The Thirteenth Scroll

by Rebecca Neason

  “I am weary, my son,” the Archbishop said softly—but not too softly, allowing himself to be overheard. “I would deem it an act of charity if you would take my place and lead us in the Office tonight, so that I may rest while we pray.”

  “It would be my joy to do so,” Elon replied.

  He knelt to receive the old man’s blessing, carefully appearing the soul of piety. Then, standing, he kept his expression controlled and humble, making certain the others thought him surprised—even overwhelmed—by the honor. His heart jumped and pounded with glee as he approached the lectern, but before beginning, he glanced out over the assembled bishops.

  The marked favor of the Archbishop had not been lost upon them. Bresal, Bishop of Rathreagh, looked thunderous; he had disliked Elon as far back as seminary days. Tavic of Farnagh looked surprised. The rest wore expressions of resigned acceptance, signaling their recognition that the Archbishop had done more than give his support to Giraldus. He had just publicly picked his preferred successor.

  Elon kept his face a model of proper humility as he slowly lifted his hands in the ancient attitude of supplication.

  “Let my prayers be set forth as incense,” he intoned the opening line of the Office, chanting in his preferred mode, one as familiar to the others as it was to him.

  “And the lifting up of my hands be evening sacrifice,” came the response in the rich tones of well-practiced male voices.

  Elon continued, confidently leading the others through the chanted prayers. He let his elation slowly bloom across his face in a careful timing that let the others think he was responding to the ecstasy of prayer. In truth, as he mindlessly, automatically, conducted the ritual that had long ago ceased to have any meaning for him, he could already feel the weight of the triple-crowned mitre upon his head.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer, Renan and now Talog, prepared to leave the Realm of the Cryf. They would travel as far as possible on the Great River, in boats provided by the Cryf. Their provisions had been restocked and, much to Lysandra’s delight and relief, so had her herbs and medicines.

  The Cryf had been lavish with their gift of supplies. Eiddig, speaking for the Healers, also promised Lysandra that after she and the others returned, she would have both seeds and live cuttings of several plants to take back to her own garden.

  Now the Council of Elders, along with many of the other Cryf, were gathered to see the travelers off. One group of a dozen or so were clustered around Talog, embracing him by turns. With the resurgence of her Sight, Lysandra’s empathic abilities were also renewed, and she could feel the fear with which Talog’s family was sending him forth. She wanted to give them words of comfort, assurances that their loved one would be all right, but she could not. She knew no better than they what might await.

  Renan was talking with Eiddig. He had the scroll rolled out and propped open with rocks while the two of them squatted and drew in the sand. Like little boys playing a secret game, Lysandra thought, hoping that the old one and his Holy Words had insights that would clarify the journey ahead.

  Lysandra sat upon a rock by the water’s edge, Cloud-Dancer by her side. With her Sight she was examining the boats and the river, trying to build up her courage. She had never been in a boat before, had not been swimming since she was a child, and though she had told no one, the idea of traveling by water terrified her.

  She did not realize Renan and Eiddig had concluded their discussion until suddenly the priest was beside her. He was smiling confidently.

  “The boats will take several days off our journey,” he told her, “and make the going easier. The help of the Cryf is truly God-sent.”

  “You know where we’re going, then?”

  “I think so,” Renan answered. “Not the name of the town, but the area and what to look for. You remember how Eiddig said he’d been Guide of the Cryf for eighty years? Well, he was sixty before he took that office and he’s been studying those Holy Words since he began his training at the age of twenty. He knows them by heart. I thought I understood the Scroll of Tambryn fairly well, but he’s helped me see many little things that I was missing. I wish we could stay longer.”

  His voice was so enthusiastic, Lysandra could not help herself. “Can’t we?” she asked. “If the boats are going to shorten our journey by so much—“

  “No,” Renan said, shaking his head. “One thing both writings make clear is the need for haste. The Words of Dewi-Sant speak continually of the ‘beasts of darkness’ biting our heels. Eiddig believes this means that others are following us, trying to find the same child we seek. If these others, these ‘beasts of darkness,’ find the child first, then according to Tambryn, the ‘light that dawns in Aghamore will be put out and our eyes shall see no light again.’”

  Lysandra made no reply; what could she say to that? If they failed, the Aghamore she knew would die. Compared to that, riding in a boat did not seem so horrific after all.

  She stood, straightened her shoulders, and took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, “we’d best go then. ‘Sooner started, sooner finished,’ my mother used to say.”

  “And I agree,” Renan replied. “I’ll go tell Eiddig we’re ready.”

  The Cryf Guide was now with the others saying goodbye to Talog. When Renan approached them, Lysandra felt the burst of new fear race through the group. One of them, a slightly older female, suddenly threw her arms around Talog, as if not wanting to let him go.

  That’s his mother, Lysandra realized, feeling the unmistakable fear of losing a child.

  She suddenly felt a sense of loss for her own mother, something she had not experienced in too many years gone by. What would she have done? Lysandra wondered. Would she have cried and not wanted to let me go, fearful of the unknown?

  Then Lysandra shook her head. No, that would not have been her mother’s way. Her mother, in whom courage and duty ran as surely as this river, would have sent her daughter off proudly, her eyes dry and her head held high—and saved her tears for private.

  And I will do my mother’s memory proud, Lysandra thought, lifting her chin. Like her, I’ll try to keep my fears to myself and give only strength and encouragement to my companions… and I have Cloud-Dancer to help me, something my mother never had.

  Eiddig, Talog, and the other Cryf came with Renan back to where Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer waited. While they crowded around, Talog knelt to receive the Guide’s blessing. The old one placed his hand upon the younger Cryf’s forehead.

  “Talog, son of the Twelfth Clan,” he said, “thy shoulders be made strong to bear the burden now placed upon thee, for thou earnest the future of the Cryf with thee. The Divine, who hath created thee, shall be with thee and grant clarity unto thine eyes, wisdom unto thy mind, strength unto thy body, and courage unto thy heart.”

  When Eiddig finished, Talog rose and went to his boat, stepping into it with confident ease. Lysandra noticed that he did not look again at his family, but kept his eyes fixed on the river path they were to follow. Of his emotions, she could feel nothing.

  Eiddig now turned to Renan. The priest did not kneel, but met the Cryf’s stare as an equal—both Servants of the Divine. Lysandra could feel Eiddig’s approval.

  Still, he put his hand upon Renan’s forehead in the gesture Lysandra had seen him use in many situations. It was a sign of blessing, but Lysandra had the feeling there was more involved than that, something the Cryf Guide was sensing through that simple touch.

  “The Divine be ever with thee,” Eiddig said, “and guide thee, who art the Guide of this journey.”

  “And the Divine keep ye safe until we return,” Renan imparted his blessing in return, “and prepare your hearts to aid the one whom we now seek.”

  Renan, too, went to the boats and stepped into the second one with the same confidence Talog had shown. Lysandra would ride with Talog, the most experienced on the water. Renan, who knew boats from his youth, would follow with Cloud-Dancer.

  Eiddig now came
over to Lysandra and put one hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His other hand he placed on her forehead. He stood for a moment saying nothing, but Lysandra could feel the encouragement flowing from him and the strength he wished to share with her.

  “The Divine be with thee, Healer,” he said. “On thee hath been placed the heaviest burden of all, for Prophecy’s Hand alone can unlock the Wisdom that must be a salvation unto this land. But the Divine chooseth not unwisely. Thou hast been given all thou needest. It dwelleth within thee. Trust unto the Gifts of the Divine and so shall thy heart find its surety and strength.”

  Lysandra bowed her head, silently praying Eiddig’s words were true. Then she saw the Cryf lay a hand on Cloud-Dancer’s head and heard him softly say a blessing for the wolf as well.

  It was now their turn to get into the boats, but even with her Sight Lysandra felt none of the confidence the others had displayed. With a word, she sent Cloud-Dancer into Renan’s boat, and at her order to stay, the wolf settled down peacefully.

  Lysandra now turned toward the boat that was to carry her. Although she had promised herself to hide her fears, she knew the intensity of this one must show on her face. But Eiddig was there to guide her, and Talog turned to take her other hand. As she touched the younger Cryf, she was suddenly flooded with all the emotions he was keeping so firmly locked away.

  He, too, was afraid—afraid of her and Renan as Upworlders, afraid of leaving the safety of this underground Realm and his people, afraid of all the unknowns that awaited him and afraid he would never return. All of these fears were overlaid with his deep sense of duty and his unwavering belief in the protection and Will of the Divine.

  But he’s not afraid of this boat or of the water, Lysandra thought. Taking a deep breath, she let herself be guided to her seat.

  Once she was settled, Talog used his paddle to push the boat out into the river’s current. As the boats began to move away, Eiddig raised his staff high above his head.

  “Remember that the Divine goeth with ye,” he called after them, “and hath already chosen your way. Though troubles lie before ye, fear not. Ye are companions by the Hand of the Divine. Walk ye in faith and ye shall return to us. We shall await your return in that same faith…”

  The current was swift and they were being carried quickly away. Eiddig’s voice faded, and soon they were traveling in silence. Not even the river made a noise as it carried them through the stone-walled wonder that was the Realm of the Cryf.

  The silence was so complete Lysandra could not tell if they had been on the river for one hour or three, if they had traveled five miles or fifty. Her Sight became an intermittent thing, coming or going on its own whim. In the moments of its absence, with not even Cloud-Dancer’s presence to comfort her, Lysandra felt the silence like a physical weight on her chest, pushing her down and making it difficult to breathe. In those moments, she had to fight against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to shout at the others to talk to her, tell her anything just so she would know she was not alone.

  During the times when her Sight returned, Lysandra lost her fear in the breathtaking beauty of the river’s course. It wound through rock worn to shapes her mind could not have constructed, where the different strata of stone painted the walls with stripes of wonder. Veins of gold and silver, clusters of crystals and colored gems caught the light of the luminous stones that were everywhere in this strange and amazing Realm. She understood why the Cryf spoke of the Divine so often and intimately; they lived in a Realm no human hand could have created.

  Through all this time and distance, her companion made no effort at conversation. Lysandra was not certain how to break his silence, but gathering up her courage, she knew she had to try and find something they could say to one another.

  “If we’re going to travel together,” she said at last, “we should get to know each other—don’t you think? Eiddig said we would need to trust and—“ she let her voice trail off.

  The young Cryf turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “I am Talog,” he said, turning back around.

  “That much I know,” Lysandra replied, not ready to give up. “I also know that you are twenty years—twenty cycles—old and that you are training to be the next Guide to your people.”

  Talog lifted one shoulder in a stoic shrug. “What more needest thou know?”

  Lysandra was quiet for a moment, thinking. She would have to try another tack.

  “Why would Eiddig choose you to come with us?” she asked. “Or did you volunteer?”

  Again Talog threw her a glance over his shoulder. “What be that word—volunteer?” he said it slowly, as if feeling it in his mouth.

  “It means you asked to come with us—yourself, instead of Eiddig telling you to.”

  “I did not—volunteer—to leave my home,” Talog said, still speaking slowly. “Eiddig did not tell me. The Divine chooseth and so I go.”

  He doesn’t know our language well, Lysandra realized, listening to the hesitant way he put the words together.

  “Talog,” she said, “how is it that you and Eiddig speak our language when the Cryf have a language of their own?”

  “All the Cryf know the tongue of the Holy Words,” he replied.

  Had she finally found the way to reach through his barriers? Lysandra wondered. “I would like to learn the language of the Cryf. Will you teach me?” she asked.

  Talog gave a single nod. “I shall teach,” he said. “Thou choosest.”

  Choose? she thought. Choose what—the words?

  “All right,” she said. “Cryf, the name of your people—it means Strong in our language, right?”

  Again came the single nod. “We are The Strong,” he said, pride ringing in his voice. “Strong be we in body and strong in service unto the Divine.”

  “You are training to be a Guide of the Cryf. What is that word, Guide?”

  “Arweinydd.”

  “Arweinydd,” Lysandra repeated, trying to match his pronunciation but failing her attempt to roll her “r” or to produce the same lilt that ran through the word.

  “What is the Cryf word for healer?” she asked next.

  “Meddyg,” Talog said. “Thou art Meddyg.”

  Over the next hour they traded words. Most of them were simple, like cwch for boat and dwr for water. Lysandra learned that Cloud-Dancer’s name in the language of the Cryf was Cwmwl-Dannsio when translated exactly, though Talog explained that the Cryf would say Dannsio gan Cwmwl—Dancer of Clouds.

  Her pronunciations were far from perfect, but Talog never laughed. He occasionally corrected her gently, and it was a pleasant way to pass the time.

  Renan will enjoy this when we make camp, she thought. Perhaps by the time we return we’ll be able to talk with the Cryf in their language—at least a little. Maybe then more of them will learn that not all Up-worlders are the same or need to be feared.

  They did not make it out of the Realm of the Cryf that first day, but made camp along the river when their bodies told them it was time to rest. For the first several hours, Lysandra found that her balance was precarious; walking or sitting, she still felt as if the boat were beneath her and she was yet being rocked by the gentle motion of the river. It was disconcerting enough to make it difficult to sleep—but her fatigue finally won.

  When she awoke in the morning, the sensation was gone and solid land felt solid again. The Cryf had provided them with plenty of travel-food, so breakfast was quickly consumed. The one thing Lysandra missed was a fire over which she could make some of the herbal tea with which she was used to starting her mornings. But the Great River provided cold, clean water for both drinking and washing, and Lysandra started her day feeling refreshed if not fully satisfied.

  “How much farther before we leave the underground?” Lysandra asked Talog, as they once again settled into their boat.

  Talog gave the single, one-shouldered shrug that Lysandra recognized as his general response whenever he did not know an ans
wer or understand a question. Sometimes, it was difficult to judge which one he meant.

  Lysandra saw that she would have to be content with that answer; Talog knew no more than they how long it would take to reach the outside. The outside. That thought made her smile. As beautiful as were the tunnels and caves that comprised the Realm of the Cryf, she missed the fresh air and the sounds of the birds; she missed the smell of the soil and the feel of the sun. She missed her own realm, the Up-world, where she belonged.

  It did not take long to get both boats cast off. Lysandra and Talog resumed their pastime of yesterday, exchanging words and sentences in each other’s language. But sometimes it was comfortable just to sit in silence. The fear with which she had begun this journey was gone. Today, as she became increasingly used to the gentle motion of the boat, she found it lulling—rather like being rocked to sleep. It was easy to close her eyes and let her thoughts drift.

  As she sat, eyes closed, during one of these times of companionable quiet, a strange noise began to touch the very edges of her awareness. It was both familiar and yet unlike any she had ever heard. Recognition nagged at her.

  “Talog,” she said finally, “do you hear that sound? Do you know what it is?”

  “Plantgan yrAwyr,” he said. “Where the Great River entereth the Up-world, the Plantgan yrAwyr, Children of the Air, make their homes where the two worlds do meet. They give their song unto the air which is their home. The Holy Words say the Plantgan yrAwyr were fashioned from the joy of the Divine, and they give their songs in thanksgiving for Life.”

  “Plantgan yrAwyr,” Lysandra tried. As she spoke the words, recognition dawned. Children of the air… singing their song…

  They were birds.

  “Birds,” she said aloud to Talog, “we call them birds. And there must be hundreds of them to make this much noise.”

  Excited now, she swung partway around. “Do you hear them?” she called to the boat behind her.