Part 18 (1/2)
”Not even me.”
He looked at her then, saw the pensive look on her face, and knew she contemplated a weak moment of her own. From something Desary had told him of her time at Mertuile as Taminy's companion, he suspected one such moment had come at the hands of Daimhin Feich. The thought of it made his brain burn with anger-with hatred. When Taminy raised her eyes to his, her gaze extinguished the flame, leaving ashes.
He crossed to the hearth, throwing himself down before her on the thick rug. ”Forgive me, Lady. Forgive me for throwing my shame open to you. Forgive me my weakness.”
His head in her lap he felt the soft caress of her hand upon his hair.
”It is Eyslk who must forgive you these sins, Catahn. As she must forgive her mother. A woman should not bear a child for honor, but for love. She should not bear it to a family name, but to a man.” She raised his head with her hands then, framing his face with them, gazing down at him with eyes as deep and limitless as the Sea whose color they wore. ”There is one other whose forgiveness you must have. Yourself. Forgive yourself these things, Catahn. Then take up your life and move forward. Move upward.”
The touch of her eyes, of her hands, opened in his soul a great, river canyon of hope and joy-a canyon only her Sea could fill. But as glorious as that was, it seemed to Catahn Hillwild that he stood at the bottom of that chasm, forever staring up, unable to climb out.
Forward? Upward? How could he move in either direction when the very Touch that warmed his soul, also heated his blood?
Cadder's gaze leapt anxiously about Ochanshrine's circular sanctuary. ”Please, Regent Feich!” he whispered. ”Please! I can't possibly-”
”You can. And you will. Indeed, you must.” Feich lowered his voice a notch and lowered himself to the wooden bench next to the quivering cleirach. ”You're holding out on me, Minister. You know more of this . . . aislinn business than you're telling. I've stared at this d.a.m.ned crystal, I've burned incense to it, I've sung to it. It does nothing.”
”I don't know what to tell you.”
”Tell me what they do.” Feich jerked his head toward the doorway that led to the Abbis where the Osraed of Ochanshrine lived.
”They . . . they use duans, the-the Gift. Regent Feich, I can't-”
”Use that word one more time, Cadder, and I'll start shouting my demands. Is it the chamber? Must I also use a circular room?”
Cadder scanned the sanctuary, mouth working. ”It-it could be the chamber. The aislinn chambers of the Osraed are circular-often conical.”
”Fine, then I will build such a room. What else?”
”Of-of course, they don't always use their aislinn chambers,” babbled the cleirach, ”but then they're trained Osraed and you're-” He broke off and swallowed several times in rapid succession. ”It-it could be the duans-there are different duans for different purposes.”
”Is there a book of them somewhere? Surely, they're recorded.”
”I-I-I've seen-Yes, there are books.”
”In the library here.”
”Yes.”
”Fine. Get one for me.”
”Regent, I-”
”And I warned you what I'd do if you uttered that word again. Think carefully before you speak.”
Cadder squirmed and sweated. ”I-I shall attempt to procure it.”
”Good. What else?”
”What else? Regent Feich, I don't know what else. Either one has the Gift or one has not.”
”What about the crystal itself? Might I have gotten a flawed one?”
”I suppose that could be-”
”Here. Here is the crystal.” Before Cadder could protest, Feich had opened the velvet bag and revealed his prize.
Cadder's mouth clamped shut and his sweating increased.
”What? What is it?”
”An Osraed would not use that crystal. It is stained.”
”I'm not an Osraed. Can I use it?”
”I don't know.”
”I'm warning you; 'I don't know' is beginning to annoy me as much as 'I can't.'”
”It's a blooded crystal, Regent Feich. No Osraed has ever used one with that stain.”
”Does that mean it can't be used to conjure?”
Cadder's gaze flew, once again, around the room. ”Please, Regent! The Osraed do not conjure. They Weave. There is a great difference.”
”They are words.”
”They are the difference between the Art and Wicke craft. I'm sorry, Regent, I cannot help you with either.”
Impatient, angry, Feich rose. ”d.a.m.n you, Cadder. I should reveal you to Ladhar this very night.”
The cleirach paled, but did not protest. ”If you must.”
”Worm. Haven't you even the courage to defend yourself? You're pathetic. It's no wonder the Meri rejected you.”
Cadder's eyes, fixed now on the Osmaer crystal, misted. ”Yes, Regent. I'm sure that's true.”
To be confronted with such complete self-abnegation, such unabashed cowering, drove Daimhin Feich to rage.
”d.a.m.n you, man! Have you no spine? Have you no dignity?” He moved closer to the quivering cleirach, turning his back on the Osmaer, and lowered his voice to a growl. ”You are everything I despise about the religious. Instead of giving you strength, your faith makes you weak and useless. It must give Ladhar great personal pleasure to have you about-someone who will be kicked and cuffed and murmur only 'thanks' for the abuse. You are a poor excuse for a Caraidin, Cadder, and a poorer excuse for a man. You make a G.o.d of me.”
Cadder's only reaction to this tirade was a sudden widening of his eyes. His lips, open now, moved without sound. It took Feich an angry moment to realize that the miserable little creature was reacting to something other than his cruelty.