The Thirteenth Scroll (36 page)

Because some truths are too painful to look at
, Renan thought, though he gave Talog no answer.
Or, though they are known, they can never be given voice
.

And Renan did know. He knew that, despite his words to Talog, he was completely and irrevocably in love with Lysandra—just
as he knew that the collar he wore and all it represented must forever keep him from acting upon it.

Renan finished packing the supplies. He and Talog had divided Lysandra’s belongings between them, and Renan now shouldered
his slightly heavier pack, wondering if they would soon be carrying Lysandra as well. He went and gently helped her to stand.
She gave him no resistance, but little help, as he turned her toward the direction they would be walking and put her hand
on Cloud-Dancer’s head, watching her fingers automatically wind themselves deeply into his fur.

Renan could not bring himself to leave Lysandra’s side.
He could never tell her the truth of his feelings, but he could be with her. Walk beside her and help her, be ready to carry
her if he must—this much, at least, he could do.

He motioned for Talog to take the lead. His eyes once more locked briefly with those of the Cryf. Talog’s expression declared
plainly, that for all of Renan’s protestations and explanations, the young Cryf believed not a word.

Oh, Talog
, Renan thought in answer to that look,
life is too complicated for such black-and-white answers, as time will teach you. Each action, each decision—each moment—is
filled with infinite shades of gray. All we can do is try not to hurt those around us or lose our way amid the shadowlands
of this life—and hope for greater illumination in the life to come
.

D
espite Rhys’s childhood familiarity with the area, Aurya’s party stayed to the roads. Rhys did take them by turns Aurya would
never have known, shaving little bits of time from their journey with each new side road or unmarked horse trail. Even the
main routes were difficult going, rocky and uneven, and the horses tired
more quickly than Aurya liked. With each stop to rest and water them, a little more of her patience ebbed away.

By nightfall they were deep in the interior of the province; what she had thought would be a four-day journey was, by the
grace of Rhys’s directions, only going to take three—or possibly even two. Yet that was still not as fast as she would have
liked. She felt the threat of failure keenly, as her dream about the beak of the white dove piercing the breast of the griffin
refused to fade.

She knew the dream to be prophetic and often felt as if the golden beak had driven itself deeply into her own flesh. But horses—and
men—had their limitations, and not even Aurya’s powers could alter the laws of Creation. She could, by magic, force them to
continue to the point of exhaustion, even death. Doing that, however, would foul her own plan, for even if she did find the
child before The Others, she would have neither transportation nor arms and protections to allow her to make use of her prize.

So, instead, Aurya used her magic to try and inhibit the success of her rivals. Her Spell of Finding, cast in the night while
Giraldus slept, had been unsuccessful, but not because her magic failed. It had been turned aside by a power she did not recognize.
It had not felt like magic meeting magic… but what else could it have been?

Still, her failure confirmed to her that The Others were out there, that the prophetic nature of her dream had been real.
And it told her that they did not travel unprotected. She would have to be very careful, subtle in her use of the arcane.
The Finding she had used had been direct and had been blocked, but the other spell that night had come from a book of Sumerian
magic, translated into Greek and then to Latin a thousand years before Aurya ever learned of it—and it had been ancient then.

This Spell of Darkness had not been repelled; Aurya was hopeful, even certain of that. It had found fertile soil and was even
now spreading its poisonous tendrils through her rival’s mind. Each night when the moon was high, Aurya rose from her bed
and used the darkness to strengthen the spell’s power.

This night was no different. She left Giraldus snoring beneath his blankets as she wrapped her cloak around herself and left
such warmth as their tent offered for the cool openness of the night air. As usual, a watch had been set, and when Aurya stepped
out, the guard immediately turned toward her.

Aurya saw that it was Rhys, and she smiled as the young man hurried toward her.

“M’lady,” he said softly as he neared, mindful of the others sleeping nearby. “Is there some’ut wrong?”

“No, Rhys,” she said sweetly. “I merely wanted some fresh air. I see they have you on late watch tonight.”

“Aye—I drew the long straw, and rotten luck it was, too. I’d a mind for a good night’s sleep.”

“As do we all,” Aurya replied, but her thoughts were not on her words. They were on Rhys and how she might benefit by his
presence.

He’s just the type to make an excellent subject
, she thought,
young, strong—and not overly bright
. And, like most young men his age, Rhys was easily besotted—which meant he was easily used… in the right hands.

Aurya went over to one of the many large stones that dotted the landscape like some giant’s game of marbles left half-played.
She chose one big enough for two people to sit side by side and sat down, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself to
block out the chill. Then she motioned to Rhys.

“I can’t sleep,” she told the young man. “Come sit and talk with me. You’ll still be able to keep watch from here.”

After one brief hesitation, Rhys complied. Aurya smiled her sweetest at him; even the moonlight could not hide the blush that
once again darkened his fair, befreckled skin.

Rhys sat down so gingerly beside her that Aurya nearly laughed. Instead, she lowered her head to hide her smile, then looked
up at Rhys through her lashes. She knew how the soft moonlight flattered her, how it made her skin look luminous, her hair
like a cascade of silk, turned her lips and eyes into mysteries waiting to be explored.

She began to speak in a low, soft voice, a voice both hypnotic and enticing. Rhys had no will to resist it. It took only a
very short time before she saw his eyes glaze over and she knew he was hers to command, body and soul.

“Rhys,” she said again once she was certain he was ready, “my words are all you hear. Do you understand me?”

The young man nodded.

“Good. Rhys, you are doing well. Now relax, there is nothing to fear. No harm will come to you or to anyone here. You are
doing your duty by obeying me. Do you understand? Obeying me is your first duty.”

Again the young man nodded.

Now Aurya did smile; this was even easier than she expected. She stood and moved around behind him, putting her hands on Rhys’s
shoulders.

“Do not be afraid, Rhys,” she said again. “Open your mind to me. Your thoughts are like water, flowing unhindered and swiftly
away. Do not try to stop them. Let them flow until your mind is clear.”

There was nothing hidden in Rhys’s mind. His thoughts
were only what she had easily read on his face: how beautiful he thought her and how bemused he was by her nearness and her
interest in him, however small and passing it was; how much he liked being a soldier—and how much he hated night watch; how
excited he was to have been chosen for this mission; how proud he felt to be the one guiding them through Rathreagh…

Deeper thoughts, thoughts of home and family, memories of his parents, grandparents, siblings, all passed by even more swiftly
and with less detail. Soon, Rhys’s mind was like the clear water Aurya had suggested to him. Now he was ready.

She moved her hands from his shoulders to his temples. Like a succubus, she began to drain the strength of his youth into
herself. Tonight she would add to the ancient spell she had been using these past nights and plant within it her own seeds
of destruction.

She began, keeping her voice low enough not to be heard by the rest of the camp.

“Magic black as moonless night, power strong as earth and sea;

Find the one by distance hidden, whose purpose makes my enemy.

Around this one I weave this Binding, a web where fears and doubts are caught

A darkened soul my magic sends thee, the death of all thy hope hast brought.

Mist and shadow insubstantial, ghosts of vision, thoughts unheard;

Doubts, confusion, now become real; from silence speak the halting word.

Feet make heavy, muscles weaken, eyes be blinded, mouth make mute;

Reason, logic, will, and purpose, darkness swallow, stain and root.

Into the void now I send thee; blackness deepen, hold thee fast

With chains of magic none can sever, be thou hound unto the last.”

Aurya lifted her hands from Rhys’s temples. His head, no longer supported by her touch, slumped slightly forward. She smiled
as she came around to sit once more beside him. The energy of his youth and his eagerness to please her had added a new strength
to her spell. She felt wonderfully certain that the wings of the white dove had now been clipped.

Softly, she placed a hand on Rhys’s arm. “At my word you will awaken,” she told him, “and remember only that we sat here for
a few minutes while I asked you questions of your childhood in Rathreagh. When your watch is ended, you will sleep peacefully.
Though you remember none of this, you will remain ready to aid me at my word. Do you understand, Rhys?”

The young man’s head gently nodded. “Very good, Rhys,” Aurya said. “Now—awaken.”

Rhys came instantly awake, and Aurya yawned to cover the brief interval between his passivity and his awareness. He remained
oblivious that there had been an interval at all.

“Thank you for your company, Rhys,” she said, once more speaking sweetly to him. “I think I can sleep again now. And I hope
your watch is soon ended so that you have time for some rest. We are all relying on your guidance.”

“I’ll be fine, m’lady,” Rhys assured her, “and I’ll get you to Caerryck, never fear.”

“I’m sure you will.” Aurya gave the young man one last smile, then headed back to her tent, glowing with her renewed certainty
of success.

Renan knew that their greatest enemy now was Time. Hour by hour, the lethargy that had laid hold of Lysandra was growing stronger.
He did not know what reaching their destination and finding the child would do to help her, but something told him it was
her only chance of recovery. Lysandra was Prophecy’s Hand, and so he had to believe hope was ahead.

It was still two hours before sunrise when at last they came in sight of the northernmost village in Rathreagh, Caerryck.
The town, like the countryside around it, had a wild, fey look. The wind blowing in from the sea had dwarfed and twisted what
trees there were into shapes that would have seemed at home in a madman’s dream. Even the stones here were oddly formed, as
if some giant’s child playing in the mud had left the clouts squeezed between its fingers to dry in the sun.

Nor was there silence, not even in the hours before dawn. Here, where the northern tip of Rathreagh curled like a beckoning
finger to the sea, the sea answered. Waves crashed and wind howled, thick with salt spray and heavy with the aromas of sand
and water, kelp and sea grass, and all manner of aquatic life.

The people of Caerryck, who took their living from the sea, moved to its rhythms and tides. Already, the town was awake. Fires
of peat and driftwood sent their aromatic smoke rising from the chimneys. Lights flickered in the windows of the oddly shaped
houses built of driftwood and stone, and occasionally voices could be heard calling to one another over the sound of the surf.

For the last half mile, Renan and Talog had all but carried
Lysandra to keep her moving. Now they eased her down into a little hollow that was protected on three sides by a jumble of
wind-shaped rocks. She immediately curled onto her side, lapsing further into her withdrawn state. When Cloud-Dancer lay down
next to her, Renan was glad to see that Lysandra still possessed enough awareness to reach out for him.

Talog, too, crawled inside the little hollow. He looked out at Renan, his huge eyes glowing with the reflected light of the
moon.

“I shall watch the Healer,” he said solemnly, “and await thy return. The Divine be thy Guide and lead thee swiftly unto the
child. We shall be safe here, but tarry not. I fear the Healer’s strength be nearly gone.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Renan assured him. “Try to get her to eat if you can—and you, too. I fear we will all need
our strength before this is over.”

Renan crawled back out of the hollow. He would go alone into Caerryck, knowing that his collar would protect him and that
he would arouse far less unwanted attention on his own. He wanted to find either an inn where he could rent them safe lodging
until they found the child, or a church whose guesthouse they might use. Again, his collar would be an asset.

Renan had read through the scroll and Talog had recited those parts of the Holy Words that Eiddig had made him memorize, in
an attempt to find some hint of how they were to find the child once they reached Caerryck—but without success. Both the writings
of Tambryn and the Holy Words of the Cryf were silent on the subject. It filled Renan with extreme uneasiness as he walked
toward the town.

He drew a few curious glances from people who were out on the streets, but their faces were friendly enough as
they hurried to reach their boats before they missed the tide. The main street of the town faced the shore, following its
uneven line and giving a meandering definition to the town’s layout that was quite unlike the rigid blocks of Ballinrigh.

Just then a church bell rang, calling the town to Lauds, the first canonical Office of the day. The familiar sound coming
through the slowly fading darkness was more than welcome; it made Renan’s heart almost shout with joy and relief. He immediately
turned in what he hoped was the right direction.