by Jean Johnson
Murmuring a harvesting spell, Aradin wafted some of the torn bits of foliage over to the path. Pulling out wide-mouthed sample jars, he sorted them with another spell and a tap of the carnelian-tipped wand in his hand, then scooped them into the glass containers, which went back into his sleeves. “I’ll want to analyze these as well. I’ll try to work quietly while you pray. If you finish with a little extra time to spare, you can help examine the Bower structure with the, ah . . . Teral says that one’s the amethyst-tipped wand. The readings from that should help draw a map on the tablet of the various power conduits running through the trees. From there, we can better determine what spells were woven into the structure, but forgotten long ago by the various Keepers.”
“Right. I think I should take that or a similar wand to the eastern locus tree, too, at midday,” she offered. “Maybe if you and I use that air-walking spell of yours, and trace the paths of the branches and roots more directly?”
“That should work,” he agreed, smiling briefly at her. “I could pull out some of the other wands, too, on the way, maybe get a few more samples. Particularly as we get closer to the tree, to see if a particular locus rift’s energies have a greater impact closer to the source.”
Saleria nodded. “I’m very grateful you’re here to help with this, Aradin. Until the other night when Guardian Kerric called, I didn’t even know that the waxy nodules on the underside of the Bower glowed. I was never here in the dark . . . yet I feel like I was lost in the dark, until you came.”
“Sometimes it just works out that way. Teral says you shouldn’t berate yourself for what happened in the past. Learn from mistakes and make amends when you finally notice the neglect. That’s all any of us can do,” Aradin relayed.
She nodded again. “It may take telling my brain that several more times before it sinks in, and I don’t always succeed in believing it, but I do know that all I can do sometimes is move on.”
NINE
Aradin’s head snapped up in startled realization. He stared unseeing through the mesh of the Bower dome for a long moment, so startled, he couldn’t even think a coherent thought at his Guide. Teral, equally shocked, stayed for a moment, then ducked into the Dark to ask it questions. Guessing which ones the older Witch intended to ask, Aradin focused on the outer world, leaving the inner one to his partner.
Turning, he spotted Saleria kneeling as usual in the center of the mossy ground. The midmorning prayers had been handled, a good lunch had been served by a contrite Nannan, and from the looks of the papers stacked in front of her, the Keeper of the Grove was almost done with the midafternoon lot.
Keeper, yes, but not fully its Guardian.
Aware she still had at least two more prayers to go, Aradin regathered his wits and turned back to the tablet resting on the worktable. A chime startled him into whipping around again just in time to see Saleria scowl and open her eyes. She glanced over at the mirror hanging in the air, little wisps of blonde hair floating around her head.
“I can get it,” Aradin offered, seeing her tenuous hold on the magics she had raised, and nearly lost at the interruption.
At her curt nod, he hurried across the patchwork ground, sticking mostly to the moss and stepping over the sap-slick flagstones. Their earlier efforts to clear the greenery from the ground had simply let the overflowing sap slowly seep out and coat everything. If his flash of insight was correct, they would be able to stop that overflow in short order, but it would first require figuring out how to do what needed to be done.
Tapping the mirror, he activated it with a touch of will and his favorite activation word. “Shauhan.”
The silvered glass flickered blue, then resolved into the image of a brown-haired man. He wore a plain but fine-spun brown tunic fastened down the front with the cloth buttons favored by the eastern kingdoms of Shattered Aiar. It almost blended into the image of book-laden shelves at his back, but not quite. The stranger narrowed his gray eyes. “You are not the Guardian of the Grove. Who are you, and what are you doing with this mirror?”
“You must be Guardian Kerric Vo Mos of the Tower,” Aradin stated quietly, making an educated guess. He kept his voice low and smooth, not wanting to disrupt his partner’s concentration. “I am Aradin Teral, assistant to Keeper Saleria—Guardian Shon Tastra can confirm my assignment. Guardian Saleria is currently busy at the moment with her midafternoon prayers. If you need to speak with her directly, I would suggest rescrying in . . . a quarter hour?” He glanced over at Saleria, who nodded but didn’t open her eyes. “Yes, in a quarter hour. Otherwise, if your query is simple, perhaps I might be able to handle it.”
“. . . I’ll call back.” A flick of Guardian Kerric’s hand ended the link.
Aradin returned to his workbench. He rechecked the notes on the crystal tablet, waiting for Saleria to finish. Teral returned before she did.
(Confirmed,) his Guide said. (The Keeper of the Grove is not fully attuned to all three rifts.)
(Why do I sense a hint of foreboding news in your tone?) Aradin asked.
(Because there is one,) Teral returned grimly. (The original Keeper, Patia, was strong enough to control and blend all three rifts at their full strength. None of us can do so. However . . . each of us is more than strong enough to control one of the rifts. Saleria, you . . . and me. And it would be a very good thing to attune each one of us to a specific locus tree, then blend our magics. But that draws up a host of other problems.)
(Such as our ongoing presence here, versus our duties to the Church back home,) Aradin agreed. (Teral, I can tell you right now that there is an entire lifetime’s worth of Hortimancy work here in the Grove, and I feel very much compelled to stay and help fix it . . . but I am also a Witch of Darkhana. Not just you, but me. We would have to obtain permission to stay. Not just from the Church elders, but from our God and Goddess, and from the God and Goddess of this land.)
Teral agreed. (True. But we don’t have to wait for the Convocation to do so.)
(I know we can petition Darkhan and Dark Ana directly, but we don’t have that kind of connection with Jinga and Kata,) Aradin pointed out.
(No, but she does.) Teral didn’t have to nudge Aradin into glancing at their companion. Aradin was already staring at Saleria, if with a somewhat unfocused gaze.
Sharpening his attention, Aradin studied her. (How do you . . . ? Oh! The prayer petitions!)
Teral clasped him on the shoulder, soul to soul. Warmth flowed between the two men, until the older Guide patted and released him. (I will go speak with our Patron Deities. You find pen and paper to write her a petition. And do hurry; it looks like she’s down to her last sheet.)
(Last but one.) Letting Teral step off into the Dark, Aradin tugged a sheet out of his notebook and, grasping his translation pendant for surety, carefully wrote his request on the page. He stepped away from the table and crouched in front of the quietly praying woman, waiting for her to finish.
This close to the Katani priestess, Aradin felt the magic of her efforts against his skin like a warm, prickly breeze. The moment she sighed and moved to set the sheet in her hands aside, opening her eyes, he placed his quickly written page before her, turned so she could easily read it. Saleria’s brows rose, then drew down together . . . then rose again. She looked between him and the page, and recited what he had written.
“Unto Most Noble Jinga and Most Gracious Kata, does the Darkhanan Witch Aradin Teral send greetings, honorings, and this most fervent request: Please grant Your permission, provided that Your Siblings Holy Darkhan and Holy Dark Ana agree, for Aradin Teral to be assigned permanently to Your Sacred Marital Grove as a Hortimancy assistant to Keeper Saleria, for the purpose of re-taming, healing, and rendering the Sacred Grove safe once more for Your many worshippers to visit and experience directly.
“Aradin Teral believes fervently that Your Sacred Grove should be restored to the peaceful, pastoral beauty it was renowned f
or before the Shattering of Aiar, and though he is oathbound into the service of Holy Darkhan and Holy Dark Ana, believes fervently that Their Siblings’ Sacred Grove should be restored for the glory of Blessed Kata and Great Jinga,” she continued, sneaking another look at him. “Aradin and his Guide Teral are willing to dedicate time, effort, and many years to this task under Your Holy Keeper Saleria’s guidance. If this is Your will . . . please make Your mark or marks upon this prayer request sheet so that all who view it may know that this is truly Your divine will.
“If this is not favorable in Your Eyes, then let this page turn to ash, and Witch Aradin Teral will merely continue with his current assignments.” Lowering the page, she looked at him.
Aradin pressed his palms together in the near-universal gesture of prayer, and asked, “Holy Sister, will you pray for the granting of my request?”
Wryly amused, a soft huff of a laugh escaped her. She stared past his shoulder for a few moments, considering the merits of his prayer petition, then shrugged. “As it is a prayer that would only bring glory and benefit to Kata, Jinga, and the people of the Empire . . . I will pray for your request. I cannot guarantee that it will be accepted, but I will pray.”
“That is all one can ask,” Aradin reassured her. Rising, he bowed. “I should get back to work—”
The mirror chimed again. Sighing, she pushed to her feet and moved over to it. “Baol.”
Guardian Kerric Vo Mos reappeared inside the silvery rectangle. “Ah, Guardian Saleria. I spoke with a gentleman a few minutes ago . . .”
“Witch Aradin Teral. He has my permission to answer the scrying mirror in my absence, accept messages, and make minor promises,” Saleria stated. The mirror showed Kerric relaxing and nodding. Guardians tended to be protective over who had access not only to their own Fountains and so forth, but to their fellow Guardians’ resources as well. “What can the Guardian of the Grove do for the Guardian of the Tower today?”
“We were wondering if you had on hand, or could get ahold of, any copies of Katani prophecies that might be pertinent to the Netherhell problem,” Kerric said.
“Ah, sorry—I meant to go through mine and make copies for you,” Aradin told Saleria, joining her by the mirror. He nodded at the other Guardian as well. “But it’s about as easy to enchant two copies as it is to make just one. You should have them within a couple days, if that’s alright.”
“That will be fine. I’ve asked the other Guardians to look for pertinent local Seer prophecies . . . and had a request from the Guardian in Mendham to send her copies of everything for the Great Library,” Kerric added dryly. “I may be in love with a Mendhite of my own, but their national obsession with the written word can be a bit much at times.”
“You’re in love with a Mendhite?” Saleria asked, curious.
The smile that spread across Kerric’s face looked a bit dopey, even mushy, for a moment before he returned to his normal businesslike demeanor. “Myal the Mendhite . . . whom you’d know about if you ever accepted my offer of a scrycasting contract. She’s magnificent in action when she’s running a gauntlet, intelligent when she’s working behind the scenes . . . and for whatever Gods-blessed reason, she loves me just as much as I love her.” He flashed Saleria a grin and a flick of his gaze toward the man at her side. “I hope the two of you get to know such a wonderful feeling. With whomever, of course.”
Saleria blushed. Aradin coughed into his fist. Clearing his throat, he answered for both of them. “We’ll, ah, keep that in mind. Actually, I was just thinking a little while ago that all our prophecies should be copied and distributed among all the Guardians. Particularly the ones that deal with multiple locations. A demonic invasion will cause ripples of change across many lands, not just one or two.”
“Very true. The Tower will loan its magics toward the recopying and distribution of all collated prophecies and other such information of interest,” the curly-haired Guardian pledged, glancing off to the side and making a half-seen gesture. “I know Tipa’thia would rather it was her doing all of this centralized paperwork, but the Tower has the centralized connections.”
Saleria looked down at the prayer petition in her hands, looked up at the man at her side, then around at the Grove for a moment. She smiled softly. “On another note, Guardian . . . considering that I might finally have a solution to some local problems on my end . . . I might one day be able to take up that scrycasting offer of yours. If I actually do come to a point where I’ll have the time and energy to spare to watch your Tower adventurers.”
The Guardian of the Tower sat up at that. “You’d be interested in a scrycasting contract?”
“Not immediately . . . but with luck, I’ll soon be able to stop running my own version of gauntlets and have the leisure to watch others navigating difficulties. Now, if that is all, Guardian, I still have one more prayer to complete today,” she added politely. “We’ll get those prophecy copies to you as soon as we can.”
At his nod, she touched the mirror frame to end the call, then sighed. “I need to recontact the Department of Prophecies. They were supposed to gather up a collection of Convocation-related prophecies. I might as well ask them for Seer-foretold Netherhell invasion possibilities as well.”
“We’ll be a little late in the day’s schedule, at this rate,” Aradin warned her. “But his request is important.”
She sighed. “I know. First I’ll try to contact someone in the Department. If we have to wait, I can focus on your prayer request. Although I do wonder why you put in the bit about having Jinga and Kata mark this request sheet. Usually Their miracles are more subtle or widespread than that.”
Aradin nodded, but gestured at the page. “It occurred to me that, with such a long-standing tradition of the true needs of your position going unmet or ignored, that it would likely take a Divine Decree to get your superiors to accept all the changes you and I would like to implement. It also addresses the very pertinent fact that I am a foreign priest, sworn to a different set of Patron Deities. I know there are sticklers who would object strongly to my presence, based on this fact alone, and that again it might require a Divine Decree to ensure I am permitted to stay here at your side, assisting in the restoration of the Grove.”
“You have a point,” she allowed. Glancing between him and the mirror, she fluttered her hand off in the direction of his worktables. “Well. Since you’ve pointed out you’re not an officially approved presence just yet, go off over there and get back to work while I try to contact Councillor Thannig of the Department of Prophecies on this thing, if I can refocus it. We don’t need them to see you here and be distracted by trivialities that will hopefully be settled by the end of the day.”
Bowing politely in agreement, Aradin moved back to his table and his experiments on the flow and melding of three disparate sources of magic here in the Grove. Belatedly, he remembered he had not yet discussed the fact that each locus tree rift needed a Guardian attuned to it, but knew it could be handled later. Such as tonight . . . when we’re supposed to be discussing her packing needs for the Convocation, with all the temptations of being in her bedroom . . .
Right. I’d better write myself a note to address it tomorrow, once we’re back here in the Grove. Somehow, I think we’ll be busy with other concerns tonight. One way or another.
* * *
By the end of supper, Saleria could feel herself frowning. She managed to dredge up a smile of thanks at Nannan’s choice for dessert tonight, a layering of different fruits, a drizzle of cream, and a light dusting of spices, but the frown came back even before she scraped up the last slice of juicy toska, sweetened by the pear from the other layers but still tart enough to make her mouth pucker. It wasn’t the naturally tangy-sour fruit that made her frown, though.
“Is something wrong?” Aradin finally asked, leaning close to murmur the question while Nannan took his and Daranen’s dishes back to the kitchen.
&
nbsp; She thought about it a moment, then nodded at the sheet of paper sitting next to her plate. “I haven’t seen anything about the paper change yet. I know I put power into my prayer. And it’s not an unreasonable request by any means. Not like . . . not like asking for a child’s deceased parents to be brought back to life.”
“Hm. Well, the answer isn’t a flaming ‘no,’ either,” Daranen pointed out. When both of the others looked at him, he shrugged and lifted his palms. “Jinga has been known to intervene when He doesn’t want something to happen . . . and even Serene Kata has an occasional flare-up of temper.”
“True,” Saleria agreed, lifting her brows briefly. They came back down into a frown, making her aware of the tension building up in her muscles as they waited, and waited, and waited. She looked over at the Darkhanan to her left. “Hasn’t Teral returned yet? You said he left when you presented this to me. He’s been gone for several hours now.”
“Time in the Dark doesn’t always move at the same rate as time out here in Life,” Aradin said.
“Maybe he got lost?” the middle-aged scribe offered. “The Dark is dark, after all. Otherwise they’d call it the Light, or something.”
The blond Witch shook his head, letting his hair slide over his shoulders. “No. It’d be impossible for Teral to get lost. For one, he has many decades of experience traversing the Dark. For another, his soul is literally bound to my Doorway by an unbreakable strand of his very self. Delayed, yes. But lost, never. Not while we are bound together, and not while I live.” He lifted his water glass, hesitated, then dipped his head. “Of course, if I were to die of a sudden shock, then his tether to my Doorway would snap. But he’d know it, and know to head for the Light, after reporting my death to the others in the Church . . . and probably not until after he’d gone looking for my soul, to steady it and prepare it for another Witch-acolyte to accept.”