by Andre Norton
“NO!” Nolar was herself startled by the utter conviction ringing in her cry of negation. As she clutched her shard, she could feel its warmth both in her mind and physically against her fingers. Embarrassed by her outburst, Nolar turned from Morfew to Derren. It was vitally important to her that she convince them. “Forgive me—I cannot say why I know this, but I do know. The Stone of Konnard is not evil. It was meant to heal, and that is why …” She stopped, suddenly aware that her words were somehow not hers, that she was expressing thoughts that were not her own. It was an astonishing feeling, reminding her, in a way, of her reception of Elgaret's thoughts during the Turning. In that instant, Nolar knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath, and said firmly, “That is why I must seek the Stone of Konnard without delay. I see now that is my true quest. The shard has come to me so that I may return it to the Stone from which it was riven.” She stopped again, abruptly aware that Derren was staring at her.
Morfew nodded serenely, as if such declarations were commonplace at Lormt.
“I have read that objects of this sort can influence their own destinies,” he said. “I do not believe that a corrupted object could deceive an innocent—for you are an innocent, child, in the realm of Power—concerning its inherent nature. Nor can I believe that an evil object could have abided here at Lormt without being noticed, although,” he added, with a scrupulous honesty that reminded Nolar painfully of Ostbor, “we must bear in mind that this chest was sealed away in the cellars until Duratan brought it to me. Still, I think it likely that Duratan's crystals would have warned of the presence of any object tainted by the Dark. Let us therefore accept your conviction that your shard is of the Light and meant to be used for healing. What, then, are we to do next?”
Derren had been cautiously peering into the nearly empty chest, while carefully refraining from touching it.
“There is one more parchment left inside,” he pointed out.
With a wordless exclamation, Nolar stooped to see. A very old leaf of parchment had been flattened on the floor of the chest, and being aged to the color of the wood, was nearly impossible to distinguish from it. Nolar pried up one corner with infinite care, then extracted the dusty leaf.
“I realize anew why the Borderers valued your scouting,” Nolar said to Derren. “I would not have recognized this as parchment, it is so dark.”
Morfew centered the leaf on his desk. “Let us rub one corner with a soft cloth … delicately … and see whether that improves the reading. Ah, so it does. ‘A league north of the twin peaks,’ “he read aloud, “ ‘from dawn to midday by the river's southerly edge. …’ These would seem to be directions, but to what place, and of equal import, from what place?”
Nolar had pressed close behind, to read over Morfew's shoulder. “It is directing us to the Stone of Konnard,” she exclaimed. “I feel it must be.”
“Ah,” said Morfew, in a neutral tone. “A scholar generally waits to find what a text actually says before he proclaims his discovery,” he cautioned.
“There! There!” Nolar pointed across his arm. “ ‘So deep now lies the Cursed Stone that no more ill shall proceed from it. Yet would I rest more secure had they heeded me and shattered it all to dust.’ He does mean the Stone of Konnard; he must have been the one whose warning was cited on the fabric.”
Morfew frowned. “ ‘Cursed Stone'—one scarcely likes the sound of that. Still, this man may have been sour because no one accepted his warning. As to these directions, I see no landmarks named.”
Despite his admitted aversion to magical objects, Derren could not conceal his interest. “I have traveled much in the southern mountains. Perhaps I might recognize some of the features described, if you would read them to me.”
Nolar smiled gratefully at him. “What a help you are to us! Please, Morfew, read out the directions.”
Morfew read a lengthy catalogue including sequential notches in mountain ridges, turns by twisted trees, and river crossings where the sand showed black among the white.
When he finished, Derren looked deeply puzzled. “I have ridden and walked, I would have sworn, over all the peaks and valleys between Estcarp and Karsten,” he confessed, “but I have to say that I can put no name to any of those places.”
“For a very sound reason,” suggested Morfew. “We have no way to know how long ago this list was made. Perhaps the country then was unnamed, and the traveler had thus to rely entirely on descriptive directions. I must also remind you that our mountains today are not the same as they were only one month ago. Do not be downcast, child,” he said kindly, as Nolar turned her back on them to hide her tears. “Our fortune would be rare indeed were we to find in one day both a magical shard and a clear map to lead us to its missing parent.”
Nolar turned back, wiping her cheeks with her hand. “Good Morfew—how wise you are. Since the Turning, I doubt that any person could find his way to a formerly known site in the southern mountains. What once was peak could now be valley, or beneath a flowing stream. It was foolish of me to hope that my path might be so simple. I do thank you, Master Derren, for your suggestion. Had you recognized any landmark, we should still have had a doubtful chance to locate it now. And if our way lies to the east, of course, there are no maps to be consulted.”
Derren nodded, his expression grim. “You are right, lady. Perhaps I, too, was overly hopeful in my offer. This hidden stone may not lie in the southern mountains I once knew. As Master Morfew told us when we first arrived here, the Old Race is blocked from thinking of the east.” He hesitated, for Morfew was regarding him keenly, and so was Nolar. “My … my mother came from Karsten,” Derren hastened to add. “I have not traveled myself farther to the east than here to Lormt, but I can think of that direction.” His eyes widened. “But you, lady, you are of the Old Race, yet you speak of the east, and—”
“Nolar is affected by a special influence,” Morfew quietly interrupted. “I suspect that her shard of stone has effectively countered any inborn barrier against considering the east. For you have no difficulty thinking of the east, do you, child?”
Nolar felt a trifle dazed. “No, none … but the east is not the sole source whence I feel drawn.” She groped for the proper words. “East, yes, but also … south! That is where I must go. Oh, Morfew, how can I know this?”
“In matters of magic,” said the old scholar, “I have read that like calls to like. Perhaps your shard itself can be your guide, being drawn to its parent stone.”
“If you will allow me, lady,” said Derren respectfully, “I will gladly ride with you on this quest.” South, he thought to himself. We shall be riding south! I can go home, to Karsten.
Nolar glanced at the oblivious figure of the Witch, sitting motionless on a nearby corner seat. “We must take Elgaret with us,” Nolar said slowly, as if threading her way through the twists of a maze. “If we do find the Stone of Konnard, Elgaret must be there for its healing influence to affect her.”
Derren was not at all cheered by this suggestion, but he made an effort to conceal his aversion to the Witch. In a level voice, he observed, “Your aunt is a light burden on the trail, lady. But if we are to go into the high mountains with the weather tending cold, we had best seek mountain ponies to bear us rather than horses.”
“Our stables have several such which you may freely borrow,” said Morfew cordially, then he turned to Nolar. “I see from your face that you wish to depart at once. Can you not tarry until Ouen can confer with you? He is our community's chief scholar, and his counsel is always well worth hearing.”
Nolar impulsively touched Morfew's hand. “I hear Ostbor's caution in your voice,” she said, “and I treasure your understanding, for happenings of this sort are new to me … and daunting. Yet I feel such a powerful attraction toward the south and east that I fear I shall have no rest until I heed the call. If you can spare us the ponies that Master Derren says we need, I would be most grateful if we could depart early on the morrow.”
Anxious as he
was to ride south, Derren felt obliged to assert the practical realities. “We must take at least this day, lady, to ready ourselves. Have you any idea how far we must ride?”
Nolar had to admit that she could not give any estimate of the distance that lay before them. “I shall know when we near the Stone,” she said firmly, then sighed, her certainty clearly ending with that assertion. “But I do not know how far from here we must travel to reach the Stone.”
“Then we must plan carefully,” Derren responded, already calculating in his mind how much of what to take and where it could be stowed. “An extra pony or perhaps two might be needed to carry our supplies.”
“Wessell can assist you in your necessary planning,” Morfew assured them. “Go now to your night's rest, for you will be rising early, I expect. I shall try to send word to Ouen, but I cannot be sure that he can abandon his current tasks to address this matter.”
Nolar doubted that she would be able to sleep at all that night, but once she had tucked the warm shard under her modest pillow, she fell into a dreamless sleep that held until she was roused just before dawn by Derren's rap on her door.
“I am meeting Wessell shortly in the main storeroom,” Derren called, as Nolar threw back her quilts and reached for her cloak, “but I will fetch your morning meal first.”
“We shall be ready, thank you,” Nolar replied, moving to Elgaret's pallet to help the Witch sit up. Without consciously thinking, Nolar had clutched her stone shard in one hand as she rose, and she didn't realize it until she reached forward to steady Elgaret. The Witch's dull crystal had again slipped outside her gown, and as Nolar's shard brushed past it, Nolar was half aware of some flicker of light within the crystal. It was instantly gone; Nolar could not be sure that she had truly seen it. There was no time to experiment, for Derren could be back at any moment. Nolar replaced the shard in her skirt pocket and settled Elgaret's pendant back safely out of sight.
The rest of the morning raced by in a whirl of activity. Nolar packed their few clothes, guided Elgaret to the dining area, and then started back with their personal saddle bags. Wessell bustled by her as she approached the door to the storeroom, and immediately offered to help carry the burdens.
“Master Derren has told me of your new venture,” Wessell exclaimed with even more than his usual enthusiasm. “You will likely require heavy clothing for mountain travel. Have you warm boots? Capes with fur? Extra blankets? By all means, let me introduce you to Mistress Bethalie, who cares for all our clothing needs. I may have mentioned to you before, but it appears to me that our weather has been affected by the upheaval. You will have noticed that some leaves are already dropping from the trees—far earlier than usual. I would not be surprised if the first snows come soon in the high peaks, which is why,” he added, dropping her bags inside the storeroom and taking Nolar's arm to guide her, “I thought about the warm travel clothes. This way.”
An hour later, Nolar was back in the storeroom, breathing hard from her exertions. Bethalie had proved to be as dynamic an expediter as Wessell. She had delved energetically in what seemed to Nolar to be a hundred wardrobes, bins, and chests to accumulate a heap of assorted clothing and cold weather travel gear for man and horse. Nolar had just finished sorting, folding, stacking, and stowing away all the items, gratefully filling several extra hampers that Bethalie had provided for the excess. Wessell had darted off to see to another of his vital tasks, and Nolar was sipping a restorative cup of barley water when she felt a slight tug at her sleeve. She was startled to find a small person standing silently at her elbow. He was closely wrapped in a hooded blue robe, but the exposed skin of his hands and face was tanned by the sun. Nolar could not guess his age, but she had the impression that he must be very old, older even than Morfew. His eyes were pale gray, like the clear shallows of a mountain pool.
“Pray excuse my intrusion,” he said in a low, quiet voice that Nolar had to lean forward to hear. “I am Pruett, one of Lormt's herbalists. Master Wessell just now accosted me and said that I should seek the lady in the storeroom, so here I am.”
For an instant, Nolar was unable to imagine why Wessell should send an herbalist to her, then her weary mind made the connection. “My journey,” she exclaimed. “Wessell must have been thinking of my store of herbs and simples. It is amazing how he recalls so many details all at once.”
Pruett inclined his head in agreement. “Wessell is a most excellent provisioner. I am certain that the castle he left when he came to Lormt still regrets his departure. If you have the time now, would you care to examine our herbarium? We may have some plants that you might require.”
After making sure that Elgaret was safely settled where the cooks on duty could see her, Nolar followed Pruett out across the courtyard to a secluded corner between the archives building and the remaining long wall. The partial collapse of the far corner's tower had showered debris on that area, but the repair workers had cleared away almost all of the movable rubble. Nolar expressed her interest in the little shed sided with airy lath strips, where plants could be hung up in bunches or spread out to dry.
“The original shed was reduced to splinters,” Pruett said softly, ushering her inside, “but being as much air as it was wood, it has been simple to replace it. There are to be three in your party, I believe Wessell said. This leather travel satchel should be a proper size. I trust that you already have the basic remedies—or have you need of replenishment?”
Overwhelmed, Nolar simply stood, surveying the neat bundles, bunches, and plaited strands of herbs suspended from the ceiling and walls and distributed on wooden benches.
“I have never before seen such a grand profusion,” Nolar said. “This is a wondrous place, and I could spend hours just looking and learning. But,” she added with regret, “I cannot linger.” Nolar cudgeled her memory, trying to recall what supplies remained in her own modest herb wallet. “I could use some angelica, please, and perhaps some of that lovely trefoil.”
“Would you need the salve or the dried blossoms?” asked Pruett, delicately separating out some bundles of the dried red clover.
“Some salve, if you can spare it,” Nolar replied. Her eye was drawn to a spray of dense white flower heads branching above leaf pairs united around their hairy stems. “Isn't this agueweed? I prize it for coughs and fevers.”
“We call it also feverwort,” said Pruett. “Have you some catmint? I find it helpful for treating skin eruptions, swellings, and small wounds or burns. One must be sure,” he advised, “to steep it, of course, not boil it.”
Nolar eagerly accepted the packet of dried leaves and stems. She held up some newly gathered catmint to sniff its refreshing scent and touch the clusters of fringed, pale violet flowers.
“May I have some of these fresh stalks?” Nolar asked. “I have seldom seen better prepared samples. Oh, here's hyssop—so good for insect bites or stings. And fennel, and angelica—thank you.”
“I gathered this fine comfrey myself,” said Pruett, offering her a branching plant with large, veined leaves and clusters of creamy flowers each curled at the tip beneath a winged stem. “Now that the river has shifted, I shall have to seek it farther afield, where the ground stays moist.”
“Both roots and leaves, please,” said Nolar. “I have heard it called slippery root, which certainly describes its stickiness.”
“It is also called knitbone,” added Pruett, “for its use in the healing of broken bones. Folk will insist upon giving many names to the same herb. More names seem to emerge whenever new uses are found for a plant. Unless one hears them all, one might not learn of the additional applications. By the way, these yarrow leaves make an effective astringent.”
Nolar handled the dried fern-like leaves with special care to avoid crumbling them. “That is positively all that will fit within this satchel,” she announced. “I am most grateful, Master Pruett. As Wessell may have told you, I am seeking healing aid for Elgaret, my aunt, whose mind was injured by the Council's Turning of the mount
ains. While I know of no herb that might help her, some of these good plants will surely increase her comfort during our journey.”
Pruett’ bowed gracefully. “You are most welcome. Should you encounter any plant previously unknown to you during your travels, we would value a sample, should you have time to gather it.”
“I shall certainly be alert for any,” Nolar agreed, “but from my experience on the trail here from Es City, I fear that the damage to most plants and trees has been extreme, especially in the mountains.”
Pruett shook his head sadly. “I, too, have received a few such reports from our local farmers who have ventured onto the nearby peaks. It may well be that we shall have to try to reestablish some plants from our stores here. Perhaps we may reasonably hope that the stronger rooted varieties and those stemming from bulbs may survive the winter, as well as their recent dislocation.”
Nolar secured the straps on the satchel. “I hope I may be allowed to return this to you as well-stocked as you have entrusted it to me.”
“A fair road before you, then, and a swift return,” said Pruett, as he walked with her to the shed's entrance.
“Good fortune to you and your endeavors,” Nolar responded, with genuine warmth. “You have here a life's work that draws me to beg an apprenticeship. But Master Morfew's scrolls, too, call to me. Truly, if I could stay here, I should likely be torn between the two of you.”
“When your quest is accomplished,” suggested Pruett quietly, “perhaps you may choose to join us here at Lormt.”
Nolar gazed around the great courtyard. “For now, I must follow the stronger voice bidding me on. I do not know where it leads, but I must seek its source. Yet there is something here at Lormt that seems for me, rightly …” She paused, surprised by the word that came to her lips. “Home,” she finished.