The Thirteenth Scroll

by Rebecca Neason

  “Yes,” Renan called back. She heard the sound of his paddle in the water. His boat was beside hers when he spoke again.

  “Do either of you know what the sound is?” he asked.

  “Birds,” Lysandra replied confidently. “At this time of year, it’s probably mostly the nestlings singing, calling for food from their parents. Talog calls them the Plantgan yrAwyr, the Children of the Air. Isn’t that a lovely name?”

  “… ‘The hollow places where the children sing,’” Renan quoted Tambryn’s words.

  “Yes,” Lysandra agreed. “We found it. What do we do next?”

  “I’m not sure,” Renan replied. “Talog—do you know what’s ahead?”

  The Cryf shook his head. “It is Up-world,” he said.

  Although the twists of the river made it impossible to see very far ahead, the echoing sound was growing ever louder. Soon they needed to shout in order to hear each other. With a gesture, Lysandra gave up trying and sat back, grateful that her Sight had chosen to return this morning.

  The river course turned again and she saw the brightness pouring in from the distance. It was the light of the Up-world, the light of the sun and for Lysandra, it was a light she welcomed; it was the light of home. But what about Talog? she suddenly wondered. How will he fare in this new brightness?

  Just then she felt a blast of fear and pain coming from him, too powerful to be hidden or controlled. “Talog,” she said, automatically reaching out for him.

  He could not hear over the growing din of the birds and he jumped, startled, at her touch. He looked at her over his shoulder. His already-large eyes were now huge with his fear and, above them, his brow was furrowed against the pain that the growing brightness was causing him. Lysandra could feel how badly he wanted to close his eyes, to bury his head in his arms. She wished she had enough experience with boats to take over so he could turn away.

  The river was carrying them along in its current, but it was Talog’s guidance that kept them where they should be in the flow, guided them around obstacles and rocks, and made certain that their passage was as safe as it was swift. Lysandra could do nothing more than admire the strength of purpose and character that kept Talog at his task.

  There was one thing she could do. She had only ever tried this with an animal, never with a human—or a Cryf. And the last time she had failed, she thought, remembering the sick ewe. She was not certain she could reach past the presence of so many thoughts, past the emotions and fears—and now pain—that were part of a sentient mind. To do so, to absorb the pain into herself, meant she had to be able to keep her own mind clear so that she could remain receptive.

  But for Talog, she was willing to try.

  During the time she had spent in the Realm, the Cryf’s nearness had never overwhelmed her; their emotions, when she felt them at all, had usually come in soft waves. Not so with Talog’s feelings now. They were sharp and pounding. If Lysandra could receive them so intensely, she could hardly imagine what they must be like for the Cryf.

  Closing her eyes to concentrate, Lysandra willed her own mind to silence. Then, taking a deep breath to ready herself, she again reached out. This time her touch was firm and practiced, the touch of a healer upon a patient. She opened her mind to him and made herself a cup into which his pain and fear could pour.

  But what came into Lysandra’s mind did not pour like water into a cup… it flooded like a dam let loose. Although the language of the images and perceptions was unknown to her, the emotions were familiar—far too familiar.

  In the last two days, everything in Talog’s safe and happy life had changed completely—and to his mind, not for the better. He would do the duty Eiddig and his own belief in the Divine laid upon him, but his thoughts were filled with loss and fear.

  How well Lysandra knew those emotions. Her life had once ended in a day; all she had known, loved, believed, and held to, had been stripped from her, too.

  And, as Lysandra’s new life had come with blind darkness, Talog’s rode on the blinding glare of the sun.

  But the only pain her blindness had caused was internal. The sunlight hurt Talog’s eyes in a very real way; Lysandra felt the pain of knives stabbing into his eyeballs, blazing a fire in his brain.

  As Talog struggled to keep his eyes open enough to guide the boat, Lysandra fought her instinct to retreat from his pain. Her will finally won. Little by little, Talog’s physical sensations followed the route into her that his emotional turmoil had opened.

  Slowly, his distress became less debilitating; behind him, Lysandra was near to weeping with the pain she now carried for him. She barely noticed as the boats passed through the last great cavern of the underground, where tall columns of stone, hollowed out eons ago by moisture collecting and dripping into them, housed hundreds upon hundreds of nests, all filled with hatchlings calling to their parent birds.

  The air was alive with sound and movement. Bright wings beat the air with glossy feathers shining in the sunlight. They were like living jewels, shimmering in shades of crimson and yellow, brilliant blue and onyx black. The sound of their flight was like the heartbeat of the air.

  Lysandra’s Sight revealed it all, but her mind did not care. She cared about nothing until at last she heard Renan call to Talog to head for the bank. A long moment later, she felt the soft bump of landing, but she did not break contact with Talog until he moved away from her hand.

  As the pain began to fade, she saw that Renan had directed them to a place where trees grew to the water’s edge, giving thick shade to protect Talog’s eyes. Relief flooded Lysandra as she knew it had the young Cryf.

  Weak from her efforts, she let herself be helped onto dry land. Then she lay still upon the ground and waited for her strength to return. Cloud-Dancer came immediately to her side. He lay beside her, resting his head on her shoulder and softly nosing her cheek to make certain she was all right.

  Though it took great effort to move, she managed to lift her arm and drape it around him. His nearness, his warmth and his strength were like a balm. Cloud-Dancer gave her all of the comfort that she hoped she had given Talog.

  After a few minutes Lysandra felt she could sit up again. When she did, she found that some of their provisions had been unloaded and camp made. Renan was dressing Talog in some of his own clothes. His extra pants and tunic would cover the Cryf’s hair-laden body and make him look less strange to a casual glance. But most important of all was the knee-length cape now tied around Talog’s shoulders. Its hood could be pulled up to give shade and protection to the Cryf’s sensitive eyes.

  Her head was throbbing with residual pain; she could only imagine what Talog was feeling, even with the hood. As her companions noticed her movement, she used her Sight to study their expressions. Her sensitivity was in such a heightened state that their emotions reached her across the distance.

  From Renan, she felt admiration—which touched her, as did his concern for her safety, though she did not feel worthy of such esteem. She did no more than any healer would have done; she tried to ease the pain of a person in need. Melded with his concern for her she felt the fears he tried to keep hidden about the success of their mission. And there was something else, something Renan kept carefully locked away.

  From Talog she felt how much of his fear—at least of herself and Renan—had been banished. What remained was slowly being calmed by Renan’s kindness, just as his physical pain was relieved by the green shadows of the trees. His determination had grown and was no longer based solely on a sense of duty. He now wanted to be one of the company, to help herself and Renan and repay them for the ways they were helping him.

  Lysandra managed a weak smile. “I think,” she said, “that we had best do our traveling at night. The sun, it seems, has become an enemy. Our path must now be walked in darkness.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Lysandra and Talog, Renan and Cloud-Dancer traveled four nights on the Great River that formed the border between the provinces of Rathreagh and
Tievebrack. Dressed in Renan’s clothing, the hood of the cape pulled over his head, Talog drew no attention from the few people they passed. With the warming weather, it was not unusual to see fishermen trying their luck with the spring runs.

  If they were seen at all during the brief gray times just after dawn or just before sunset, they elicited little more than a pleasant wave or slightly shouted greeting. Still, Talog was nervous. He had accepted Renan and Lysandra, but he believed all others might kill him if they knew that he was Cryf. So far, nothing his companions could say had convinced him otherwise.

  Now it was time to leave the river, and Renan was worried about how Talog would react. For this reason, he had put off saying anything when they had drawn their boats to shore to sleep through the brightness of the day. But now that the sun was setting, he could delay no longer.

  Their map of the river was recent, for the Great River, Eiddig said, began within the Realm of the Cryf and was “given unto them by the Hand of the Divine.” Therefore, under the cover of night, some were still brave enough to travel it. The Great River was holy to the Cryf, and every change the seasons brought had been carefully and faithfully charted to show every twist and turn of the watercourse, every inlet or rocky outcropping along the bank.

  That alone would have made it a fine map, as worthy a work as that of any cartographer Renan had ever seen. But there was more. The Cryf map indicated every change in depth and current, each area of danger to be avoided—even where the fish gathered, fed, or spawned.

  If their mapmakers are willing to brave leaving the realm for the sake of this information, Renan thought, there must be something I can say to Talog that will ease his mind for the overland journey ahead.

  The evening fire to cook their meal was already burning, warm and welcome in the lowering dusk. Lysandra had, as usual, brewed them a tea. Each day, the infusion changed as she chose which herbs to use by the properties she thought would best meet the travelers’ needs. Renan’s favorite one so far had been the licorice root and mint, and now he thought of each new cup as a pleasant discovery waiting to be made.

  Grabbing the oilskin pouch that contained the Scroll of Tambryn and the maps that were guiding them, Renan came around the fire to sit beside Talog. Lysandra began pouring the newest tea into three wooden mugs. She moved with such confidence, that Renan was certain her Sight was active again. As always, he was struck with nothing less than awe at this gift, and the many others that made up this complex and fascinating woman.

  Renan would not let himself dwell on that thought, although his heart did not want to think of anything else. That way lay danger. Becoming a priest had been more than just his spiritual salvation—it had saved his sanity and probably his life. Despite how his heart whispered that in Lysandra he had met the one woman he could love beyond the bounds of time, there was too much at stake now to risk… not only for himself, or for her, but for all of Aghamore.

  Without looking at her face, her gentle expression that never failed to move him, Renan accepted the mug she held out to him. He murmured a quick thanks, pretending to be fully engrossed in the pouch of maps. The aroma of the tea reminded Renan of a spring meadow; it smelled to him like growing plants and sunshine. It was a bright clean aroma that made Renan smile even before he took a sip.

  “Lemon balm and betony,” Lysandra informed him before he could ask, “with a touch of mint and honey to blend and bring out the flavors.”

  Wondering why she had chosen that particular combination, Renan reached inside the pouch and withdrew two of the Cryf maps. The first was the map of the river. The second was of Rathreagh; again, the finest, most exact map he had ever seen. He rarely bothered to consult the map of Aghamore with which they had begun this journey. It could not compare with the maps of Cryf origin.

  He started with the map of the river, folding it back to show the stretch they had covered last night. Then he turned to Talog.

  “If I’m reading the map Eiddig-Sant gave me correctly,” he said, “I think we’re here. Do you agree?

  The young Cryf looked at the map for a moment, then looked out, studying the river. When he looked back at the map, he moved Renan’s finger minutely.

  “Here,” he said.

  With a little nod, Renan then brought out the map of Rathreagh. This took a little longer to find just the right place, but after a moment he again asked Talog if he had found the right place. He wanted the young Cryf to say it was time to leave the river.

  Perhaps he thought, if Talog is the first to say it, if he’s guiding us, he won’t find the idea so frightening. It was not much of a plan, but he could think of no better way to help ease Talog into the first night’s journey overland. The river was still a connection with the Realm of the Cryf, though a tenuous one at this distance. By leaving the river behind, Talog would truly be traveling “Up-world.”

  Once Talog had confirmed their location on this new map, Renan unfolded it further still and smoothed it across his knees. He wished, briefly, that he had a lantern or a torch, or even some of the Cryf’s glowing stones to add some light to the thickening twilight. But Talog could see much better in this semidarkness than he could—and it gave Renan a reason to need the young Cryf’s help.

  “I should have checked this before the sun set completely,” he said, using his best excuse, “but I slept too long. Will you help me check tonight’s course, Talog?”

  The Cryf, never one for unnecessary words, gave a sharp nod. Now, Renan knew, he must choose his words carefully.

  “Eiddig-Sant showed me where he believes the Holy Words of the Cryf—and the words of our ancient Guide, Tambryn—are leading us. He has marked the map, but I can’t see it. Can you?”

  Talog had been studying the map. Renan held very still, hoping his ploy would work. To stay on the river any farther would take them away from their direction; Renan hoped Talog would see this clearly and make the choice of the way they should go.

  The Cryf put a finger on the map, studying it. Then, finally, he looked at Renan.

  “Eiddig-Sant hath marked this place,” he said of where his finger rested. “Our path now leaves the Great River, which giveth Life unto the Cryf. We go now where our travels shall know no peace.” He stood. “I shall empty the boats.”

  Renan thought he detected a slight waver in Talog’s voice, but rather than embarrass the young Cryf Renan said nothing. He gave Talog a small nod and turned his attention to folding the map. Then he rose to help Talog—and perhaps offer some words of encouragement.

  But Lysandra stopped him. “Don’t,” she said softly. “He needs to be alone. He knew this day was coming, and he needs a few minutes to make peace with it. He will—he’s stronger and braver than he thinks.”

  “How do you know all this?” Renan asked.

  “Because we are all stronger and braver than we think, if the need is great enough,” she said. “It is life’s demand of us—and its gift to us. Without it, few of us would survive past childhood.”

  She’s right, Renan acknowledged silently. Life was full of unseen moments and possible dangers, threats from within and without, that each person’s heart was continually called upon to face and conquer. To be alive was the bravest act of all—everything else was just circumstance.

  “Tell me about today’s tea,” he said, settling back down and turning the subject to something pleasant while they waited for Talog. “What was it you gave us?”

  “Lemon balm and betony,” she said, smiling, “with mint and honey. Both lemon balm and betony calm anxiety. Betony also strengthens the heart and promotes courage. Lemon balm clears the head and encourages insight while banishing fear and tension from both the mind and body. The mint helps regulate breathing and digestion—and it tastes good, as does the honey. It’s a highly beneficial combination.”

  “How did you know we’d need it today?” Renan asked.

  “This morning when we put in to shore, you were nervous about something. I could hear it in your voice and in
the way you moved. I decided then that if you were affected by whatever was coming, the rest of us would need calming, too. Although, I have to admit that while riding in a boat is not as terrifying as I anticipated at first, I’ll enjoy having solid land beneath me. I think Cloud-Dancer will, too. Won’t you, boy?” she said as she ran a hand down his fur.

  The animal looked up at her with adoring eyes. Renan wished, briefly, that he had the freedom to do the same. Then he pushed the thought away, burying his feelings again before they became too strong.

  Lysandra, done petting Cloud-Dancer, was busy again. “Talog has had his time now,” she said. “Will you bring him back to the fire? It’s time we all had something to eat before we start walking.”

  Food consumed and provisions unloaded, Renan and Talog hid the boats deep within a nearby thicket, hoping they would not be found before they could return and claim them. Their supplies were redistributed into three packs, with the lightest one given to Lysandra. As they began the final long stage of their journey to find the one whom prophecy named the Font of Wisdom, Lysandra could feel the young Cryf’s fear—and the lessening of his tension as hour by hour passed without encountering another soul.

  Rathreagh was a wild and desolate place, not at all like the forest in which Lysandra was used to walking. Had it not been that both the scroll and the Holy Words insisted the Font of Wisdom “resideth within the Ninth House, yet unto a place where men’s eyes gaze not,” this province would have been the last place Lysandra would have chosen to go. Here, the poor, rocky soil and the stunted, gnarled trees frequently gave way to sudden and treacherous bogs. The hard stones were tiring to walk across, making Lysandra’s legs ache as they had not during all her long trek to Ballinrigh. She found herself actually missing the gentle rocking of the boats and wished, like Talog, that they were still safe upon the river.

  She kept a tight hold on Cloud-Dancer for she feared he might go dashing after a rabbit or some other creature and get trapped in one of the bogs. She borrowed his vision often, until that, too, became tiring. Most of the time she walked with neither vision nor Sight, guided by her wolf or by her human companions. While she walked, however, she tried to remember the clues Renan had read her from the scrolls. It was an exercise to keep her mind off her discomfort as much as to find new insight about their destination.