River of Dreams

by Lynn Kurland

  It occurred to her as well that while she had still seen echoes of Sosar’s magic in his soul, in Rùnach’s there was nothing left.

  She rubbed her eyes because the sunlight was bright, not because they were stinging. “Were they good spells?” she asked, forcing herself to move past what she had—or, rather, hadn’t—just seen.

  “For the most part.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Indeed? And for the other part?”

  He walked away again. It took a bit before he stopped and looked at her. “Let’s say this: my grandfather wouldn’t have been pleased with them. Most were of my own making, using whatever magic seemed to suit the spell best. There were a handful, though, that were fashioned from . . .” He took a deep breath. “From less pleasant sources.”

  “I don’t know anything about less pleasant sources.”

  “Be grateful.”

  “I think I am,” she said honestly. “What happened to these spells, do you think?”

  He walked for a minute or two more, then came and collapsed on the bench next to her with a sigh. “I can speculate, I suppose. They could have been taken by any number of souls, though perhaps common sense would suggest that whoever inserted the new pages was the one to take the old pages out. I’m not sure why anyone would have bothered. I’m even less sure why anyone would have hidden the book in the library at Eòlas. And lastly, I have no idea what those marks mean, but they make me ill to look at them myself, though not nearly as ill as they made you.”

  She would have gotten up to pace a bit herself, but she wasn’t sure that wouldn’t end with her pitching forward onto her face. She had trouble enough with her looks without adding injury to herself. She frowned a bit more, then looked at Rùnach.

  “When did you leave the book behind?”

  “A score of years ago.”

  “Oh,” she said, and she needed no further elaboration to know why. Obviously he’d left it somewhere before he’d gone to the well with his family. “Here?”

  He smiled grimly. “And have my grandfather stumble upon it? Nay, I left it in the care of the witchwoman of Fàs.”

  “Who is that?”

  “The mother of my father’s natural sons.”

  She made a valiant effort not to gape at him. “Is she a good person?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “I’m not sure that’s the word I would use to describe her. I trusted her, as odd as that sounds. She had little reason to allow the counters to all my father’s spells to find their way into the world.”

  “Is that what the book was?”

  He looked heavenward, then at her. “Aye, if you can believe my arrogance. My father honed his spells for a thousand years, and I thought I could counter them whilst still in my youth. I will admit that the spell that covers the pages was well done, but for the rest?” He shrugged. “I’m not the best one to judge. I’m not even sure I could write them down properly again. I’ve tried not to think about them over the years.”

  “And if someone found them and could use them?”

  He considered, then shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to speculate. The only mercy is that the spells can’t be unlocked without the proper key, no one knows that particular spell but me, and I haven’t the power to use it. Convenient, isn’t it?”

  “I think magic is a very dangerous thing.”

  “And that, my lady, is something we definitely can agree on.” He rubbed his hands over his face, then smiled at her wearily. “I fear I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  Neither had she—or, rather, she had slept too well, but she wasn’t ready to tell him why. She couldn’t imagine that he hadn’t seen her sprawled out on the little cot across from his bedchamber door, but perhaps he was too much of a gentleman to speak of it. She would have to talk to him about it soon, but she thought she might safely leave it for another hour or two.

  “What you need then, my lad, is a nap somewhere beautiful.” She pushed herself to her feet, swayed, then offered him her arm just as he had done so many times for her. “These lovely trees here have suggested that you might enjoy your grandmother’s garden. I assume you know where that is?”

  “I imagine I do.”

  “Then let’s be on our way.”

  * * *

  A quarter hour later, she was walking with him into his grandmother’s garden, a garden that seemed somehow much more private than anything she’d seen before. She supposed that was just as well because she suspected Rùnach wasn’t going to last another five minutes before he fell asleep on his feet.

  She sat down on a very lovely bench of smooth wood, then handed him the blanket she found sitting suddenly next to her. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch, though I’m not sure with what. I think Iteach lost our bows.”

  “But fortunately not my sword, but that is currently propped up in a corner of my bedchamber.” He stood and pulled a knife from his boot and handed it to her. “You won’t need this, but studying the runes might keep you entertained for a bit.” He spread out the blanket, then looked at her. “Care to join me?”

  “I have too much to think on.”

  “But you would otherwise?”

  She frowned at him. “Is this the sort of question you generally ask when in your grandmother’s garden?”

  He stretched out. “In truth, Aisling, I can’t bring to mind a single woman I would have cared to nap with beneath my grandparent’s trees save you.” He folded his hands over his belly and looked up at her. “But since you’re denying me that pleasure, you could at least send me off to sleep with a tale.”

  “What sort of tale?”

  “Something told in Deuraich.”

  She wondered if she would get to the point where she stopped flinching at the things he knew. “What sort of something?”

  “Do you have any myths?” he asked politely. “You know, involving pointy-eared creatures?”

  “Aye, ugly little brutes who hide in closets and come out at night to vex naughty children.”

  He laughed a little. “No doubt.”

  “I’m not sure I should even tell you any of those stories. You’ll just memorize the words.”

  “Most likely.” He looked up at her, clear-eyed. “Because that’s just what I do. That, and it might come in handy for me to know a bit of your tongue.”

  She had the feeling she knew exactly why he wanted to know what he wanted to know. Worse still, she knew that if she didn’t humor him, he would just go behind her back and learn her language anyway.

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about sharp-eyed, sharp-nosed deirbs who tormented guilty sleepers, so she told him a tale about Maraiache of Clomhais who had set off on a journey to obtain a certain sort of spice he preferred for his stew and wound up finding much more than he’d bargained for. She had hardly gotten the poor mariner out to sea before Rùnach was asleep.

  She watched him for quite a while, marveling at who—and what—he was, then she simply sat and listened to the garden murmuring as it did of endless spring and the conversations that had been held within its confines. The last light before twilight suffused the air, casting a soft glow over everything before her. She looked at that air, heavy with a golden glow, and wondered if it would permit her a liberty.

  She took her pointer finger and spun the air to her right, a small circle only because she wasn’t entirely sure what she intended to do. She created a bobbin spun by that flywheel and put things onto it: snatches of dreams dreamed by flowers that sang with soft, sleepy voices, and other things offered by the trees near her and the earth beneath her feet that weren’t quite dreams but weren’t exactly conscious thoughts either. And throughout the invisible thread she was creating, she added the bits of Fadaire she knew. She couldn’t decide if those last things were magic or merely words, but they were exquisite and she couldn’t resist them.

  She stopped her flywheel and wondered what to do then. She took the bobbin she found she could actually handle now, unwound what seemed to be t
hread that was handled with equal ease, then looked down at it in her hands.

  It was the stuff of dreams.

  She looked at it until an idea came to her. She wound it from her hand to her elbow and back until the entire spun length was a circle, twisted it to keep it from unraveling, then leaned over and put it on Rùnach’s head like a crown. It disappeared.

  He sighed deeply.

  Aisling jumped a little as she realized she and Rùnach were not alone. The queen of Tòrr Dòrainn stood to her left, watching her with a faint smile. Aisling pushed herself to her feet, but Brèagha shook her head, waving her back down to her spot on the bench. Rùnach’s grandmother joined her there.

  “How are you, darling?” the queen whispered.

  “Unsettled.”

  Brèagha smiled. “Why is that?”

  “Do you believe in curses, Your Majesty?”

  “If you mean the sort of curse that is supposedly attached to speaking of one’s homeland, then nay, I do not.”

  “What an interesting idea,” Aisling managed. “A curse attached to a country.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Brèagha smiled. “Do you believe in such a thing?”

  Aisling had to consider her answer for a moment before she could speak. Then she looked at the queen. “I don’t believe I do, Your Majesty. Not any longer.”

  “I hoped not.” She seemed to consider her words carefully. “You know, darling, there is a difference between a country supposedly protected by curses and a country that is simply shrouded in secrecy. Let me tell you of such a place. I don’t imagine you’ve heard of An Céin, have you?”

  Aisling shook her head. “I’m sorry, but nay.”

  “There is a reason for that,” Brèagha said. “It is my homeland, but few know of it because my great-grandfather willed it so.” She smiled. “Secret, not cursed, as it happens.”

  Aisling managed a smile. “I appreciate the difference.”

  “I think you do. We are a small country, unlike other countries that might or might not want to remain secret. We don’t have treasures interesting enough for anyone to want to steal, and our magic is of a kind that isn’t readily available to those who might want it. I daresay perhaps my great-grandfather didn’t think we were important enough in the grander scheme of things to pay much heed to. It does lead one to have a certain perspective about one’s place in the world.” She looked out into her garden for a few minutes, in silence, then sighed. “I suppose that gave me an overconfidence when it came to discounting the potential for harm from other sources.”

  Aisling looked at Rùnach’s grandmother and suspected she knew what Queen Brèagha was referring to. “Prince Gair?”

  The queen nodded. “I feared what he could do to my daughter, but what mother doesn’t want her daughter’s mate to be beyond reproach?” She paused and seemed to choose her words carefully. “There is much damage a mage without scruples can do, I’ll admit. And those who become too enamored of their own power tend to always want more of it, no matter who they hurt in the process. Gair was no different, I fear.” She shrugged. “As for myself, I did not fear him. He was powerful, true, but my magic was—and is—nothing he wanted. We move very slowly in my country, keeping ourselves occupied with simpler things. Not even the elves here or to the west care overmuch about us.”

  “Save King Sìle, of course.”

  Brèagha smiled. “Well, Sìle is different. He was also young and arrogant when we first met, as well as terribly handsome. He didn’t walk into a room that women didn’t swoon. Rùnach is very much like him, I must say.”

  Aisling glanced at Rùnach. He was terribly handsome, true, in spite of his scars.

  “I think the only reason Sìle looked at me twice was because I didn’t swoon.”

  Aisling smiled at the queen. “Your Majesty, I would suspect that wasn’t the only reason. King Mochriadhemiach told us a tale or two about your husband.”

  “I can only imagine,” Brèagha said with a bit of a laugh. “Sìle has tormented Miach endlessly, so it wouldn’t surprise me to know the tales were not all that flattering.”

  “Oh, they were,” Aisling assured her. “Full of glory and brave deeds and the accomplishing of the latter that he might impress his future bride.” She looked at Rùnach. “I can imagine, though, how Rùnach might fell an entire room.”

  Brèagha looked at Rùnach snoozing peacefully there at their feet. “I love all my grandchildren, of course, but I will admit to having a particular fondness for that one there. There is something to his character that is particularly pleasing.” She studied him for a moment or two more. “He’s dreaming. I think he has you to thank for that.”

  Aisling shifted uneasily. “I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

  “I don’t think that’s in your nature.”

  “I don’t know how to use this gift,” Aisling said slowly. She met the queen’s eyes. “If it is a gift.”

  Brèagha laughed a little. “Aisling, my darling girl, your art is far beyond anything of mine. I have no advice to offer you on how to use what has been given you.”

  Aisling shifted uncomfortably. “You can’t mean that.”

  Brèagha took her hand and patted it. “I know you can’t see it yet, but your destiny . . . nay, it would be imprudent to speak of it now. But I will say this much: I think in the end you will know far more about dreams than I do.”

  “But elves are creatures from dreams,” Aisling said.

  “Rubbish,” Brèagha said with a merry smile. “Fanciful tales begun, I can assure you, by the elves of Ainneamh to keep lesser mortals from crossing their borders and pinching their daughters.”

  “I hesitate to mention this, Your Majesty, but those aren’t the only elves there are tales about.”

  “Well, Sìle can’t control everything, in spite of what he thinks. Neither can the rulers of Bruadair,” Brèagha added very quietly, “though I imagine your current usurper might want to try.”

  Aisling supposed the only reason she didn’t flinch was because she’d had so many shocks already that day. She took a deep breath and met the queen’s lovely blue eyes. “How did you know where I was from?”

  “I saw,” Brèagha said simply. “You’ve already begun to, haven’t you?”

  “I fear so.”

  The queen smiled. “Aisling, there is so much loveliness ahead of you.”

  “But?”

  The queen smiled. “You perhaps wouldn’t value it then if you hadn’t suffered in the past. As for anything more specific, I’ll say that I don’t know the state of Bruadairian politics these days save that Frèam and his lady are in exile. How are things inside your borders?”

  “A man named Sglaimir rules,” Aisling said, finding the words tumbling out of her mouth and hardly able to believe she was allowing them such free rein. “There are lads who want our country back from him. I wasn’t privy to their conversations save the last one I heard where they discussed how they might accomplish that.”

  “What is their plan?” Brèagha asked.

  “After ruling out an army or a powerful mage, they settled for the scheme of acquiring a mercenary who might, I assume, slip in the palace and do what needed to be done. They planned to be about the search themselves, of course, but things went awry and I was the only one available.”

  “Is that what you were told?” Brèagha asked with a faint smile.

  Aisling blinked. “Well, aye. It’s the truth. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Which led you by means of a very circuitous route here, to this garden, to spin dreams to give my grandson something he hasn’t had in a score of years? That’s an interesting journey, don’t you think?”

  “Your Majesty, after the past few weeks I’ve had, I’m not sure I should think anymore.”

  Brèagha laughed. “I don’t believe in coincidence, love. But before I say too much, I’ll leave you to your thinking and Rùnach to his dreaming, and be pleased with both.” She rose gracefully and sm
iled. “Dinner is in an hour, if you’re interested.”

  Aisling nodded, thanked her, then watched her walk away. She took a deep breath and looked at Rùnach.

  He was watching her.

  “Are you awake?” she asked, jumping a little in surprise.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “I dreamed.”

  “Were they good dreams?”

  He sat up and patted his head, as if he couldn’t quite trust that his head was still attached. “Exceptionally lovely.” He frowned. “I wonder why.”

  “I have no idea,” she lied, because she couldn’t bring herself to speak of what she’d done. “Your grandmother said supper was in an hour.”

  He heaved himself to his feet, picked up the blanket and returned it to its place, then sat down next to her. “That will give you just enough time to finish the tale I fell asleep during, won’t it?”

  “Are you awake enough to hear it?”

  He looked thoroughly bemused. “I’m honestly not sure, but I’ll give it my best attention.” He started to speak, then he frowned. He reached out and plucked something off her finger. “Have you been spinning?”

  “It’s possible,” she managed.

  He held up a strand of something that shimmered in the diffused light of the afternoon garden. “I think this is a dream.”

  “Is it?”

  He looked at her, as if he might have been working something out in his head that he wasn’t quite ready to discuss.

  “Your grandmother said supper was in an hour,” she reminded him.

  “You said that already,” he said slowly.

  She bounced up, then rubbed her hands together. “We should go before we’re late.”

  “I have a question for you—”

  “Oh, isn’t that the dinner bell?”

  He harrumphed at her, then wound up the strand of whatever it was and tucked it into his pocket. “I’m not finished with you.”