Once more, Renan thought how remarkable and how strong she was. He still heard a hint of fear in her voice, but Lysandra was choosing to deny that fear any power over her. Renan would honor that choice… and he would do so with admiration.
He, too, sat up, glancing around their quarters. “I see they’ve brought us some food,” he said. “I’ll get it. You stay quiet a while longer.”
“No,” Lysandra said, “I’ve been in bed long enough. I need to find out what this place is like. Do you know what happened to my walking stick?”
“It’s here—I brought it. Let me get it for you.”
Lysandra let Renan do that much for her, but after he helped her from the sleeping shelf, describing as he did its size and height from the floor, she insisted on walking.
She used her stick and her hands to navigate to the front of the cave, where a table and benches made of creamy white and silver-veined marble were situated. She paused each time her fingers touched something new. After she had felt it for herself, she had Renan describe it, as if verifying the knowledge gained through her fingertips.
Reaching the table, Renan looked over the platters of food. He started to tell Lysandra what they were—or at least what he recognized—but again she stopped him. In this, too, she wanted to find her own way.
There were three large platters and a bowl, all beautifully carved from a pale green stone that was almost translucent. Tiny flecks of color deep within the green sparked each time the dishes were moved. The containers granted an almost ethereal beauty to the plain fare they contained.
One platter held rounds of bread, another strips of meat, or perhaps dried fish, Renan thought. The bowl contained a thick liquid; it was dark green and very fragrant. The final platter was piled high with what Renan guessed to be fruits, though he recognized few of them.
There were also smaller platters, plates for personal use. These appeared to be made of thin slices of white stone.
He watched Lysandra’s fingers lightly touch the different fruits. She paused over some of them, examining by feel their unfamiliarity. She then took some of the bread and the dried meat. Calling Cloud-Dancer, she fed him what was in her hands.
Once he was fed, she turned her attention to the bowl. Finding the large spoon that rested in it, she ladled some onto her plate and lifted that closer to her nose.
“Rosemary,” she said aloud, “watercress, sorrel, chaste-berry, parsnip, and… I’m not sure what else yet. It should be very nutritious.”
There were no small spoons. Lysandra immediately used some bread to mop up the liquid and, seeing her, Renan followed suit. The bread was soft, slightly sweetened, with a crunchy outer crust. The liquid was savory at first, then released a spicy bite. The dried meat was fish, as he had guessed, but it, too, was unlike any he had tasted before. It was wafer thin and flaky, and had a slightly salty flavor that somehow seemed to complete the other tastes that lingered in his mouth.
Renan knew himself to be a poor cook, and his inadequacies had made him usually indifferent toward food as long as it satisfied most of his hunger. But it was impossible to be indifferent toward this meal. He crumbled some of the dried fish into the liquid on his plate, scooped up a mouthful with the wonderful bread—and the resulting bite made him smile as he chewed.
He looked over at Lysandra, expecting to see her enjoyment of the meal as obvious as his own. He found a little frown on her face instead.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like it?”
“Oh, no, it’s wonderful,” she said. “It’s just that there are so many flavors here, I can’t identify them all.”
Renan laughed. “I don’t need to know what’s in it to enjoy it,” he said. “Maybe there’s an advantage to being neither a cook nor a gardener.”
Lysandra did not share in his laughter. “There’s more to this food then the way it tastes,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what, but in the same way I can see an illness or an injury, with this food I can taste the health and the strength it gives. How old do you think the Elder, Eiddig, is?”
Her question, asked so suddenly and seemingly out of context, surprised Renan. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice slightly hesitant. “Seventy, maybe seventy-five.”
Lysandra shook her head. “I don’t think so. My Sight showed me that he was old. How old, I don’t know—but it’s far older than seventy-five. Well over a century, I would guess.”
Now Renan was truly startled. “Your Sight could be wrong,” he said.
“It could be,” Lysandra agreed, “but it never has been before, and I’ve learned to trust it. There’s so much about the Cryf we don’t know. Even if they do live here, in this place no one has ever heard about, these people are part of Aghamore, too.”
“Perhaps that’s why the scroll directed us here,” Renan said softly, as much to himself as to her. “We’re here to find a way to bridge the differences and the fears that keep us separate.”
As he spoke, Eiddig entered. “Hast thou found the food to thy liking?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Renan replied, coming to his feet. “The food is wonderful. Thank you.”
“And thee, Healer?” Eiddig continued. “Hast thou recovered thy strength?”
“Some,” Lysandra answered. “Enough.”
“Good,” the old one said. “Then ye both must come with me. And thy beast. He, too, hath a part in what now awaits. It is time.”
Aurya did not order Giraldus, but using a few well-placed suggestions given with coaxing smiles, she let him think he had changed his own mind about marching on Ballinrigh. Instead of sending for his army, he sent word to a few specially chosen men to meet them as they continued north into Rathreagh.
Whatever she was supposed to find or do in Yembo had eluded Aurya, but she was determined to continue following the scroll. The child was still the key to everything—and Aurya would get the child no matter whom she had to use or what she had to do along the way.
Giraldus would be furious when he discovered that he, too, had been an unwitting victim of her magic. It would not be the magic that infuriated him; her powers were a tool he did not hesitate to use when he could profit by them. His anger would be that she used magic on him rather than for him.
But, as they rode away from Yembo, Aurya had every confidence in her ability to appease his anger—and with no more magic than every woman possessed.
They were the only ones riding away from Yembo; the Festival would continue for a week. But Aurya was becoming anxious to get back to Kilgarriff, where she was recognized—and obeyed. She’d had enough of places she did not know and people she could not control.
Soon, she told herself as she lifted her head in the bright May sunlight. She glanced at Giraldus riding beside her, their horses keeping time in an easy lope. A surge of confidence filled her like an internal breath from the warming day.
Do you see, Kizzie? she thought to the spirit of her former teacher. Do you see how well I use all that you taught me? I am everything you once said I could be—and more. And do you see, Mother? As I vowed when I left you, I am nothing like you. I am ashamed of nothing, afraid of nothing. I will have it all.
Chapter Eighteen
Lysandra held Renan’s hand as they were led from the cave where they had rested. Without her Sight, or even the ability to share Cloud-Dancer’s vision, she walked in true blindness, trying to ignore the fear that whispered in each breath.
Renan kept up a softly spoken stream of descriptions. It helped; she did not feel the darkness quite so heavily while he talked. Cloud-Dancer, too, was beside her. As always she was comforted by his closeness.
Despite his age, Eiddig set a quick pace, going as easily through these tunnels of stone as if he walked down a long corridor of a house. He did not take them back to the Great Cavern. Instead, Lysandra could hear the sound of running water. Soon, she began to feel the finest of sprays upon her cheeks, and the rock of the passageway became slick with moisture.
/> Then the passageway opened onto another cavern. Renan began to describe the sight to Lysandra. “This is truly amazing, Lysandra,” he whispered to her. “I could never have imagined such a sight. It’s not as big as the cavern where we were first taken, not even half as big, but there’s no ceiling. When I look up I see only darkness—as if it goes on forever. But the most amazing thing is the water… it falls straight down, out of the darkness, straight from the world above into a pool that is deep and shines like green crystal. Then the pool flows out from here—a river cutting through the stone.
“And the stone itself,” he continued, awe ringing in his voice. “Lysandra, I don’t know if my words can begin to convey the beauty here. The ledge on which we’re standing seems to be a slab of white crystal, somehow opaque and translucent at the same time. The walls have veins of gold and silver, pockets of crystals, both clear and colored—and oh, the colors in the stone itself. Luminous whites and deepest, shining black too dark for the eye to penetrate… greens, some almost as pale as a pearl and others as deep as a forest… blues that the sky and the ocean would envy… reds, purples and… oh, I wish you could see it. No garden above ever had colors more rich or beautiful than these.”
“Perhaps, sometime I shall see it,” Lysandra said, hoping her voice contained the confidence she did not feel. Her mind’s eye tried to form a picture from his words—but even her imagination remained in darkness.
Eiddig had waited silently while Renan described their surroundings. Now he turned toward them.
“Before ye is the heart of the Realm of the Cryf,” he said. “This is the birthplace of the Great River, which is the life’s blood of our world. Though the water falleth from the Up-world, no hand of your kind hath touched nor tainted it. Above this place in your world, stand the frozen peaks where no man walks. But the great Hand of the Divine hath opened the frozen places and turned the water aside, that it might come unto the Cryf and we could live. We honor both the Great River and the Hand that hath sent it unto us.”
Eiddig turned and bowed deeply toward the falling water. “Come,” he said to them. “We go now unto the Holy Place, where the words ye must hear have been safely kept from age unto age.”
The old one started walking across the crystal ledge, following the circle of the pool formed by the waterfall. Renan put his arm around Lysandra’s waist and his cross-hand held hers firmly.
“The water has made the footing slick,” he told her. “I won’t let you fall.”
His arm fell right, comforting and comfortable. The warmth of his body against her side made Lysandra want to lean into him—not to walk, but just to stand here being held. The feeling frightened her; she had not felt it since the last time Ultan had held her—ten years ago. She had never thought—or wanted—to experience it again.
And Renan… Father Renan, she reminded herself… was a priest. He would not, he could not, be feeling the same way.
You’re just tired, she told herself as they started to walk. These feelings aren’t real. They’re just born out of the situation and because you feel helpless again. They’ll go away when the Sight returns.
Spray doused her face as they neared the waterfall. The sound of falling water became too loud for her to hear anything else… except her own thoughts, and those she would not allow.
Finally, their clothing becoming soaked from the thickening spray, they followed Eiddig behind the waterfall. There, another cave welcomed them. It was filled with warmth, and Lysandra was glad to get out of the chilling shower.
Renan began to describe their new path. The ceiling here was scarcely a handbreadth above his head, and the entryway was both long and narrow. The stones, providing illumination, were laid out as a single row on either side. The whole effect sounded claustrophobic, and Lysandra was grateful for once that she could not see it.
Finally, the long entrance opened into a larger room. It was from there the heat emanated. Hot air rose from fissures in the rock, filling the place with a welcome warmth.
“The other Elders are here,” Renan whispered to her. “They’re all seated at the back. I don’t think they look pleased.”
Lysandra gave a little nod to let him know that she heard, but she concentrated on trying to feel the emotions of the Elders. But, like her Sight, that, too, was denied her. For all that her inner senses were telling her, she could have been standing alone.
In this cave, where the walls were closer and the air warmer, she noticed for the first time the scent given off by the Cryf. It was not unpleasant but it was distinctive—warm and earthy. It was also sweet, reminding Lysandra of her garden in the sunshine.
The Cryf are truly a people of the earth, she thought suddenly. Much more so than the farmers or woodsmen who claim the title. They are so much a part of this realm that even the scent of their bodies proclaims their unity.
Eiddig motioned them toward a rock shelf that extended, bench high, from the wall on their left. Once they were settled, Eiddig turned to the other Elders.
“Full eighty cycles of the Great River have I been Leader and Guide unto our people,” he said to them. “Eighty times hath the River swelled and eighty times fallen. With the rebirth of each cycle, eighty times have I returned unto this Holy Place to read again the Words, that my heart would be purified and my eyes opened, prepared for the day when the Words would be fulfilled.
“I, Eiddig-Sant, Keeper of the Holy Words, Leader and Guide of the Cryf—whose name meaneth Strong—say that the time foretold unto us by the Mind of the Divine, given unto the great Dewi-Sant, first of us who carried the Staff, is now come. If any here believeth not with me, speak thy doubt aloud.”
Eiddig waited; so did Lysandra. She was fairly certain she understood the oddly styled speech of the Elder. The scrolls and prophecies of Tambryn had their counterpart here with the Cryf, and Lysandra felt somehow certain that these Holy Words were far more ancient than Tambryn’s.
One of the Cryf Elders finally stood. “I be Jarim,” he said formally, “Elder of the Fourth Clan. I question not the Will of the Divine nor the great wisdom of Eiddig-Sant. Thou hast Guided the Cryf well. I say only that before the Holy Words be spoken unto the ears of Upworlders, thy heart must be certain. Past deceit hath taught the Cryf that the hearts of Up-worlders be not true. Once the Holy Words be spoken, they can not be hidden again. If these Up-worlders be not true, the tears of the Cryf shall fill the Great River.”
There was a soft murmur of agreement among the Elders. Then Eiddig spoke again.
“For his wisdom was Jarim named Elder of the Fourth Clan, and with wisdom doth he now speak. Yet I tell thee, since first these Up-worlders did come among us, long hours have I spent in this Holy Place, reading again the Words and seeking the Mind of the Divine upon this question. I say that these be indeed The Ones. All that was shown unto Dewi-Sant hath come to pass. They be as he said they would be.”
Eiddig brought his staff down hard upon the stone floor. The sudden crack that ricocheted around the cave walls was less unsettling, however, than the words that followed.
“‘… And so shall the Up-world be in turmoil,” Eiddig said, his voice taking on the singsong cadence of recitation. “Darkness shall threaten all and only the Hidden One who holdeth the Core of Wisdom within can keep the darkness from destroying both the Up-world and the Realm of the Strong.
“‘At this time shall three travelers find the shadowed door and enter where no Up-worlder may find their way. But they are as no other Up-worlders, for their hearts contain not the stain of greed, and they come unto the Cryf to heal not to destroy.
“‘By these signs shalt thou know them. One traveler shall be a Servant of the Divine. This one walks the Path of Light and carrieth that which gives guidance unto their journey. The second traveler seeth with eyes of blindness and heareth the unspoken word. This one doth own the Hands of Healing and is one with the gifts of the earth. The third of this company walketh not on two feet, but on four, a beast whose fur is like unto vein
s of silver that runneth through white crystal and whose eyes shine like unto blue agates. This one hath chosen a heart of loyalty and turneth from the wild and fierce ways.
“’These travelers shall take the sorrows of the Cryf as their own. Their hands shall be quick to help in trouble, and their hearts shall be filled with understanding…’”
Eiddig stopped his recitation of the Holy Words. Immediately, one of the Elders stood. It was a female this time.
“I be Berla,” she said, “Elder of the Seventh Clan. I say that once more the vision of Eiddig-Sant hath been clear for he hath seen and known these Up-worlders as the Travelers foretold by Dewi-Sant. I say, let what remaineth of the Holy Words be spoken unto our ears and unto the ears of these Up-Worlders so that the Cryf may show that we serve the Will of the Divine in this, as in all things.”
“So say I,” came another voice and then another. Lysandra counted twelve all told; the Elders were in agreement.
“Sixteen times did the Divine reveal unto the great Dewi-Sant what was to be. It is of the Thirteenth Showing we speak now,” Eiddig said.
Like the Thirteenth Scroll, Lysandra thought. Does the number mean something? Something I don’t understand?
She heard Eiddig’s footsteps coming closer. He stopped in front of Renan, and she wondered if the priest was aware that his hand tightened on her own, or if he even realized that he still held her hand though she no longer needed his guidance. It felt so right, so comfortable for their hands to be joined, that she had stopped noticing until just now.
“Thou art truly a Servant of the Divine,” Eiddig said, somewhere between a question and a statement.
“I am a priest,” Renan answered, “a Guide for my people.”
“For thee was Dewi-Sant given these words. Listen well, for thou knowest that the Divine giveth only the Truth, but the Truth be ofttimes difficult to hear.”
“I will listen,” Renan assured him, “and I will hear.”
“Well dost thou speak and with wisdom—as must a Guide.”
The Thirteenth Scroll Page 19