“All right. The party to Delgannan will set off in five days time. I’ll leave it to you all to decide what to occupy yourselves with until and on the journey, but I would suggest research – both into Danaach and what can defend against it. Meanwhile I shall write and advise Druin, and whoever Morgan has left in charge of Delgannan, of our findings and decisions,” the High Priestess replied.
“Will you not accompany us, Demora?” Mesar asked, pointedly.
The High Priestess stood, signifying an end to the meeting, smiled at the rogue mage as the others filed silently out, and shook her head. “But I would like to discuss a few things with you this evening, perhaps you could join me in a light supper...”
Chapter 27 – High Lord Returns
When they left the cave and came down from the mountains at the end of 21 days, there was a streak of silver at the peak of the High Lord's dark hair, and a narrow triangular scar on the palm of his right hand. He was leaner, every scrap of surplus flesh melted away into hard muscle and bone. There was an odd stillness about him, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and dark as a moonless night.
“Now you know your land,” the young wavy haired woman stated as they stopped their horses and looked back at the towering peaks.
“Yes, now I know my land,” he agreed. “And now I know you.”
Morgan looked at her expressionless face, and drew her eyes away from the mountains to his. She nodded slowly and smiled a little, feeling tiny muscles around her mouth work for the first time in almost a month. Then the faint smile disappeared as she spoke.
“We've forged a bond between us, Morgan, which should never have been made. Because of this – because one who is not of the High Lord’s line has shown and shared the power of the land – it's started a chain of events that will alter, even destroy, many of the laws ruling our lives. The Starstone – was there for some reason, I don't know what, and I can't sense anything, but there's something wrong about it. You've drained some of the magi's power from the land into you...” She stopped; most of the things set in motion during the past month were unclear, even to her.
That night, as the young lord lay on the ground wrapped in his cloak and a blanket, opposite the small fire from Liath, he heard his name; a gentle sound, blowing in the treetops and rustling in the long grass. He smiled as the land spoke to him with the girl's voice, then answered it softly and closed his eyes, cradled in the arms of his land.
Two days later, they rode quietly into the courtyard of the Great Hall – muffled against the heavy rain Liath had called to conceal their arrival – dismounted, and handed their reins to a damp, surprised stable-boy.
Leaving Liath and walking a little way into the gardens, Morgan stepped off the path and stood with his right hand resting on the trunk of a small mountain ash. For a split-second he felt a rush of vertigo, then he merged with the tree – became the tree – with roots deep in the soil, tickled by worms, branches reaching up to the overcast afternoon sky, leaves making light into food. Slow memories of seasons, warm and cold, flowers and berries, bees and birds, seedlings growing; mobile ones feeding, pruning, ridding bark of insects. Now – power, the lord, the land and the learning – the little tree rustled its leaves, the lord within laughed, and sap rose to the very tips of the smallest branch, strong; and the little tree grew.
When finally Morgan stepped back, smiling, and turned towards the path, the rain had stopped and Liath was nowhere in sight. But Balin was standing a few feet away, watching him with an odd, wary expression on his face, having seen Morgan blend into the tree, vanish, then minutes later reappear.
He strode forward, took the young lord's right hand and, kissing it, dropped to one knee, mindless of the wet ground. Morgan looked down in surprise at the top of the wild harper’s bowed head, then pulled him to his feet. “You've never done that before,” he stated.
“You've never really been the High Lord before,” Balin replied, as unsmiling as his lord and friend.
“You felt it?”
“Yes,” the harper sighed, troubled. “So did others. It took me a while to figure out what was happening, until I remembered some old bard rumors, things kept secret between order heads – that no others were supposed to be aware of. And I knew what it was... Damn it, Morgan! If only Ulric had told you! Tia'mar could have told you. But never a woman! Never Liath!”
Morgan, taken aback at the care-free harper’s worry and anger, two emotions almost unheard of in the strange silver-haired man, stared in surprise.
“Just as a High Priestess passes on her knowledge to her female successor, so does a High Lord pass on his to son or heir,” Balin continued. “A woman has never used, or shaped the Land-power like that before. Liath being what she is just compounded the harm. Doing that was against all laws, Morgan! The land should have rejected a female – and you for introducing one!”
“Calm down, Balin,” Morgan said, resting his hand on the bard's shoulder. “I didn't introduce her, Liath was sent by the old lords. But she's used all the elements many times before – earth included. Why should this be so different?”
“Because of what she was showing you!” he snapped, long black eyes narrowing as he tried to convey to Morgan just how serious this all was. “And you, of all people, know the land is not just earth!”
“All right, Bal, all right. But if it's so important, why was I never told? Why didn't Ulric let me know?”
The truth was Ulric had never needed to use his inherent power, nor had he even been told much about it by his own father; and in the last couple of years before his sudden death he had cared little for anything but hunting, women and drinking.
“Come to Druin's workrooms and I'll try to explain. He and his apprentices are all out; we won't be disturbed there.”
In silence, the two tall men followed the path back to the Great Hall, heading across the corner of the courtyard to an iron bound door in the wall of the east wing. Balin opened it, then stood to one side for Morgan to precede him. Halfway down the corridor was another door leading to the small ante-room where Druin received his patients in private.
“Sit down,” Balin instructed, waving to one of four straight backed chairs round the table beneath the window. “Druin's out at the moment but he'll be back early this evening.”
Morgan nodded and sat down, resting his fingers lightly on the edge of the round oak table, feeling its smooth-worn surface, it's age and history.
“I'm sure you know by now that in the last 20 or so lordships there was little need for any of your ancestors to use their Land-power, and they became simply rulers, letting the temple and magi assume more and more of the duties they had once performed. Regulating the climate, keeping pest and disease from the soil and living things, making sure the right things happened at the right times, and so on. Yet when each lord felt he was near to death, or ready to hand over rule to his heir, the two of them would leave Delgannan and go into the mountains where you met Liath. There, the old lord, in the space of two days, would pass on his knowledge to the new. But gradually, over the last seven or eight lordships, even that tradition died out until it was just a passing of spoken lore at the end of one lord's life.”
“Two days!” Morgan broke in finally, as the implications dawned. “We were there for three weeks.”
Balin stared at him. “You were gone for five days. I know it takes longer than that to travel so high into the mountains and back and have two days in between... but it has only been five days since you left.”
“Goddess,” Morgan murmured. Using his newly awakened and completely untried senses, he realized what the harper said was true. “But why did all the High Priestesses allow this to happen? Why let the High Lords forget their power?”
The silver-haired harper shrugged his shoulders. “There are as many reasons for that as there are for the lord's ignoring their land-rights. And not all the two leaders of Anraun were as amicable as yourself and Demora. Anyway, as time passed, the country grew in strength and
we all became more civilized. There was really little need, so everyone thought, to utilize any but the minimum of effort to keep things running smoothly.” Balin finally forced a smile, light from the window glinting in his ebony eyes. “You are the first lord in centuries to feel as you do now.” He leaned against the back of his chair and added, perhaps not a hundred percent truthfully, “I'm glad it's you, Morgan. Incidentally, I like the hair.”
“I feel...complete,” Morgan replied, smiling and running his fingers through the streak of silver. “If still a little – a lot – confused. There were some things Liath couldn't show me, and I stumbled across them almost by accident. And I don't know how she managed to do all she did – nor pretend to understand the half of it – but the land accepted her. Not as easily and without reservation as it did me, and there are things between the two of them – that sounds so strange to say – that I don’t know about. But I...know how you feel about her, Balin, and you're never far from her thoughts...but now, what I share with her seems to exceed...ordinary love... Shit, just listen to me,” Morgan sighed, would have been embarrassed with any other but the harper. “I sound as bad as you! I never considered myself a romantic… at least, not until I met Liath.”
“And she created one hell of a fuss at the Temple – breaking down barriers the magi had erected centuries ago, causing a cave-in, vanishing. My uncle suddenly appeared after 20 years away from Thesa, with an odd assortment of associates. The same morning Lee's cousin and the magus' young brother turned up, all knowing something was wrong. And then the note you left...” the harper shook his head. “It would be a lot less worrying all around if you two had never met.”
Morgan smiled faintly, then gazed out of the window for a moment, before looking across at Balin. “Why must no female be a part of the land? It seems a complete contradiction to all the Temple teaches?”
“I'm not sure of the original reason. There are a few explanations given in bard lore – the most common is that the land is female and has to be joined to its opposite, for the most fruitful and beneficial relationship; hence the roles played in ritual and rites.”
Morgan nodded, accepting that explanation, but still feeling there were things Balin was withholding, or perhaps didn't even know. Skilled and clever, and sneaky, as the silver-haired harper was, he still wasn't privy to the deepest secrets of his order, nor of Jarek, it's Head. Sighing, he looked down at the scar on the palm of his right hand, tracing its triangular outline with his fingertips.
The harper frowned, then reached out across the table to take hold of the young lord's hand.
“The Starstone shard...” he breathed, looking up from the scar into Morgan's veiled eyes. “ You held the shard!”
“Yes. That's what was hidden beneath the Temple, and what took Liath from there to the mountain. What is it, Balin?” Morgan asked as the expression on his harper’s face froze into something like fear.
“That's what the trouble is,” Balin said quietly. “Not just a woman being involved in this. It's the Stone.”
“Liath touched it, I touched it, it burned us both but only left a mark on me. Yet it was used by all the High Lords to aid transference of power,” Morgan's eyes grew unfocused, voice slow and quiet. “It's original – primary objective was to open and close something...it was whole then...a gem in the shape of a star – the Starstone...created by the Prime Lords of many worlds, including ours...from the energies and powers of their worlds... To be a key...then it...it...was so, so...powerful it had to separated – taken apart. There were...seven. Six shards...one heart...” He paused, ran a hand over his face, and rubbed his temples, cheeks paling a little beneath his light tan. “Because of the, the kind of power drawn from Anraun by the Prime, the High Lord...it needed to manifest itself. The energies bound in our shard...had to have... somewhere to...go. To be...to become. It became female, the opposite of the lord...the balance...the Goddess incarnate. She became Delga...the power of Anraun... ohhh,” he groaned quietly, rubbing the heel of one hand against his brow, closed his eyes and carried on speaking. “Delga...found a High Priestess...founded a link between her...Anraun...and the people. Through her High Priestess she could...contact the High Lord...the Prime...who had called her forth...in whose...mind she’d seen...her...self...ohhh... Now...we can...use...keys for… It's what...Liath... It will... Goddess... Mind's on fire...!” he groaned, pressing the palms of his hands to the sides of his head, face pale and sweating, teeth clenched.
The door burst open, hanging off warped hinges, the lock broken. Liath, wide-eyed, aware of Morgan's distress, dashed in. She knelt at the High Lord's feet and took his hands in hers. The air crackled around them, spitting sparks from their joined hands, as she channeled and grounded the pain; tiny lightnings stabbing out at Balin, leaving smoldering pits in anything they touched. Slapping a scorched sleeve, the harper drew out of their range, and jumped further back as the flagstones beneath the chair split with a resounding crack.
***
Liath knelt on the dusty floor of a tiny temple at the end of a narrow grove in the far corner of the Great Hall's vast gardens. Before the larger temple in Delgannan had been built, the bron Sultain family had worshipped here; now it was deserted, unused for many decades. Gardeners swept it out occasionally and attempted to keep the garden at bay out of simple respect for the Goddess. Statues and shrine were still intact, walls and tiled floor whole, marked only by the passage of seasons and the tears of the black-dressed girl as she prayed.
“Dearest lady – I'm so confused, I want to run and hide from all this – from everyone – to be just me again. I know too much, too many things. My curiosity and vanity have caused untold harm – I don't know what to do, how to make things right again – you probably think it serves me right for meddling in the first place, for leaving my home and duties to come to Delgannan and see Morgan again. And even after Balin warned me not to become involved with Morgan, I ended up calling him to me and showed him things it wasn't my right to do...”
“But if it wasn't your right, young seer,” a female voice asked softly, “then why did the Goddess allow it to happen?”
Liath jumped and stared at the tall, green-robed woman, face veiled, who moved out of the shadows beside the shrine. She brushed at her wet cheeks and stood up.
“We all have free will, priestess,” she sighed, “I think mine just over-extended itself. I hope I didn't disturb you – are you from Delgannan's Temple?”
“I visit all the temples, everywhere, and you didn't disturb me. Perhaps, though, I could offer you some advice?”
“I would be grateful,” Liath said, trying to stare through the veil to see the woman's face. Although she wore green, it was not the deep olive of the Warrior order; neither was it that color faded, but the bright green of spring, and floor-length. “I'm Liath ap Dubve, Druin's daughter.”
“Yes, I know. He has spoken of you many times – he's very proud of you.”
“You're one of Father's friends?”
“I hope so,” she replied, and Liath could hear the smile in her calm voice.
“Have you known him long, priestess?”
“All his life.”
“Did you know my mother?” she asked eagerly.
“Alaneah? Yes, such a beautiful woman, such a tragedy when she died. But she lives on in you, Liath, you are becoming to look very much like her. Alaneah's hair was a little darker and she wasn't quite as...slender as you, nor as impulsive. But that's not a bad thing. Follow your instincts, child, do what you believe to be right, be where you think you ought to be, not where you imagine others want you to be.”
“I feel I should stay here,” Liath confessed. “For the time being, at least.”
The priestess nodded. “Morgan has more need of you than anyone in Thesa does.”
“Strange to think the High Lord has need of someone else – especially a female who's seven years his junior and hardly ever been out of Thesa,” she mused.
The other priestess laugh
ed softly. “But seers glean so much from the experiences of those they see for, don't you think?”
Liath shrugged and tried to look convinced, but only succeeded in staring down at the dusty toes of her black boots.
“Don't be so sad and unsure; there are many people who love you and will gladly give their aid when you need it, even the nightlord; even myself.”
The young seer looked up, smiling, then the smile faded as she scanned the small room. The strange priestess had vanished. A faint sound touched her ears. She stepped past the shrine and saw a narrow, shadowed door just shutting.
“Damn,” she muttered. “I wanted to ask which order she belonged to. Still, Father will know.”
Liath made her mind up to search out the green-robed priestess and ask if she had experienced the touch of the other world, and how she knew Morgan needed her. The clothes she’d worn were not for travelling, not by horse-back, and of a rather old-fashioned style. Normally, a calf–length garment or pants were worn, with a sleeveless fitted waistcoat of varying lengths over a shirt or top. There wasn’t a set uniform for the Temple, only the order color was required. With fashions from many worlds available, comfort and function often took priority over vogue.
Chapter 28 – Rainard Visits Varen
In the gloomy hall, chill even though it was almost three months into spring, Omell stood motionless behind a heavy, color faded tapestry, her back pressed against the cold, rough stone, her nose an inch away from a pair of small holes in the fabric of the hanging. Through these cunningly disguised perforations, she watched two strangers march up the hall to where Varen sat in his chair beside the hearth. Their clothing and weapons were of good quality, their bearing that of nobles. The girl shifted slightly to keep them in view, careful not to disturb the tapestry.
Varen stood as they halted in front of him and spoke their greetings. It only took a few moments for the two elder men to assess the other, to realize their natures and ambitions travelled, if not exactly the same path, ones closely parallel. Although they had never met before they knew of each other. The northern border of Varen's fiefdom was the coast; beyond that were the Isles of Yrloch. Strange tales had reached Rainard's ears concerning the hard and cruel lord of the keep, of his way with magics, and of the nightlord blood in his veins.
Starstone Page 23