by Richard Due
“And today?”
“Today?” Cora set her face grimly. “Today has been coming for a long time.”
“But—” began Lily, suddenly feeling the enormity of Tavin’s plight. “It’s not Tavin’s fault!”
Cora pulled the reins and checked the wagon. “Everyone has his time, Lily. I always knew Tavin would go down in a fight. I just didn’t think he’d be fighting an illness. Now, we’re here. Stay close, and be very careful about what you say and do.”
Raewyn’s home was so integrated with the landscape surrounding it that it was difficult to distinguish where one began and the other ended. Lily suspected some type of lunamancy; it was as though the house were deliberately hiding. Walking past a tree, Lily suddenly noticed a stable full of animals that hadn’t been there just a moment before.
In a small clearing outside Raewyn’s front door, she recognized the group of people she had met the night Tavin slew the dragon. She tried to catch their eyes as she passed Andros and his wife, Jemma; Quib; Boots; Bel; Arric. There were others as well, all hard at work building a great pyre. And Lily was certain she caught the soft sounds of a woman sobbing, somewhere out among the trees.
Just as Cora reached for the doorknob, Lily grabbed her arm. Lily willed Cora’s eyes to the pyre. Cora swung her face in its direction, but would not look at it. Instead, she turned to Lily, whose face had gone dark with questions.
“Come, Lily. I have no power over this.”
Raewyn’s house, like Keegan’s, was all wood, stone, and living trees. Lily followed Cora through a narrow hallway, passing through several rooms before entering a space that reminded her of Gwen’s root cellar back on the farm. Wooden shelves and cabinets lined the walls. Roots and leafy matter hung down from beam and branch. The shelves were crowded with odd containers: small wooden boxes of medicinal herbs, smoky vials full of dark liquids, bits of what looked like bone. In the center of the room, on a large wooden table, lay a lifeless Tavin, his elbows and legs bound to the corners of the table. His dragon leggings had been peeled back to the knee. Below one kneecap, a long neat cut, well sealed, traveled down his leg. The muscles in his shoulders, neck, and chest were tensed and stood out like cords. The muscles in his arms were equally taut, and his hands were balled fists. His still form looked like something carved from pale wax.
Dubb stood in the shadows, staring grimly at him. Raewyn’s back was turned, but from the sound she was making, and the workings of her elbows, she appeared to be hard at work with a mortar and pestle.
“I thought you sent for Keegan,” said Cora to Dubb.
“I did.”
“But I saw Quib and Andros outside just now.”
Dubb started, his eyes suddenly alert. “Marred must have sent them on ahead.” Dubb pushed past Cora and Lily. “They must be close.” He hurried from the room.
“I hope Keegan’s all right. He’s too old to be traveling so quickly,” said Raewyn. She turned, and her eyes immediately fell upon Lily. “Who do we have here?”
“Raewyn, this is Lily Winter, Lord Ebbram’s niece.”
Exhausted, Raewyn stared at Lily, but she could not muster a response. She ran an already-damp sleeve over her sweaty brow and turned back to her mortar and pestle.
“Have you and Dubb been arguing?” asked Cora.
“Ever since he arrived. This is the first time he’s left Tavin’s side.”
“I see,” said Cora, stepping closer to Tavin and examining the smooth scar on his leg. “What have you learned, Raewyn? What’s wrong with him?”
Raewyn stopped grinding and slowly laid the pestle on the counter, joining Cora at Tavin’s side.
“I’m no closer now than before,” she said softly. “He’s always healed so quickly in the past. I’ve never seen him sick for more than a day . . . before this.”
Cora formed her peerin. “The scabbard is affecting my peerin’s ability to view him.”
“Are you certain? How can you tell?” Raewyn placed one hand over the other, palms facing away from her, and pulled them apart—thumb to thumb, forefinger to forefinger—until she had made the squat triangle shape of a healer’s peerin.
Cora made a face. “I don’t know what you would call it. But I’m looking in an area we call the tenth house. It’s where the forces of tarn combine.”
Raewyn shook her head slowly. “Forces of tarn? Tenth house? What colors are they?”
“Our colors are all different,” said Cora. Raewyn raised an eyebrow. “At least, that’s what Annora says.”
“And how would Annora know that?”
“Annora and Nye have been working together. They’ve tried to teach me things. I’m afraid I haven’t been very attentive.”
“Maybe we could bring in Annora and Nye,” said Dubb, entering the room again and taking his post. “I mean, if there’s a chance, shouldn’t we look into it?”
Raewyn and Cora looked up doubtfully from their peerins. Dubb sighed, making a gesture of futility, and turned to Lily, as though seeing her for the first time.
“Lily. What about you? You helped Ember mend my moon sword. She said you saved her life.”
“She did?” Lily shook her head. “I—don’t think . . . I only corrected her mistakes. I’m not magical.”
“Would you be willing to give it a try?” asked Dubb.
Cora closed her peerin, looking suddenly interested. “Lily, have you ever tried to form a peerin?”
Lily tried to form her first peerin the very minute Uncle Ebb had first described what one looked like, and probably a thousand times since. But she never tried to form one on Dain.
Lily shook her head.
“No one ever makes a peerin the first time out, Cora,” said Raewyn. “Not even your Bree could do that.”
Dubb ignored this. “Would you be willing to give it a try?” he asked again.
Lily didn’t see why not. “Cora? Could I cause any harm?” Lily asked.
Cora pursed her lips. “In the beginning, it’s hard to do much of anything. If you were indeed able to form a peerin, then later, after many years of study. . . . Do you really want to give it a try?”
Lily stepped over to where Cora and Raewyn stood and held up her palms.
“Like this, right?” she said nervously, placing her palms together, fingertips to wrists, as Cora had done. “What should I think about?”
“It’s hard to describe,” began Cora. “It’s like opening a window onto the world beneath our own.”
“A private window,” added Raewyn, “allowing you to see what may lie hidden beneath.”
Lily tried to imagine peeling open a layer.
“Look beyond your hands,” Raewyn continued. “Focus on something beyond your hands.”
“How can I do that if my hands are in the way?”
“Focus on Tavin’s leg,” said Cora. “Use your imagination.”
Lily tried to focus beyond her palms, on Tavin’s leg. Slowly she tried to pull her palms apart. But they would not slide.
“I can’t pull them apart!” said Lily.
“Yes, you can,” said Cora, softly. “You just need to relax.”
Lily tried harder. “I—can’t—it’s like they’re glued together.”
“Don’t talk,” said Raewyn. “Just concentrate.”
“Remove everything from this room, Lily,” said Cora, “except my voice and your peerin. Now, listen carefully to what I say—”
Lily’s hands pulled apart with a sudden jerk. She stumbled forward and would have fallen had Dubb not caught her.
Lily looked up sheepishly at Cora. “I failed, didn’t I?”
“Not by my standards,” said Cora. “I think you nearly formed your first peerin.”
Outwardly, Lily managed a polite smile. But inside, she knew
this near-accomplishment complicated things. A lot. “But only the Dainish can form peerins. And I’m . . . I’m from Pennsylvania,” Lily finished.
“Be that as it may, perhaps your parents are not,” said Cora.
Lily didn’t like the sound of that. Her parents had always seemed so . . . normal. She’d certainly never seen them form a peerin, or do any magic. But then, she hadn’t really formed a peerin either. Her hands were just kind of caught. Maybe her palms were sticky.
“What were you going to say, before my fingers came apart?”
But before Cora could answer, Keegan Hoarfrost shuffled into the room, bearing a large book. Marred, who had him by the arm, swiftly guided Keegan toward the tall chair that Raewyn was pulling up to the table.
“We’ve started,” said Marred to Raewyn.
Raewyn’s face paled. She nodded, and Marred left the room.
“Started what?” asked Lily, but no one would answer her.
Raewyn kneeled next to Keegan. “Are you well?” she asked.
“I have traveled better, and every bone in my body aches, but I’m in one piece.” Keegan withdrew the book from under his arm. “I will need a writing table. If anything new comes to light, I would be negligent in my post not to record it.”
Raewyn pointed to a small podium in the corner. Dubb shelved the book lying on it and quickly moved the podium to Keegan’s side.
“Hello, Ms. Winter,” said Keegan, putting on a pair of spectacles. He unstoppered a pot of ink and tentatively dipped a quill. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello,” said Lily, looking curiously at Keegan’s book.
“It’s an account of those unfortunate enough to have possessed Curse,” said Keegan. “A curious volume, and terribly incomplete. I’m but the latest in a long line of contributors. But if I’m not mistaken, we have far more pressing matters at hand.”
Keegan placed the book on the podium, struggled to his feet, and leaned over Tavin. Raewyn worried her hands, and Dubb stepped closer to the table.
“Do you know what it is?” asked Raewyn quickly.
“Oh, yes. Yes. I do. I have seen it many times before, but not quite like this.”
“Can you cure it?” asked Dubb.
“No. I’m afraid the time for that has long passed.” Keegan glanced at Raewyn. Her face was a ghostly shade of white.
“What did I miss?” she stammered.
“It would have been a difficult thing to detect in the early stages, when something could have been done about it. I missed it myself, if you remember.”
Raewyn’s shoulders fell. “What is it?”
“He has the poison,” said Keegan. “Soon, the death-bloom will show all along here.” He traced a line across the scar on Tavin’s leg with his forefinger.
Raewyn’s face twisted in horror. “You’re mistaken.”
“But Keegan, Tavin told us that wound was from the claw of a dragon hatchling,” said Dubb.
“More likely the poisoned blade of a dread-knight,” said Keegan.
“But that can’t be!” cried Raewyn. “If what you say were true, it would have bloomed long before this. And where are the telltale signs?”
Keegan prodded the flesh about the scar. “The scabbard has delayed the onset, but it was not able to overcome the poison. The cut was not a terrible one, but spore delivered by the blade has gone deep. You should burn him soon.” Keegan looked at Dubb. “Your fire must be hot, or you risk infecting us all.”
“No,” said Raewyn. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t have the marks.”
Keegan’s gaze traveled up and down Tavin’s body. “I suspect the scabbard has done more than just slow down the poison’s progress. Most likely, the telltale marks have been displaced.”
He drew back Tavin’s shirt. The exposed skin was pallid, and the only marks were old scars, of which there were many. “They may be farther up the leg. I can’t tell without removing his armor. But if you wash the grime off his feet, you may find something there.”
Raewyn grabbed a rag and dipped it into a wash bowl, then ran it across Tavin’s feet. Underneath the grime, across the top of his foot, were the unmistakable dark marks that accompany a death-bloom.
“He lied!” exploded Dubb. “He lied to me!”
“It lied!” Keegan admonished him. “It! Don’t you forget that!” Keegan turned to Raewyn. “I assume the reason for Tavin’s restful state, for his lack of agony—this is your doing?”
“Yes.”
“You must release him. I wish to speak with them before he goes.”
“Release him?”
“Yes. We may yet learn something of importance here.” Keegan sat down and took up the quill.
“If I release him, you won’t find Tavin. The day we dragged him from the field, he and Curse were both already speaking gibberish.”
“What do you mean, ‘both’?” asked Dubb.
“Was Curse speaking through the sword?” asked Keegan.
“They were both speaking through Tavin, but their voices were still different enough that I could tell them apart. Not that what they were saying made much sense. I thought I could strengthen Tavin and bring him to the surface, but Curse swamped him like a drowning man in a bog. I couldn’t pull Tavin free. By the time we arrived here, Curse was all that remained. And it was in a very foul mood.”
“You mentioned gibberish,” said Keegan thoughtfully. “Are you certain they weren’t speaking another language?”
“It didn’t sound like a language to me. At first, I thought the blackmage must have somehow gotten through Tavin’s defense, maybe thrown some kind of babble spell on him.”
“Gotten through a Dragondain’s protection?” said Keegan. “These are indeed dark times, Raewyn, but, let us hope, not so dark as that.”
“Well, there was one moment,” said Raewyn. “When I looked in his eyes, I thought I could see Tavin. It was like he was trying to tell me something—only for a short time, but he was consistent.”
“Consistent?” said Keegan. “How so?”
“He just kept repeating the same gibberish. He made one particular sound over and over.”
“Do you remember it?” asked Keegan.
“Yes, he said—” When Raewyn spoke the sound, the moon coin pulsed on Lily’s chest, and the word “where” flowed into her mind. She surveyed all the faces in the room to see if the word meant anything to them. But no: only she had heard it.
“Where,” said Lily, but no one heard her. She repeated it. But again, no one was listening.
“Tavin was saying ‘where,’” she said loudly.
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Lily.
She stepped forward. “Raewyn,” urged Lily. “What else did he say?”
Raewyn raised a hand to her forehead, and shut her eyes in concentration. “It was . . . he would . . . oh, by the moons! He said something that sounded like my name, like he was talking to me—” Raewyn placed a hand over her mouth and let out a small sob.
“Raewyn, what did he say?” pleaded Lily.
“He was saying my name, but in a strange accent—sometimes once, sometimes twice, and then, then he would say—” Raewyn uttered the words, and Lily heard, “You’ve got to help me.”
She didn’t understand how, but somehow she knew the sentence was a jumble of many languages and dialects. When Lily repeated the words aloud, making sure to speak in the common tongue, Raewyn stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the table behind her for support. “Oh! What have I done?” Raewyn looked to Dubb, then to Cora. “What have I done?” Dubb moved swiftly to Raewyn’s side and helped steady her.
“Did he say anything else?” asked Lily slowly.
Raewyn’s eyes welled up with tears. “The only other thing he would say was—”
And Lily heard, “It’s not too late.”
Lily said nothing.
Raewyn began to sob. “What did he say?” She knelt down before Lily. “You don’t understand. At one time or another, Tavin has saved the life nearly everyone I’ve ever loved. You have to tell me. What did he say?”
Lily shook her head.
Raewyn was begging. “Please, please,” she sobbed.
Lily swallowed. “He said . . . ‘It’s not too late.’”
Raewyn crumpled to the floor.
“I’ve killed him,” she sobbed. “Oh, Dubb, I’ve killed him. I’ve killed Tavin. Lily, if only you had been here earlier.”
“Raewyn,” said Keegan gently. “I’m sorry, but I must try and talk with Curse. May I release your spell?”
“Keegan,” interrupted Dubb, “you may get Tavin to talk, but Curse’s hold will be so strong you won’t be able to trust anything he says—even if you think you’re talking to Tavin. Do you understand that?”
Keegan regarded Dubb. “I’ve know Curse since Wari first came to me.”
“Wari? Why do I know that name?”
“Maybe you remember her better as Wari the Inept?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“History can be so cruel,” continued Keegan. “Did you know that before acquiring Curse’s sword, Wari was known as Wari the Cunning? She was a talented fighter in her day. I’m afraid I was of little help to her. Later, when Storri came to me—”
“Storri . . . Storri the Stumbler?” asked Dubb.
“Yes. Only in his day, he was known as Storri the Swift. Although, truth be told, some of that was the doing of his scribes. Still, he was far from being a stumbler before Curse.
“Curse has long been a riddle to me,” Keegan mused. “One I’ve worked hard to solve, but it guards its secrets jealously. You see, I believe Curse is very, very old. Far older than any living thing I’ve met, and that is saying something.”