Starstone

by Denise M. Main

  Morgan stared in surprise at his old friend. “All we did was talk and discuss the assignment Master Jaran gave her. I didn't seduce her, if that's what you're thinking. Besides, she's Temple born and bred, Druin; if she wanted to seduce me..” he grinned, “...I'd have no chance.”

  “Demora is my sister, Liath is of the high priestess's line. But her mother...”

  “Look, there she is,” Morgan interrupted, striding ahead, then halting and leaning his shoulder against a white marble column, watching the small group of students sitting on the short grass, arguing, or debating – it was hard to tell which. By the colors of their clothes the gathering consisted of one bard in terracotta, two seers in black, one officiate in mid-grey, two academicians in beige, one healer in dark blue and two magi in dark red. The only order not represented in the group was the Warriors.

  A magus suddenly leaned forward and inscribed a glowing geometric shape in the air, adding to it until he and his fellows were satisfied with the precise shape. He pointed to various aspects of it to illustrate his argument.

  Whatever that was, Morgan thought.

  Liath obviously didn't agree with him. She knelt on the grass and constructed her own glowing shape, which to Morgan's eyes looked virtually identical. The officiate leaned forward, pointing to one angle of Liath's shape; she nodded and made a minute adjustment.

  “What on Earth are they doing?” the young lord asked as Druin caught up and stood beside him.

  “Trying to perfect time travel. It's an old favorite with the magi and seers. Watch the magus' matrix,” Druin replied, vowing to continue his warning that Morgan had cut short, later and in great detail.

  The shape suddenly dulled, flared bright yellow, then vanished. A moment later, most of it reappeared some ten feet away, but with the color changed to blue. Liath's shape followed suit, except that even less of hers reappeared.

  “What happened?”

  “When the matrices disappeared, they travelled forward a second or two through time, or a percentage of them did. Even though the seers in effect see through time, no-one has yet been able to actually send an object, however insubstantial, in and out of the fourth dimension. As you see, whatever is sent forward never appears intact and always changes color,” the healer told him.

  “Why?”

  Druin laughed. “If I knew that, Morgan, I would be a very wise and rich man indeed. Even a pure blooded Akashii couldn't say, and time moves differently for them. Come on; let's break this up before they actually come to blows over it.”

  Chapter 11 – After the Hanging Dog

  It was almost three hours into the new day and the owner of the Hanging Dog had finally managed to persuade the ten young seers and their friends it was time to leave.

  Dal thankfully barred the door behind them and surveyed the remaining wreckage with a long-suffering sigh. As soon as their pounding heads would allow, the impenitent seers would return and put the tavern to rights. For the last 15 years the Hanging Dog had been sanctuary and refuge for the seers and the wilder of the young magi, and they always returned to clear up the mess and pay for breakages.

  Even though Dal loved every one of the strange, sometimes irresponsible and dangerous, young seers, he wondered if he was possibly getting a little too old for this. He sighed again and went around blowing out the lamps.

  “I've never seen a man as beautiful as Rajan, ‘cept for Tarik, an’ he’s a Nightlord, too,” Morgan murmured to Liath as he watched the eldest of the group stroll away with the two youngest of the male seers, Tamil and Estan.

  “He controls and shapes the night like none of us can,” she told him, and conjured up an image of the tall, slender, almost white-skinned seer.

  Morgan stared wistfully at it, far too drunk on wine – and the heady company he'd kept for the last 14 hours – than was good for him.

  “Rajan is the night,” Liath amended, gazing at her handiwork; while not particularly good at illusion, she could create static images better than most seers could.

  Jet black curls framed a face of unearthly beauty, and long lashed wide eyes of the palest grey stared back at her. Softly curving lips almost smiled, yet even in the illusion, there was an aura of danger and power barely held in check. Arrogance tilted the set of its head and arched delicate eyebrows. Insolence hovered around the sensual mouth. The coldness of distant stars lay in the depths of moon-shadowed eyes.

  She waved her hand and dismissed the image, vaguely troubled by it, remembering Rajan's proposition of a few days ago.

  “Y’should see Tarik...” the young lord sighed, gaze turning inward as he remembered the last time he’d seen the Doman of Saybel’s third son – whose sexual preferences encompassed male rather than female.

  “Did. Once. From a distance. Couldn’t believe my eyes. But I got the strong feeling I wasn’t boy enough for him,” Liath sighed with Morgan. “However, that doesn’t matter to our own Nightlord.”

  “Beautiful,” Morgan repeated, thoughts off on a tangent again.

  “Haven't you noticed – all the seers, young and old, otherworlders or not, are good looking,” Liath stated, elbowing him in the ribs to reclaim his attention.

  “Ow! Yes, I had, as a matter of fact. It's enough to turn a man's head,” he sighed.

  “You look in both directions as it is,” she grinned and hooked her arm through his, starting off back into the Temple grounds.

  “An’ you’ve a glib tongue, girl,” he replied, trying for severity.

  “What sort of tongue do you have, Morgan?” she asked slyly.

  He looked at her in surprise, wondering if he'd misheard or misunderstood the question. “Tongue?”

  “Yes, tongue.”

  “Why?”

  “Mia was asking.”

  “Oh... an’ Mia…pretty brunette, right?”

  “Right. She was asking me what you were like in bed. I told her she was better off asking Raj,” she chuckled.

  “Thanks, Lee, doin’ wonders f’r my rep'tation.” There was a moment's pause while he made a monumental effort to sober up, then he asked, “What’d Mia say?”

  “She said to tell you she has a boyish figure and is very versatile,” Liath managed to say without cracking up.

  Morgan stared at the chestnut-haired seer and shook his head.

  “Sequ, Rean, Varik and Col also expressed a desire to get to know you on – let's say – more intimate terms!”

  “Goddess! Three’ve those’re boys – men! You lot put my ‘tire court to shame!” he exclaimed, feeling a little more clear-headed.

  “Rubbish,” Liath snorted, thoroughly enjoying herself. “It's all good clean fun.”

  They walked on a little further into the quiet, peaceful gardens, cool now after the day's heat, only partly lit by the softly colored lamps.

  “What ‘bout you, Lee – don't you want to know what'm like?”

  “Not more than I wonder about most people, big-head. And I've a good imagination,” she smiled, glancing sideways at him. “Besides, if I wanted to, I could simply look long enough into your futures, and watch you making love to someone.”

  “You'd do that!” he finally managed to say.

  “It helps pass the time when we're bored,” she admitted.

  Morgan stopped and pulled her round to face him. “You are ‘n immoral, irreverent, undisciplined young woman – an’ I love you,” he said seriously, holding both her hands in his.

  “No you don't!” she grinned. “You're drunk.”

  “P'rhaps I am, a lil. But I'd like to ‘nvite you to Delgannan – to my hall...as...as...my advisor.”

  “Your advisor?” she echoed, laughter bubbling through her words. “What in the Structure’s name am I supposed to advise you on?”

  He thought for a moment, all the while slowly sobering up, then asked slowly and clearly, “What qualities d'you think my future wife should have?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright then – I thi
nk that, above all else, your wife would have to be a very understanding and forgiving woman. Or so beautiful and fascinating as to keep your attention from straying to others,” she replied dryly.

  “D'you think there is such a person?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I don't. I think there’s one very close...so beautiful and fascinating...”

  He gazed into her strange eyes, lost in their depths, while his words trailed away into the night. The air around them began to shimmer and sparkle, to take on a shifting life of its own, a manifestation of Liath's growing affections for him. He felt a thought caress his mind, gentle as the touch of spring sun – a soft breeze stroked naked skin – silken waters clothed his body – a kiss brushed his lips – he swam in the golden constellations of the seer's eyes…

  Until, not having consumed a fraction of the alcohol he had, Liath hauled back on the reins of those potentially dangerous emotions, and prodded his ribs, hard.

  “Wake up, bron Sultain,” she sighed. “Come back to reality.”

  He blinked and frowned, rubbing his side. “You always seem to be hittin’ me. What was I sayin’? Ah, yes, will you least come an’ visit, ride back with us to Delgannan tomorrow?”

  “That sounds like fun. I will visit sometime, but not just yet. Thank you, Morgan.” She reached up, lips softly touching his. “Race you to the fountain,” she whispered, moving out of his arms.

  “What?” he stared, uncomprehending, as she danced lightly away.

  “The fountain – last one goes in!”

  Morgan laughed and raced after her – though he might as well have been chasing a shadow. Liath was waiting for him when he jogged up to the green marbled fountain, sitting on the low circular wall, swinging her black trousered legs.

  “In you go, bron Sultain,” she ordered.

  “Oh, no,” he panted, collapsing down next to her, the wine and ale taking its toll on his normally athletic body.

  “Oh, yes,” she smiled and pushed him backwards into the shallow water.

  The High Lord landed with a loud yell and a large splash, managing to liberally spray Liath with cold water in the process. She shouted a long, and very detailed, curse at him, then hauled the dripping man out.

  ***

  “Something the matter, Morgan?” Druin asked, riding his horse alongside the young lord's big chestnut stallion.

  “No. Why?”

  “You've been rather quiet since we left Thesa this morning,” he replied, making an instant and accurate diagnosis of Morgan's condition – the pasty complexion, bloodshot eyes screwed up against the glare of the sun, the hunched posture.

  “Wine. Alrian. A lot of it, yesterday – not to mention ale, cider and who-knows-what else,” Morgan said, turning a shade paler at the thought.

  “I see,” Druin smiled. “Well, I have just the thing for that.”

  He reached into the large black leather satchel hanging from the saddle horn and brought out a small dark vial; his own potent cure for hangovers – vile, but very effective, if one had a strong enough stomach. He poured a few drops into his canteen cup and topped it up with water.

  “Here you are,” he said, passing it over. “Down in one.”

  Morgan, who had tasted the concoction before, gave some serious thought to his plight. Did he suffer all day long, or have it all condensed into a few incredibly agonizing minutes?

  He took a deep breath and emptied the cup, gagging and doubling over as the liquid hit his stomach like molten lava. After a few moments, he straightened up, sweating profusely and breathing in great ragged gulps. Druin hid a grin and rinsed the cup out before screwing it back on his canteen. In a few more moments, Morgan was almost back to normal, except for a slightly glazed look in his eyes and a certain reluctance to talk, but they were only the after-effects of the healer's potion and wore off after a short while.

  “Every time I have to drink that demon's piss,” he stated quietly, “I vow it's going to be the last. This time I mean it!”

  Druin refrained from comment and offered Morgan a small golden brown honey cake. The High Lord swallowed hard and shook his head. The healer shrugged and fed the cake to his horse instead.

  “By the way,” Morgan said a few minutes later, “I've invited Lee to Delgannan.” When no reply was forthcoming, he stared, puzzled, at the blue-robed man. “From the silence, I gather you're not too keen on the idea.”

  “I prefer Liath to stay in Thesa,” Druin replied, staring straight ahead.

  “What on Earth for?”

  “She's safer there.”

  Morgan smiled. “No harm will ever come to her in Delgannan,” he stated.

  Druin sighed, “It's not her I'm worried about, it's your hall and town. If she lost her temper, her self-control, she could – would – be a very dangerous person. No one knows her full potential, not Annushi, not Demora, not me, not even herself. There are certain people at the Temple who keep an eye on her – guide her and have a steadying influence. At least they try to. Liath may seem like a delightful, lively girl, but she's a volcano, just waiting to erupt. And she's nothing whatsoever like your court ladies and friends.”

  “But what possible thing in my hall could make her lose her temper?” Morgan demanded lightly, still smiling.

  “She's a 20 year old girl, Morgan. What makes girls lose their tempers? Anything! As a seer, she's dangerous enough – have you never wondered why they are the only order to live and work within the Temple confines?”

  “I thought that was because there are so few of them.”

  “That's what most people think when they have to travel all the way to Thesa for a reading...” he sighed and reached into his bag for another honey cake. “Let me start at the beginning...” he said, biting into the cake and marshalling his thoughts. “The Order of Seers is an off-shoot of the magi. That's how they started, oh, almost 300 years ago. Most people know very little about the magi – they are the most secretive order, as well as being the oldest, and are content to keep people guessing while their real work goes accepted as every-day occurrences...”

  “Such as?” Morgan asked.

  “Our beautiful climate owes much to them, the plentiful fish in the sea, the good harvests, the general ease and standard of life we have and so forth. Many little things, which amount to so much. If the magi suddenly stopped working, Anraun would be cast back about 400 years, if not more. Life would be much harder than it is now. There would also be more wars and invasions, and as the High Lord, you would find yourself called upon much more than you are now. They look after and protect the land and us. However, back to the seers. By focusing their thoughts on the person they're 'telling' for, they are able to see all major possible futures and indicate which is the most beneficial. They are capable of things we do not fully understand, and are compelled to keep themselves under reasonably strict control, comparatively speaking. Even the Hanging Dog is 'cloaked' by the magi, so they can go there and let off steam and the spells around the building protect everyone, everything, else from harm. You will very rarely witness the rage of a seer, they...”

  “The rage of a seer?” the young lord interrupted, frowning. “What do you mean?”

  “Any extreme emotion they experience, or choose to display, becomes incorporated in their immediate surroundings. There have been occasions when a seer has quite deliberately killed by the force of his, or her, desire. There was one particular young seer who caused an earthquake, a very localized one, but which completely destroyed five houses, and those in them at the time. Another was in command of a very destructive thunderstorm for a while, directing the lightning at will. Yet another caused the dead to rise and walk the streets...and so forth. That was within the last few years,” he added. “They see into dimensions we do not, travel in them – occasionally walk the worlds...sometimes bring, or materialize the beings that inhabit their own minds, their imaginations. Not often, thank the Structure, and only in times of extreme stress, it would seem. They can take the
elements – earth, fire, air and water – and shape them into objects that obey their wishes. They create illusions so real at times that they are indistinguishable from the original. The list goes on,” he sighed. “They are a very complex handful of people – the Lady's seers. Easily strong enough to rival most of Jarath’s nobles. Except, perhaps, his close family.”

  “You've talked about rage and fury,” Morgan said, remembering the lively, friendly people in the tavern and around the temple. “What about love and happiness? I've never seen Annushi, for instance, anything other than calm and at peace.”

  “Annushi has had a lifetime to conquer her darker passions,” Druin said of his friend, smiling. “She is a calm and peaceful person by nature – the order must have someone like her to lead them. However, there was one occasion I remember, no, two. The first time she fell in love a rose garden suddenly sprang up in the middle of the Temple – out of solid marble. It only lasted a few days, but the scent of roses filled the place for weeks. And then there was the birth of her son – we had rainbows, doves, harp music, flowers, all sorts of things like that happening. The seers aren't all negative – which is why they were allowed to become an order of their own.”

  “Annushi's son's a bard, you're a healer, young Tamil said his father was a magi, Rajan's a Nightlord and Rean's mother a captain in the warriors; how are they born as seers?” Morgan asked.

  “It's not hereditary, but both parents of a seer always have strong mental powers themselves and are usually priests and priestesses. Many of us have a little of the sight, but not enough for practical application. My, um, talents cover a wide range,” Druin said with an embarrassed smile, “I probably could fit into any order I wanted to, but healing is my life's work. The Nightlords have always been mentally powerful. As for Balin, he could be anything he wanted – he chose the least complicated and became a bard,” his smile reformed itself into one of affection. “Besides, you of all people should know he channels his magic into his music – he is your harper.”