a deep breath to ready herself, she
again reached out. This time her touch was firm and practiced, the touch of a healer upon a patient. She opened her mind to
him and made herself a cup into which his pain and fear could pour.

But what came into Lysandra’s mind did not pour like water into a cup… it flooded like a dam let loose. Although the language
of the images and perceptions was unknown to her, the emotions were familiar—far too familiar.

In the last two days, everything in Talog’s safe and happy life had changed completely—and to his mind, not
for the better. He would do the duty Eiddig and his own belief in the Divine laid upon him, but his thoughts were filled with
loss and fear.

How well Lysandra knew those emotions. Her life had once ended in a day; all she had known, loved, believed, and held to,
had been stripped from her, too.

And, as Lysandra’s new life had come with blind darkness, Talog’s rode on the blinding glare of the sun.

But the only pain her blindness had caused was internal. The sunlight hurt Talog’s eyes in a very real way; Lysandra felt
the pain of knives stabbing into his eyeballs, blazing a fire in his brain.

As Talog struggled to keep his eyes open enough to guide the boat, Lysandra fought her instinct to retreat from his pain.
Her will finally won. Little by little, Talog’s physical sensations followed the route into her that his emotional turmoil
had opened.

Slowly, his distress became less debilitating; behind him, Lysandra was near to weeping with the pain she now carried for
him. She barely noticed as the boats passed through the last great cavern of the underground, where tall columns of stone,
hollowed out eons ago by moisture collecting and dripping into them, housed hundreds upon hundreds of nests, all filled with
hatchlings calling to their parent birds.

The air was alive with sound and movement. Bright wings beat the air with glossy feathers shining in the sunlight. They were
like living jewels, shimmering in shades of crimson and yellow, brilliant blue and onyx black. The sound of their flight was
like the heartbeat of the air.

Lysandra’s
Sight
revealed it all, but her mind did not care. She cared about nothing until at last she heard Renan call to Talog to head for
the bank. A long moment later,
she felt the soft bump of landing, but she did not break contact with Talog until he moved away from her hand.

As the pain began to fade, she
saw
that Renan had directed them to a place where trees grew to the water’s edge, giving thick shade to protect Talog’s eyes.
Relief flooded Lysandra as she knew it had the young Cryf.

Weak from her efforts, she let herself be helped onto dry land. Then she lay still upon the ground and waited for her strength
to return. Cloud-Dancer came immediately to her side. He lay beside her, resting his head on her shoulder and softly nosing
her cheek to make certain she was all right.

Though it took great effort to move, she managed to lift her arm and drape it around him. His nearness, his warmth and his
strength were like a balm. Cloud-Dancer gave her all of the comfort that she hoped she had given Talog.

After a few minutes Lysandra felt she could sit up again. When she did, she found that some of their provisions had been unloaded
and camp made. Renan was dressing Talog in some of his own clothes. His extra pants and tunic would cover the Cryf’s hair-laden
body and make him look less strange to a casual glance. But most important of all was the knee-length cape now tied around
Talog’s shoulders. Its hood could be pulled up to give shade and protection to the Cryf’s sensitive eyes.

Her head was throbbing with residual pain; she could only imagine what Talog was feeling, even with the hood. As her companions
noticed her movement, she used her
Sight
to study their expressions. Her sensitivity was in such a heightened state that their emotions reached her across the distance.

From Renan, she felt admiration—which touched her, as did his concern for her safety, though she did not feel
worthy of such esteem. She did no more than any healer would have done; she tried to ease the pain of a person in need. Melded
with his concern for her she felt the fears he tried to keep hidden about the success of their mission. And there was something
else, something Renan kept carefully locked away.

From Talog she felt how much of his fear—at least of herself and Renan—had been banished. What remained was slowly being calmed
by Renan’s kindness, just as his physical pain was relieved by the green shadows of the trees. His determination had grown
and was no longer based solely on a sense of duty. He now wanted to be one of the company, to help herself and Renan and repay
them for the ways they were helping him.

Lysandra managed a weak smile. “I think,” she said, “that we had best do our traveling at night. The sun, it seems, has become
an enemy. Our path must now be walked in darkness.”

L
ysandra and Talog, Renan and Cloud-Dancer traveled four nights on the Great River that formed the border between the provinces
of Rathreagh and Tievebrack. Dressed in Renan’s clothing, the hood of the cape
pulled over his head, Talog drew no attention from the few people they passed. With the warming weather, it was not unusual
to see fishermen trying their luck with the spring runs.

If they were seen at all during the brief gray times just after dawn or just before sunset, they elicited little more than
a pleasant wave or slightly shouted greeting. Still, Talog was nervous. He had accepted Renan and Lysandra, but he believed
all others might kill him if they knew that he was Cryf. So far, nothing his companions could say had convinced him otherwise.

Now it was time to leave the river, and Renan was worried about how Talog would react. For this reason, he had put off saying
anything when they had drawn their boats to shore to sleep through the brightness of the day. But now that the sun was setting,
he could delay no longer.

Their map of the river was recent, for the Great River, Eiddig said, began within the Realm of the Cryf and was “given unto
them by the Hand of the Divine.” Therefore, under the cover of night, some were still brave enough to travel it. The Great
River was holy to the Cryf, and every change the seasons brought had been carefully and faithfully charted to show every twist
and turn of the watercourse, every inlet or rocky outcropping along the bank.

That alone would have made it a fine map, as worthy a work as that of any cartographer Renan had ever seen. But there was
more. The Cryf map indicated every change in depth and current, each area of danger to be avoided—even where the fish gathered,
fed, or spawned.

If their mapmakers are willing to brave leaving the realm for the sake of this information
, Renan thought,
there must be something I can say to Talog that will ease his mind for the overland journey ahead
.

The evening fire to cook their meal was already burning,
warm and welcome in the lowering dusk. Lysandra had, as usual, brewed them a tea. Each day, the infusion changed as she chose
which herbs to use by the properties she thought would best meet the travelers’ needs. Renan’s favorite one so far had been
the licorice root and mint, and now he thought of each new cup as a pleasant discovery waiting to be made.

Grabbing the oilskin pouch that contained the Scroll of Tambryn and the maps that were guiding them, Renan came around the
fire to sit beside Talog. Lysandra began pouring the newest tea into three wooden mugs. She moved with such confidence, that
Renan was certain her
Sight
was active again. As always, he was struck with nothing less than awe at this gift, and the many others that made up this
complex and fascinating woman.

Renan would not let himself dwell on that thought, although his heart did not want to think of anything else. That way lay
danger. Becoming a priest had been more than just his spiritual salvation—it had saved his sanity and probably his life. Despite
how his heart whispered that in Lysandra he had met the one woman he could love beyond the bounds of time, there was too much
at stake now to risk… not only for himself, or for her, but for all of Aghamore.

Without looking at her face, her gentle expression that never failed to move him, Renan accepted the mug she held out to him.
He murmured a quick thanks, pretending to be fully engrossed in the pouch of maps. The aroma of the tea reminded Renan of
a spring meadow; it smelled to him like growing plants and sunshine. It was a bright clean aroma that made Renan smile even
before he took a sip.

“Lemon balm and betony,” Lysandra informed him before
he could ask, “with a touch of mint and honey to blend and bring out the flavors.”

Wondering why she had chosen that particular combination, Renan reached inside the pouch and withdrew two of the Cryf maps.
The first was the map of the river. The second was of Rathreagh; again, the finest, most exact map he had ever seen. He rarely
bothered to consult the map of Aghamore with which they had begun this journey. It could not compare with the maps of Cryf
origin.

He started with the map of the river, folding it back to show the stretch they had covered last night. Then he turned to Talog.

“If I’m reading the map Eiddig-Sant gave me correctly,” he said, “I think we’re here. Do you agree?

The young Cryf looked at the map for a moment, then looked out, studying the river. When he looked back at the map, he moved
Renan’s finger minutely.

“Here,” he said.

With a little nod, Renan then brought out the map of Rathreagh. This took a little longer to find just the right place, but
after a moment he again asked Talog if he had found the right place. He wanted the young Cryf to say it was time to leave
the river.