Starstone

by Denise M. Main

  The young lord was in the Great Hall, sitting at a table to one side of the huge hearth, his steward and senior council member Avane at his side. Various liege lords and subjects were attempting to line up in a rough queue in front of the table to present their petitions and complaints to Morgan. As usual, it wasn’t working well; little groups gathered to chat, or argue, and people drifted off to get refreshments, complaining that their places had been taken upon their return. And there were always a few who went on and on and on, seeming to tell their whole life’s story before getting to the point – if there was one at all. Junior council members attempted to winnow these out early on, but a couple always got through their lines. To refuse Druin never entered their heads and Morgan viewed the healer's interruption with mild relief, until he saw the expression in the older man's eyes, and read the coded letter dropped on the table top in front of him.

  “Do you have any idea where she is?” the healer demanded, keeping his voice low, but losing none of the urgency behind the question.

  The young Lord nodded to Avane who stood, taking the remainder of the petitioners over to another table. Dismissing those who straggled behind wondering what the healer had to say that was so urgent, Morgan called for wine.

  “Have you forgotten, she left here without even saying goodbye to me, and she hasn't been in touch since?” he stated, surprised at the stab of pain that caused him. “Only Demora wrote and said Lee'd arrived safely in Thesa, that they were looking after her and she seemed to be returning to her old self. That letter arrived three days ago.”

  Druin sat down suddenly on Avane’s empty chair and stared worriedly into space.

  “You don't think she's in any danger, do you?” Morgan asked. “I mean,” he continued, “who in their right mind would tangle with Liath? Or...you don't think she's tried to make contact with that darkness, do you?”

  “Possibly,” Druin sighed. “If she became angry or frightened enough by it. She might have taken it into her head to face it, just to prove herself.”

  Morgan poured out a cup of wine for each of them, and was forced to agree with the healer's statement. He and Ky had done the same things themselves a few times. And Conna was always getting himself into, or causing, trouble, although he was out of the way now, in his own realm of Mirris.

  “I've been doing a little searching in my own way for her; it's not kidnapping or abduction,” Druin stated. “She hasn't eloped or simply got lost. And she's certainly not dead – I would have sensed that. She's just – not there.”

  He turned a puzzled, and worried, gaze on Morgan. “My thoughts are, as I've just said, that she decided to confront this darkness in some way – but I can't for the life of me work out how, or where she is. Are you sure she didn't hint at anything like that to you?”

  Balin, seeing the two sat together like a pair of condemned men, strode over to find out what was wrong.

  “Liath's vanished again,” Druin told him. “Demora and the others are beginning to get worried. Your uncle suddenly turned up with some strange friends of his. Tia'mar's younger brother and my niece Ciaran arrived together at the same time. It's this damned darkness!” he snapped, slamming his fist down on the table.

  Morgan looked at him, finally admitting, “I know what you mean – I've felt it too. Like...”

  “Like just before a storm,” Balin cut in, surprising both men. He shrugged and sat on the edge of the table, ebony eyes looking from one to the other. “I am capable of other things besides creating music,” he stated.

  Morgan raised his eyebrows, and looked back at Druin. “That about sums up the sensation. Could Liath be causing that?”

  “Perhaps. I'm going to go and look for her,” he said, starting to rise.

  Morgan grabbed hold of his sleeve and pulled him back down. “Just wait a minute,” he ordered.

  “Why don't you send out a couple of search parties, anyway?” Balin suggested, helping himself to a cup of wine and successfully hiding his own concern. “Maybe she's evaded the Temple's searchers and is somewhere near. Or has it occurred to you both that she doesn't want to be found?”

  “Yes!” Druin all but snapped. “And that's what worries me most.”

  ***

  Morgan woke up, convinced Liath had called his name. He could almost hear the echoes of her voice in the room. An image of a cabin in a tiny valley, high in the mountains, lingered in his mind. The mountain was Delga, the towering peak that gave the river and town their names. The valley was just below the snowline, three days ride away. Liath would be there.

  Without thought to anything else, he got out of bed, lit a lamp and began to pack: warm clothes and blankets, fresh and dried fruit from dishes on the table in his sitting room, an extra knife, bow and arrows. He strapped on his sword belt, found a warm cloak and hefted the saddlebags and bedroll. Then he silently made his way down to the kitchen and collected more provisions.

  When they were safely stowed away, he returned to the hall and wrote a short note addressed to Druin and Ky, telling the healer he knew where Liath was, and telling his brother that he must take charge of his affairs for a while – and that no one was to come looking for them.

  He heavily underlined the last instruction, sealed the note and left it where it would easily be seen. Then, even though it wasn't yet dawn, he went to the stables for his horse, saddling another one for Liath.

  Strangely, no one saw or heard him.

  At the end of two days and a hard, fast ride, he reached the tiny valley, little more than a fold in the steepening mountainside. Drawn to it by forces beyond his control and which he didn't understand, yet reinforced by the repetitious dreams of the last two nights.

  Nestled at the farthest end of the little vale, almost hidden in the evening shadows, was a tiny cabin. A faint glow cracked through the shutters over one window. A wind blew at his back as though urging him onwards. He knew without the slightest doubt that Liath would be waiting for him inside.

  As he tethered the horses to a post in front, the door opened. He looked up and saw the tall silhouette of a dark dressed girl, wavy hair unbound around her shoulders.

  “Liath...”

  She nodded, and stepped back inside, moving like someone in a dream. When Morgan followed, she was sitting on the floor in front of a small fire. He shook his windblown hair, dropped his cloak onto a chair and closed the door.

  “I...heard...your call,” he said, boot heels thudding as he walked across the bare wood floor. “I came as fast as I could. What happened, Liath?”

  She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking, then abruptly looked away into the hypnotic flickering of the fire. Morgan moved closer and crouched at her side, puzzled by the silence.

  “What is it? Tell me.”

  “I don't know the words,” she said after a time. “They never told me what to say.”

  “Who didn't?” he asked, brushing hair back from the side of her face, waiting so long for his answer that he thought she'd forgotten the question.

  “Your ancestors,” she replied, finally looking into his eyes.

  “My...ancestors...?” he repeated slowly, wondering what on Earth had been going on. “But what happened to you? How did you get here...? Why?”

  “I'll show you,” she said, climbing stiffly to her feet.

  Morgan grabbed hold of her hand and straightened up. “Wait, it's getting dark outside – you can't go wandering around the mountain at night. Show me in the morning.”

  “I can light our way,” she stated, gently, but firmly, pulling her hand free.

  “It's also getting very cold.”

  “I can stop the wind.”

  “Can you make the sun rise?”

  Liath stopped moving away and looked down at her hands in the dim light; they trembled slightly. She took a deep breath and began her narrative, using all her will-power to concentrate on the telling.

  “Before you arrived in Thesa, I found an old tunnel system, very deep below the Temple. No one h
ad been down there for a long time. I followed the tunnels until I came to a barrier. It was the magi's work, and I couldn't pass. So I returned to ground level meaning to try again another day. But you came, and I went to Delgannan instead. A couple of days after my return home I went down again. There were a series of barriers that I managed to pass through. At the end of everything, I found a stone hanging in the air – the Starstone shard. When I touched it...I was transported to one of the realms of the dead. Your ancestors were all there. I spoke with your father – he told me of the Land Power. The same thing Alaric mentioned, remember? What it was – what it did. Why he never told you of it. Then they all began to fade. Darkness returned, and I started falling. Before he went, Ulric told me to bind my power with that of the land...to close a way that had been opened...to keep Danaach world away...and to call you. I’ve done the first and last. I don't know what the way is or how to keep the Danaachs away or how to close it. And before the Danaachs are dealt with, you have to find your power.”

  Morgan took both her hands in his. “Liath, I've understood about one word in every six you've said. What do you mean, my power?”

  She sighed. “I know the land – most of her anyway – and I was shown the secrets she holds...” Her gaze drifted past him, lost in the flickering shadows, “Now it's your turn... The land wants you.”

  Morgan stared at her, his mind whirling with questions and comments, few of which made sense. But what Liath had just told him wasn't exactly crystal clear either.

  “The land wants me?”

  “She wants you,” the young seer agreed.

  “But... how did you get here?”

  “The shard – the third ray of the Starstone.”

  “It took you from Thesa – to the top of this mountain?” he asked, frowning.

  “Not the top. It took me into the heart of Delga; inside the mountain.”

  “Inside,” he repeated flatly, wondering if Liath's strangeness owed more to some exotic drug, rather than an actual event – she certainly wasn't acting normally.

  The seer focused her tired and slightly confused mind on Morgan, and looked deeply into his eyes. “She accepted me because of what I am; because the stone, and your ancestors, let me through. But it's a High Lord's birthright, and she wants you.”

  “She?”

  “Your Land.”

  “You speak of it as though it's a living woman,” he said, his frown deepening.

  “She is,” Liath stated.

  “Who are these Danaachs, or whatever?”

  “I'm...not sure...they... I remember... I don't know, Morgan,” she finally sighed.

  “Stay here while I bring some blankets and food in,” he said eventually. Then he strode out, hurriedly tended to the horses, and brought the saddles and baggage inside – half-expecting Liath to have vanished when he returned.

  But she was still there, knelt in front of the small fire, staring into the flames. Spreading out the blankets next to her, he sat down and opened the saddlebags. By the time he had put together a rough meal from the food left after his journey, Liath was curled up, fast asleep on one of the blankets.

  Morgan ate, watching her, and tried to figure out all she had told him. He gave up even before the meal was finished. Then, putting the remains aside, he brought his cloak from the chair and stretched out on the blankets next to Liath.

  A moment later, he sat up and stared at the fire. It was the same size and shape as it had been when he'd arrived. The flames were hot and burning brightly, but not eating away the wood.

  “Very useful,” he murmured, pulling the cloak over the young seer and himself. She moved in her sleep, turning towards him.

  “Lee – if you weren't so obviously in need of sleep...” he sighed, and contented himself with gently kissing her slightly parted lips.

  ***

  Liath woke him just before dawn.

  “I've taken care of the horses, they won't leave the valley. Come on.”

  “What...?” Morgan asked, sleepily sitting up.

  “Come on.”

  “It's not light yet,” he protested.

  Liath glared at him and snatched the cloak away. “Now!” she ordered.

  He sighed and slowly got himself ready. “Where do we go?”

  “Up.”

  “Up. Through the snow?”

  But she was already outside, waiting impatiently, with one of his blankets wrapped around her, fashioned into a poncho. He followed, the remaining food in a bag, blankets and bedroll over his shoulder.

  “Here,” he said, catching up to her at the rise of the valley side and holding out his extra knife. She gave him an odd look, but accepted it, stowing it away somewhere beneath the poncho.

  They climbed steadily for the rest of the morning. Morgan gave up trying to talk to her; every time he asked a question, she either ignored him, or waved him into silence. At noon, he called a halt and refused to go further until he had eaten. Liath shook her head when he offered her half of what he had left, but accepted water from his canteen. He was surprised at her stamina; she had set a fast pace and stayed ahead all the way. But what surprised him even more was the fact his muscles felt loose and untired by the climb, and he was ready to move even before the small meal was finished.

  As the sun set and stained the pure snow a rosy pink, Liath halted and spoke her first words since dawn that morning. “You feel it?”

  Standing at her side, looking up at the jagged peaks still high above them, Morgan nodded. All around, the land whispered to him, softly, like a lover. In comparison, Liath's voice had been harsh and gruff.

  He set off again, drawn a little higher to a short dark line, a shadow on the face of the rock. A tiny cave, little more than a crack in the mountain side, which became their home while Liath unlocked the secrets of the land for him. Binding her power with his, diverting energy from her farseeing until the futures were completely closed to her, she became part of him, part of Anraun, linking the two until she was an irrevocable part of both. A hand guiding the wind, a flicker of movement in a stream, the stillness of a stone, the life in the soil. She was a shadow, mutely watching the land seduce Morgan, seeing it change him, letting him into places that were denied to her; waiting alone until he returned, each time a little different, until even his identity was lost within the land.

  An icy wind blew fine powdery snow in through the narrow cave mouth, flickering the thin flames, sending shadows leaping wildly up the stone walls and across the inverted V of the ceiling. Liath pulled her blanket closer about her shoulders and stopped the wind before returning to this part of her vigil that had lasted three days, staring unwaveringly at him as he sat cross-legged on a blanket spread over the rocky floor. He was barefoot and naked to the waist, not feeling the cold, gazing blindly into the flames of a tiny fire.

  Some time later, he glanced up from the fire, face and eyes strangely unfamiliar. “There is...”

  His words trailed off, set aside and forgotten. He raised his right hand, turned it slowly to study back and front. Clenched and unclenched it, frowning slightly as though he hadn't expected it to close. He looked at her over the tops of his fingers.

  “I...am...” he began slowly, voice husky from disuse, then paused. “Who am I?”

  “You are Morgan,” she said softly. “High Lord of Anraun.”

  He nodded, eyes leaving hers, shifting to the slice of star-lit night between two jagged sides of cave-mouth. “How long?”

  “Two weeks. Your knowledge is almost complete.”

  Slowly and gracefully, he stood up, drawn to the dark sky, stepping outside.

  “Morgan,” Liath sighed, following him to the cave-mouth. She looked out; he had gone without leaving any sign. No footprints, no movement. Resting a hand flat against either side of the narrow gap, she breathed his name. The mountain, aware of her, and at Morgan's wish, sent heat outward through the rock, spreading warmth into the palms of her cold hands.

  Come with me.

 
“I can't. Not again,” she said aloud.

  My land will accept you.

  She closed her eyes and shivered, then opened them as the rock beneath her right hand moved and became living flesh. Morgan looked deep into her eyes and took hold of her hand as she moved it from his chest. Turning, he led her into the mountain, absorbing her apprehension, silently reassuring.

  They came to a cavern, walls lit with phosphorous lichen, birth-place of a subterranean river. Stepping out from the rock, Liath gasped like a drowning person, eyes wide with the shock of travelling through solid rock – something that her body and mind had not done together before.

  Morgan released her and slowly walked towards the crystal clear pool, glimmering like a jewel in the dish of the cavern. Crouching at the edge, he scooped up handfuls of glittering sandy clay, mounding it on the dry rock.

  Liath moved hesitantly away from the wall, standing where she could see his face. When there was a large pile of drying gold-dust clay, he began to spread it out, shaping it with hands and mind. She bent and looked into his eyes; they were veiled and secret, seeing something other than what lay before him. She backed away as he finished and leaned forward, breathing life into his creation. She spun and ran when the smooth female form reached a hand towards him; the gold-skinned woman with strange eyes she had foretold would be his wife, not realizing that the woman he had shaped out of the mountain, Delga, had her face and body.

  She woke, curled in blankets, alone in the tiny cave. Sunlight shone in, painfully bright in her eyes. She blocked it out with one arm and sat up, searching for Morgan, feeling for him on the wind, in the soil and plants, in the trees and streams, finally – reluctantly – delving into the mountain.

  Finding traces of his passing, she forced her mind deeper through solid rock. Her part in Morgan's birth-right was done, had been completed days ago, but still the High Lord remained within the land – with the essence he had drawn out of it and made live in human form.