The Thirteenth Scroll (35 page)

He found that getting Mago to talk about redemption was as difficult as getting a kitten to drink cream. The young bishop,
it seemed, had a passion for the subject. All Elon had to do was nod agreeably, occasionally ask a question or make a comment,
and Mago did the rest. He seemed close to convincing himself that Aurya had not only ceased to be a liability to the Church,
but had become an asset.

“St. Paul, of course, is the quintessential example of what I’m saying,” the young bishop continued. He was now leaning forward
in his chair, speaking as enthusiastically as if
he
were trying to persuade
Elon
. “Paul, when he was still called Saul of Tarsus, was the greatest enemy of the Church—he said so himself. He even held the
cloaks of those who stoned St. Stephen, giving his support and approval to that terrible act. Yet look at who he became—
Saint
Paul, perhaps the greatest saint of the early Church. Why? Because of
redemption
.”

Elon bit the inside of his cheek to keep the amusement from his face; Mago was drawing a correlation between Aurya and St.
Paul.

“I think, perhaps, you are being overgenerous,” he said solemnly.

“Why?” Mago asked, his enthusiasm mounting. “If Lady Aurya’s conversion is as genuine as you believe, then who can say what
might be ahead for her. Do not limit God, Elon. His ways are mysterious and they are
also mighty—and He can do unimaginable things in the lives of the redeemed.”

“I do not believe Lady Aurya aspires to
sainthood
, Mago.”

“Did any of the saints set out to be so? Did they as children think, ‘when I grow up I shall be a saint’? No—it was not their
hands that so fashioned them. It was the Hands of God. Oh, this will be an exciting time for you, as Lady Aurya’s spiritual
advisor, to see what great things happen in her life.”

“It could be an exciting time for all of Aghamore,” Elon said, “if Lady Aurya were Queen. Think of what an example her redemption
would set for the kingdom.”

As Elon watched, Mago grew instantly wary. His eyes narrowed and lost the brightness that had shone in them this last hour.

“Yes, perhaps,” was all he said as he sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine.

I thought I had him
, Elon thought as he, too, brought his wineglass to his lips.
What am I still missing?

Tactics demanded he change the subject. “How much longer do you think Colm will continue as Archbishop?” he asked, turning
to a common speculation. “I know he longs to return to the monastic life when he retires. I’ve heard him say so.”

“As have we all,” Mago answered, his body relaxing now that they were back to a safe subject. “Do you ever long for the same,
Elon, away from all the duties and responsibilities that come with the mitre?”

No
, Elon’s thoughts screamed, but he kept his face impassive. “The monastic life has its appeal,” he said aloud. “Are you finding
your new duties as bishop difficult?”

“Not difficult, just tiring,” Mago replied. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to them all.”

“Oh, you will,” Elon said. “Tell me what tires you, and perhaps I can help. I’ve carried the crozier for many years now.”

Elon let Mago again take over the conversation, only half-listening to what the younger man was saying. Elon was trying to
hear the message
behind
the words. Somewhere within them must be the secret that would bring about the support Elon needed. Now he only had to find
it.

The more Talog told them, the more Renan became convinced that the Realm of the Cryf—and the Cryf themselves—were impervious
to magic. This surprising knowledge did much to set Renan’s mind at rest. If he and Lysandra were somehow stopped by Aurya’s
magic, Talog would still be able to get the child away. He could take the child to Eiddig; the old one would know what to
do.

For the first time since he had overheard Giraldus’s soldiers, Renan was able to sleep through the day and travel the next
night with a clearer mind. But though that one worry was relieved, Renan was growing more uneasy about Lysandra every day.
She still protested that she was fine, but ever since that sudden lethargy of body and spirit had overtaken her, it was as
if the light within her had been extinguished. She moved like she was half-asleep and, even as Renan watched, it seemed as
if she was continually striving, unsuccessfully, to throw off the dream-filled fog of slumber.

Lysandra spoke, but only when spoken to, and often her sentences drifted off before completion, as if the effort tired her
too much. She smiled, but there was a new sadness in the expression that turned it wistful. She kept her hand always on Cloud-Dancer
now, or if he needed to leave her side, however briefly, her entire body grew
tense awaiting his return. By keeping a careful eye on her movements, for she made no complaint nor uttered a word about it,
Renan knew that her
Sight
had not come to her in over two days.

He did not know whether all of this was a result of some evil humor exuded by a certain place in the land, as Talog insisted,
or if Lady Aurya had cast a net of dark magic that had somehow caught Lysandra in its tangles, as he had come to believe.
Perhaps the truth was a combination of both. Renan only hoped they could find some way to help Lysandra before it scarred
her spirit permanently.

They had finally cleared the last of the bogs and were now heading to the far north. Tambryn’s words had guided them right
so far; now the scroll was sending them to “
the place wherein the Ninth House doth begin and end
.” Renan believed—hoped, prayed—that the seer meant the little crest of land that the maps showed curled out like a tongue
lapping up the waters of the sea. Depending upon which way one traveled, that tiny lay of land either began or ended the province.

They were about to set out on what Renan hoped would be their last night of traveling. He had the Cryf map of Rathreagh open
before him and was studying it by the dying light of their cooking fire. Across the fire, Lysandra’s shoulders were slumped,
as if life had become an unbearable burden. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead. Her arms were locked around Cloud-Dancer’s
neck as if he were her one anchor to safety.

She
looks
blind now, as she never did before
, Renan thought.
Her blindness before was just something that had
happened,
not the thing she
was. His heart ached with his inability to help her.

Sitting next to Renan, Talog was also looking at the
Cryf map. Although Renan had more experience with maps, having traveled and read a great deal in his youth, he valued Talog’s
input. The young Cryf could correlate the ancient signs he had found along their journey with the symbols on the map and give
them a more exact location and forward route than Renan on his own.

“We are here,” Talog finally said, using a finger to mark their place. It was just slightly closer to their destination than
Renan had guessed.

“Will we reach this northern tip by sunrise?” Renan asked, hoping his estimation had been correct. There were marks on this
map that were self-evident and others whose meanings he did not understand until he reached the spot and saw the area for
himself.

Talog, however, was confident. He nodded, but then his face grew as grave as Renan’s and he glanced at Lysandra.

“If,” the Cryf said, “our movements be swift.” His voice lowered. “But great evil hath touched the Healer and holdeth her
still. Its pull at her doth slow her feet as well as her mind. At such pace, I know not if we can cross the land before the
Great Light riseth again.”

Lysandra knew Renan and Talog were talking about her. She could feel their concern and wanted to respond to it. But she could
not. Nothing seemed able to penetrate this thick fog that held her—at least not for more than a few minutes at a time.

For those few minutes she would think clearly, feeling the spark of the person she had always been. But those moments occurred
less and less frequently. Most of the time, Lysandra was a stranger to herself, going through the familiar motions of life
but without any connection to the reasons.

Cloud-Dancer alone was real to her, and she clung to him knowing that without his nearness, his solidity, she would be adrift.
If that happened, if she truly lost herself within this… whatever it was that held her… Lysandra feared she might never find
her own mind and soul again.

As for Renan and Talog, each hour they were becoming less real to her. Even when she looked at them using Cloud-Dancer’s vision,
they were vague and out of focus, like shadowy figures glimpsed at twilight. She followed them because she did not know what
else to do and because Cloud-Dancer took her in that direction. She ate and drank when food and drink were given to her; she
slept when Cloud-Dancer curled up next to her and then arose unrefreshed to begin the cycle again.

Now, sitting by the last light of the cooking fire, her arms around Cloud-Dancer’s neck, she experienced a moment of lucidity.
In a way, it frightened her because she did not know how long it had been since her last one or how long the clarity would
last this time.

“Renan,” she said softly. Immediately, the priest who was now her friend looked up from the map. He handed it to Talog and
came over to her side.

“I’m here,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“Renan, I don’t know if I can go on,” she said. “Something has happened to me, something I don’t understand. But it’s getting
worse. I can’t stop it, and my strength is almost gone.”

“Hold on just a little while longer, Lysandra,” Renan said. “Just one more day. We’re almost there… don’t give up yet.”

“I’m slowing you down—I know that. Leave me here and go find the child. I’ll be waiting when you return.”

“
No
,” Renan said sharply, surprising Lysandra with the force of the word. “No,” he said again, lowering his voice.
“We’re not leaving you—or anyone. We stay together. We
need
you, Lysandra, to find the child. You’re Prophecy’s Hand, remember? It will take all of us to do what we need to do.”

“But how can I help you find the child when I can barely find myself anymore?”

“We’re staying together,” Renan said emphatically. “I’m not certain what’s happening to you either, Lysandra, but we’ll find
out. And we’ll find a way to stop it—I promise you that. But we have to be together to do it.”

Lysandra knew there was no arguing with him. He was right; they should stay together. But she was also right—she was slowing
them down at a time when speed was important.

“Don’t worry, Lysandra,” Renan said, the hand on her arm giving a small and reassuring squeeze. “Talog and I will help you.
We’ll carry you, if the need comes. It will be all right.”

Lysandra nodded though her heart remained unconvinced. But it was ceasing to matter anyway. Again.

Renan watched Lysandra’s features become slack, and he knew that they were once more losing her to whatever place her awareness
went. There was no way to hold her here. But at least they had had those few moments. He could only hope that something of
what he had just said would stay with her, some inner core would know she was not alone.

Renan longed to take her in his arms and cradle her as he would a child frightened by nightmares. He wanted to hold her until
he had banished all of her fears, to keep her safe and never let her go. Instead he gave her arm another gentle squeeze, letting
his fingers linger briefly
against the softness of her skin. Then he reached over and ran a hand across Cloud-Dancer’s head.

“We’ll both take care of her, won’t we, boy?” he said softly. It was the first time he had actually touched the wolf, but
Cloud-Dancer appeared not to mind. The two of them shared a common bond in their concern and affection for Lysandra.

Renan found Talog watching him. The Cryf wore a knowing expression for one so young.

“Your love for the Healer grows,” he said. “Soon even her blindness will see it, if it doth not already.”

“I am understandably concerned for her well-being,” Renan replied, carefully keeping his voice even.

But Talog shook his head. “No,” he said. “There is more betwixt thee and the Healer. Before the place of darkness did take
away her mind, she also felt love awakening within her. Yet, she hath feared to love for too long, and fear hath made the
eyes of her heart more blind than the eyes of her body.

“But I be not blind,” Talog continued. “Betwixt thee and the Healer groweth the bond that cometh from the Heart of the Divine.
Why dost thou deny this greatest of gifts?”

Renan shook his head. He needed to make Talog believe he had mistaken friendship for love, so that the young Cryf would not
reveal his feelings to Lysandra.

“You do not understand,” Renan settled next to Talog and began to again fold up the map. “Among my people there are many kinds
of love—as there must be among the Cryf. There is the love of a man and woman who wish to unite their lives. This is a great
and special love, that is true. But there is also the love of a parent for a child or a child for a parent. There is the love
between brothers and sisters. There are loves and bonds such as
Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer share and there is the love felt toward God, the Divine as you call Him. All these are different,
and all are gifts to be treasured.

“And there is also the love that develops between friends. This grows and changes over time, as they come to know each other
better. This is what exists between myself and the healer. We are friends.”

Talog just stared at Renan, as if waiting for him to say more. His silence seemed to dare Renan to embrace the epiphany of
self-realization the Cryf believed to be waiting. But it was a challenge Renan could not accept, and he looked away from Talog’s
too-honest, deep-seeing eyes.

“It is time we break camp,” he said abruptly. He stood and began kicking dirt across the remnants of their fire.

“To hide from one truth is to hide from all truth,” the young Cryf said at last. “How canst thou be a Guide unto thy people
if thou wilt not see Truth?”