The Harrowing of Gwynedd

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Oh, nothing. But Tieg can do that, too,” he announced.

  Evaine’s heart leaped into her throat.

  “Can do what?” she whispered.

  “Make people clear.” He pursed his lips at her little gasp. “Mummy not believe Tieg?”

  “Darling, it isn’t that I don’t believe you, but I don’t know if you understand what you’re saying,” she murmured. “Making people clear is very hard.”

  Tieg shook his head confidently. “Not hard. Tieg can do.”

  “But—”

  “Tieg can do!” he insisted. “Show Mummy?”

  “You mean, make Mummy clear?” she breathed.

  “Uh-huh,” he nodded.

  “Tieg, it isn’t a game, you know.”

  “No game. But Tieg can do.” And before she could make further protest, he touched a chubby hand to her cheek, cocked his head and blinked—and she was Blind.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Therefore night shall be unto you, that ye shall not have a vision; and it shall be dark unto you, that ye shall not divine.

  —Micah 3:6

  Evaine gasped in the first shock of it, reeling from the sudden psychic jolt of being all at once stripped of power while still retaining her awareness of precisely what had happened.

  Dear God, Tieg had said he could make her “clear,” and he had! Little Tieg, who would not be four until August, had done what only a very few highly trained adult Healers could do—as casually as an ordinary child his age might recite his prayers or show his mother how he could turn a somersault or hop ten times on one foot and not lose his balance. Could he have any inkling what it meant?

  Still hardly able to comprehend it herself, much less believe it, Evaine could only stare at him aghast, unsure whether to be horrified or elated. She knew she ought to reassure him that she was all right—but she was not all right! She was psychically Blind! Who would have thought that Tieg—

  “Mummy clear now,” Tieg said, very matter-of-fact, too pleased with himself to be anxious quite yet. “Clear like Cousin Ansel, see?”

  “Yes, darling, I do,” she answered automatically.

  Something in his tone made her suddenly think of Rhys. She had let him block her many times in those early days after he first discovered the ability, while they worked to understand its potential uses and limitations. Being blocked was still one of the most disconcerting sensations she had ever experienced, in a lifetime of awareness augmented as only Deryni could do. Perhaps she should have expected that the ability might manifest in Rhys’ Healer son—though the notion of a three-year-old child being able to use it instinctively, without any notion of the ultimate consequences, was appalling.

  But was it any more appalling than Tieg’s early manifestation of his Healer’s powers, so strongly realized that Evaine, not a Healer herself, had been able to channel those powers through her own experience and direction and use them to Heal the crucified Camlin, in the ruins of Trurill? No, of course not! Lack of control over such power was appalling—not the power itself.

  No, the discovery of Tieg’s ability simply meant that they now had three Healers who could block Deryni powers—though it must be many years before Tieg had the training, experience, and judgment to put his ability to practical use. In fact, perhaps she ought not even to tell the others just yet, lest desperation one day suggest to one of them that Tieg should become involved prematurely in the work with Revan and the baptizers. Yes, best simply to have him restore her, and then broaden the already existing controls that she and Rhys had planted long ago, to include prohibitions against using this new talent unless specifically directed to do so.

  Nodding at her decision, Evaine let her eyes refocus on her son. Though she knew her internal debate had not taken long, some trace of her anxiety must have shown in her expression, because Tieg all at once sat up, fearful concern written large in the hazel eyes.

  “Mummy all right?” he whispered. “Tieg not hurt Mummy?”

  He was too young and untrained actually to scan her, to read her thought processes—even precocious Deryni had to learn to do that, and rarely before the age of eight or nine—but he obviously was sensing that she no longer had the ability to shield him from her emotions, even if he did not know why. Trying anyway to shield her inner turmoil, or at least calm it, she drew a slow, deep breath and shook her head, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “No, you haven’t hurt Mummy,” she said softly. She had to pause to swallow carefully. “And I’m very proud to know that you’ve learned how to make people clear. But I don’t want to be clear right now.”

  “Not clear?” Tieg replied, cocking his head at her.

  “No, dear, not just now. Do you think you can put things back the way they were? Mummy has important things to do. I—want to check on your Cousin Ansel. And it is time you went to sleep.”

  Tieg pursed his lips. “Tieg not want to go to sleep. Want to help.”

  “Well, you can help most by making me not be clear anymore,” Evaine replied, hoping that this was not going to turn into a bargaining match in which she would have to use force on her own son. “So why don’t you do that, and then Mummy will help you go to sleep? When you wake up, it will be morning and you can go visit Cousin Ansel. He’s asleep right now, you know.”

  Considering that, Tieg at length gave her a nod.

  “Okay, I do it.”

  “Fine. Anytime you’re ready.”

  Very gravely, he reached up to lay his little hands on either side of her head, not at all self-conscious as he gazed dreamily into her eyes. She was self-conscious, however, and closed her eyes lightly, waiting.

  And waited, and waited—until finally he choked back a whimper and his hands fell away. The look on his face, as she opened her eyes, was positively stricken.

  “Tieg, what’s the matter?” she asked softly, taking him by the shoulders. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “T-Tieg forgot,” he managed to stammer. “C-can’t do it!”

  “Of course you can,” she reassured him, though a sick dread rose in her throat at the thought that maybe he could not. “Remember how Tavis did it? That’s how you learned, isn’t it? Just do what you saw Tavis do. Try, sweetheart.”

  But he would not even try again, shaking his head and dissolving into tears as she gathered him to her breast.

  “Is-s-sorry, Mummy,” he sobbed. “I sorry. Don’t be mad at Tieg.”

  “Oh, Tieg, I’m not mad,” she murmured, stunned, rocking him and making soothing noises while she tried to think what to do. “There, darling, don’t cry. I’ll go see Tavis, and he’ll put everything right.”

  And meanwhile, she must make sure that Tieg did not make anyone else “clear”—because it suddenly had occurred to her that she did not know for certain whether Tavis could restore her. What if a block could only be removed by the person who placed it? No one knew. Up until an hour ago, they had never had more than one person at a time who could block powers. What if Tieg could only block and not restore?

  “Come on, darling,” she murmured, standing to pick him up, setting his arms around her neck while she braced his weight on her hip. “I’m going to let you sleep in my bed tonight. Would you like that?”

  She did not give him the chance to protest or approve. Still crooning little endearments to comfort him, she caught herself just before foolishly trying to conjure handfire and picked up the little lamp instead. Her monologue shifted to lighthearted cajolery as she carried him next door, eliciting smiles and even laughter by the time she set him down on her narrow pallet.

  She wheedled him into playing bears then—a favorite bedtime game guaranteed to take his mind off what was bothering him. The horseplay gave her ample opportunity, under cover of tickling and pouncing, to try triggering the few purely physical cues that normally would have plummeted him into sleep without resistance.

  But without her powers to nudge him along, he simply did not respond—and she dared not take him to the
others until his potential to do harm was safely neutralized. Fortunately, she had the means to do that another way, though it was not her first choice.

  He was giggling and squealing with delight by the time she told him breathlessly that it was time to climb under the sleeping furs and settle down, once again the merry, happy child she remembered, his recent anxiety apparently forgotten. She continued to banter with him when he burrowed under the furs to “hide,” taking that opportunity to open a low chest set at the foot of the pallet. Rhys’ Healer’s satchel lay under a folded Healer’s mantle inside, and she quickly inspected and discarded several vials and ampoules from it before finally choosing a tiny vial of dark blue glass and a little glazed brown jar sealed with a cork the size of her palm.

  Tieg poked his touseled head out from under the furs, still pretending to growl like a bear as she sat down beside him, but he sobered instantly as he saw the jar in her hand—and the vial she laid casually beside the lamp, on the little table at the pallet’s head.

  “What’s that?” Tieg asked, his little brows converging in a disapproving expression exactly like his father’s.

  “Just something from Papa’s satchel to help you sleep,” she said truthfully. “You’ve had a very busy night. I think it might be awfully hard to get to sleep by yourself, and Mummy has to check on Cousin Ansel.”

  “Medicine. Ugh!” Tieg said, wrinkling up his nose. “Tieg hates medicine.”

  “Well, I know that, darling, but sometimes we need to take medicine, even if we really don’t want to.” Casually she loosened the jar’s stopper, though she did not remove it. “I promise you, though, it isn’t nasty medicine. In fact, it’s rather sweet—almost like nectar. Don’t you remember how you used to suck the stems of honeysuckle flowers last summer and how nice they tasted? This even smells like honeysuckle.”

  “Honeysuckle?”

  Still a little suspicious, Tieg propped himself up on his elbows, craning his neck to see the jar better as she held it closer.

  “Tastes nice?” he said.

  “Oh, very nice. See how good it smells?”

  As she said it, she lifted the cork to one side and held the jar under his nose. She had counted on him taking a big sniff, and he obliged. The hazel eyes were already dilating as he glanced up at her in muzzy surprise.

  “Mmmm, is nice.”

  “Breathe again, a good, deep breath,” she murmured, herself not breathing as she caught him behind his back and neck with the hand that held the cork, to keep his head upright, and tipped the jar much closer under his nose to make sure he got at least another whiff or two of the now hazily visible vapor curling upward like smoke.

  Only as he went quite limp against her arm, eyes rolled up in their sockets, did she recork the jar and allow herself to breathe again, taking up the little blue vial as she set the jar aside. A cloying trace of the vapor remained in the room, which might or might not be responsible for the blood pounding in her temples—she could not tell, with her powers gone—but opening the door quickly cleared her head. And before it could clear Tieg’s as well, she dosed him from the vial.

  Her hands were shaking as she recorked it and carefully set it next to the jar. She was not concerned about the medical consequences of what she had just done. In Rhys’ practice as a Healer, she had seen him use this same combination of drugs often enough, especially on children, to avoid the trauma of physically forcing a patient to take more conventional medication. With her powers blocked, she could not blur Tieg’s memory of the subterfuge, as Rhys would have done; but she would see to it, once Tavis restored her—or he would see to it, if she could not be restored.

  That worry had been gnawing in the back of her mind ever since it occurred to her—and even more in its implications for Tieg than for herself. For if Tavis could not restore her—or if Sylvan could not—they would feel compelled to delve deep into Tieg’s young mind to find his power to do so. And if that risked harming Tieg in the process, she knew they would do it anyway, counting her value far greater than that of an untrained child. Nor could she prevent them, with her powers blocked. Suddenly, even the notion of using Tieg prematurely as some adjunct to Revan’s baptizer cult seemed far less threatening than what she must face now.

  But perhaps her worry was for nothing. In any case, delaying the question certainly would do no good. She tried not to think about either possibility as she picked up the now deeply slumbering Tieg, wrapped him in a sleeping fur, and carried him toward the chapel, where the others surely must be wondering what kept her. In her absence, she hoped they had brought Sylvan around by now and briefed him, so that he might be of some help.

  The new Healer was conscious, at least, by the time she got there—though he looked as wrung-out and shaken as she felt, sitting limply on one of the stone benches built out from the southern wall of the chapel, not far from Rhys’ tomb. He had changed his bloodstained Healer’s tunic for a black monk’s robe and had drawn its hood over his head, which was tipped back against the wall behind him, and Gregory and Tavis flanked him on the bench, each with a hand resting on one of his wrists.

  Joram and Jesse had drawn a wooden bench close before the three of them, and turned to look as she entered the chapel. The two rose out of simple deference to her sex at first, Joram a trifle sour-looking at her tardiness, but then he and Jesse were practically tripping over one another to run to her, as they realized what she carried.

  “What’s happened?” Joram demanded, as he and Jesse tried to relieve her of her burden, only to be rebuffed by her headshake. “Evaine, what is it? Is Tieg ill? Why on earth did you bring him here?”

  “Read my shields and it should be abundantly clear,” Evaine replied, smiling faintly as he did just that and recoiled in shock, as did Jesse and then the others, at a distance.

  “For Tieg’s sake as well as my own, I’m hoping that Tavis can set things right,” she went on, talking to cover her own nervousness as she continued toward the now-standing Healer, her eyes locked on his—terrified lest he could not set things right. “Regardless of how I end up, Tavis, Tieg will need to be blocked and then have deep controls set, to make sure he doesn’t do this again—because he doesn’t know how to turn it off. I’m praying that it’s the operation and not the operator that’s crucial in blocking and unblocking—but we don’t really know, do we?”

  She could tell by their horrified expressions that none of them had considered that possibility before. She stumbled as she came between the benches, finally letting Jesse take Tieg from her as Joram and Tavis supported her.

  “Evaine, for God’s sake!” Joram began.

  But Tavis shook his head and signed for Joram to ease her to a seat on the bench behind her, shifting his hand and stump to bracket the sides of her neck while Jesse laid the slumbering Tieg on the floor and did his best to make the boy comfortable.

  “Gregory, go have Dom Aurelian take over with Ansel and bring Queron here,” Tavis said, beginning to push calm into Evaine’s mind and body like a gently rising tide. “He may not be able to block, but he’s studied it more than anybody, myself included. Evaine, I want you to relax and let someone else worry about this for a while. I’m not even going to attempt to unblock you yet, because I want to see first what Tieg did. Close your eyes now.”

  She was aware of Gregory leaving, but she hardly cared by then, sinking back in Joram’s arms with an anxious little whimper as Tavis brushed his hand briefly downward over her closing eyes and sat beside her.

  “Now, review for me exactly what happened, of your own conscious recollection.” Tavis’ fingers slid gently into her hair so they cupped the left side of her head, thumb resting on her temple, and she could feel his stump pressed firmly behind her right ear. “That’s right—from the beginning. Saves me sifting through a lot of other memories, looking for the information I need. Don’t worry about sedating Tieg. That was precisely the right thing to do, under the circumstances.”

  Reassured, she did as he commanded, moanin
g softly as he locked onto the pertinent memories and took her deep, beyond conscious awareness and then into blessed oblivion, where her fear did not intrude and the passage of time had no meaning.

  The next thing she knew, she was back in her body, her fatigue greatly diminished—and her powers were hers once more. Never before had she felt such relief as she ran quickly through the standard mental assessments that most Deryni learned early in their training and found everything intact.

  “Oh, thank God!” she murmured, sighing heavily as she opened her eyes to stare at Tavis in grateful relief. “Thank you, Tavis. I really was afraid that the block might have to be undone by the one who put it there.”

  Tavis smiled wistfully and glanced at the one in question, sleeping peacefully unaware at their feet in Jesse’s arms.

  “Fortunately, a false alarm—though you were certainly right in recognizing the other danger. If he’d somehow gotten to me and Sylvan as well—”

  Swiftly, before Evaine could even react, he reached down long enough to clamp his hand briefly around the boy’s wrist. Jesse hardly even blinked.

  “But we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we?” Tavis said, raising a reddish eyebrow as he sat back to watch her. “He won’t be blocking anybody now—or Healing, or doing anything else Deryni, until Sylvan or I reset the triggerpoint—which neither of us is going to do until his controls have been altered. I assume you’d prefer to do that yourself?”

  She would—and did, taking only a few dozen heartbeats to elaborate on the controls already in place to keep a Deryni child from misusing his powers before he learned wisdom. That Tavis would not have restored the boy until that was done, she had no doubt. In that, they were in total agreement.

  When she was done, she helped Jesse tuck Tieg’s sleeping fur around him more closely and sat back on the bench again with a sigh, more relieved than she could say. Gregory had returned with Queron at some point, and the two had settled on either side of Sylvan, who still looked more than a little dazed by what he had seen. Queron gave her a sympathetic and knowing nod, obviously brought up to date in the interim, and she relaxed and allowed herself the utter luxury of a yawn she had been fighting since she regained consciousness.