Part 27 (1/2)

A thought had occurred to him then: if such power could be drawn from a minor Wicke like Coinich Mor, if it could be channeled through an imperfect red crystal, what could be possible with Taminy under his control and the Osmaer Crystal in his hands?

He glanced back at the Dearg Wicke and caught her watching him, her face devoid of expression. When their eyes met, she smiled briefly, pa.s.sion-or something like it-leaping in her yellow eyes. He turned front again, breathing deeply of the autumn air and feeling fit and fine and powerful. His eyes encountered another pair in their travels; the Abbod also watched him, gaze burning.

Someday, old man, Feich thought, and nodded to the Osraed with a smile. Ladhar turned away, leaving him with a sudden realization: He fears me. Years of Osraed schooling in the Divine Art, the Osmaer Crystal at the heart of his domain, and yet he fears me.

The thought was electrifying.

Daimhin Feich set about antic.i.p.ating his future, impatient to reach Nairne where he would lay hands on it.

Dreams, dark and chaotic, once again denied Taminy sleep. She woke and prayed, communing with Comfort in its pure form. Comfort came, but with it comprehension; a predator circled, growing in strength, cleverness and acquisitiveness. He didn't know where she was; still, he reached for her. Tonight she'd felt his breath on her again-hot, insistent-making her skin creep and her heart pound. She threw out a Wardweave, concentrating on the person of Daimhin Feich. She knew where he was, knew where to direct the Weave, but its web fell without effect; his Touch still lay upon her soul, fading only gradually.

She continued her prayers until the oppressive presence was gone, then calm, if weary, she rose to take up her pen and write, pouring words onto the pages stacked upon her little writing table. In a few hours Wyth would arrive to collect them, add them to the volume he painstakingly compiled against the future.

An uncertain future, Taminy thought. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed weary fingers, Weaving warmth into them. She glanced at the window. The Sun wove too, applying a pale wash to the panes-blus.h.i.+ng silver gleamed on a coat of crystalline frost.

Pages stacked where Wyth would find them, Taminy dressed in warm, st.u.r.dy breeches, boots and sweater, pulled on a quilted jacket-product of Gram Long's loving skill-and left the fortress. The lookout marked her pa.s.sage with a bow. Perched high above her on the gate-top, he reminded her of a morning bird bobbing in silent song.

Once she had cleared the shadow of Hrofceaster's walls, and headed down the trail to Airdnasheen, the silence was broken by the calls of jays and daws, crows and ravens. Taminy wondered why winter's birds had such grating voices. She had never thought to ponder that during her time in the Meri's Realm. That sojourn had taught her why men thought women beings apart, and why the Deasach had darker skin and different ways than their northern kin.

She knew that beyond these lands were others Deasach and Caraidin alike would find strange, exotic, dangerous, even repellent. She understood that beyond this world were others, peopled with men and women that the citizens of this world would not be ready to meet for a thousand thousand years. Yet the voice of a crow was a mystery she had never plumbed.

She took a narrow, snow-brushed turn-off just outside the village and made her way to the grotto of Airleas's latest defeat. There was solace here and solitude and hours before anyone would seek her out.

Ah, but not so. Even as she slid into the aislinn state wherein the Gwyr-Meri, and even dear Bevol, were more real to her than the rocks she sheltered against, she felt eyes on her. She ignored them and slipped completely into the Realm of Light.

The deep pool wore diamonds in this Realm and the air was warm and sweet and laced with pine perfume. The leaden gleam of dawn on frosted stone was trans.m.u.ted into Eibhilin gold. Coin was never as dear nor flame as bright as this Light. Taminy basked in it, fed upon it, took instruction from it. There was not, in all the world at that moment, as glorious a place as the Gwyr's grotto.

Time had no place in this placeless realm and so Taminy had no way of knowing how long she had visited there when the sounds of approach tugged at her physical senses. She read astonishment there, and a little fear mingled with a stronger imperative-she was the thing sought.

Folded behind the Eibhilin veil, she waited. Would fear be overcome? She rose-a matter less of motion than of will-and moved to the center of the jeweled pool.

Above, on the slippery, rock-strewn descent, fear trembled more mightily. Yet, the visitor came on again, ignoring fear. At the edge of the water, movement ceased. Taminy turned her attention to the figure wavering on the rocky sh.o.r.e, his breath issuing in a cloud from his open mouth.

Come, Airleas, she told him, wordlessly.

Head up, eyes wide, he dropped to his knees and began to pray.

COME, Airleas, she repeated, and lifted a hand to him, knowing that in his eyes it appeared as if it might singe him.

He stood and took a hesitant step to the very edge of the water. There, he lowered his eyes to regard it with dismay.

Come, Airleas.

He hesitated. Could she mean for him to swim to her in the icy pool? He considered that. Accepted it. Began to step into the water. Hesitating, he raised his eyes to her again.

She read the bemus.e.m.e.nt in them, the sudden comprehension and excitement. He eyed the glittering wavelets speculatively. She beckoned. Excitement rippled through the golden atmosphere of the vale, uncertainty close on its heels. Surely, he could not-yet, she did beckon . . .

Wielding determination, Airleas stepped from the sh.o.r.e and walked the liquid trail to Taminy's side. Wonder poured from him as she took his hand and continued the walk, leading him to a jut of rock just beyond the fall's bright veil of perpetual mist.

They sat upon the rock in a blanket of soft, radiant and silent warmth, Airleas gazing open-mouthed around the pocket of enchantment.

Finally, Taminy spoke, though not aloud: You came to find me?

”I . . .” Airleas's voice was swallowed in the bright haze. He abandoned its use. Osraed Wyth sent me to collect your pages this morning.

He's busy early today.

I was to take them to him directly-he was in a great hurry to begin work.

He always is.

But-forgive me, Mistress-I disobeyed . . . a little.

A little?

I paused to read them. Just to see what you'd written.

And what had I written that brought you here?

He turned toward her, face bathed in Eibhilin radiance. The Heart of the Covenant.

She nodded. And that is?

He licked his lips, squirming in puppy-ish anxiety.

Wors.h.i.+p the Spirit in this way: If your devotion ends in fire, alter it not. Even so, if your rewards are glory and peace. This alone, is the devotion fitting for the people of the Covenant. This wors.h.i.+p, alone, is worthy of the Spirit of this All. Your adoration born of fear is unseemly. Wors.h.i.+p begotten by desire for reward makes G.o.d's creation His equal. This is the Heart of the Covenant: That you love That Essence for Its own sake, fearless of destruction, with no desire for even Eibhilin riches.

Taminy smiled. You memorized it perfectly.

Is that it? Really? The Heart of the Covenant?

She nodded.

I wanted . . . want to be Cyne.

And so?

Is that wrong?

Why do you want to be Cyne?

It's my place. My duty. I'm The Malcuim.

And the riches a Cyne possesses?

They're nice, but . . . Do you know what I really want?