Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “Look in the library,” Fiolon suggested.

  “There’s nothing in the main library,” Mikayla pointed out. “I’ve read every book in it at least once. But if we do some more exploring in the ice caves, we may find more of Orogastus’s stuff, something that we overlooked before.”

  “Good idea,” Fiolon said. “According to some of the old stories, he was a lot more interested in varied uses of power than Haramis ever was.”

  “I believe that,” Mikayla said. “And there may be something in the library at the Temple of Meret, though what excuse I could come up for wanting that information I can’t imagine!”

  She looked speculatively at Fiolon. “But how do things go for you? Are you still having trouble with the women at court?”

  Fiolon frowned. “I don’t pay much attention. None of the girls in Var is really seriously interested in me, in spite of the dukedom, especially since I spend most of my time there. There are all sorts of stupid stories about my father’s being a demon or something, and there’s certainly no doubt that I’m a bastard.”

  “You mean there aren’t girls who find that glamorous and romantic?” Mikayla teased.

  Fiolon groaned. “I won’t deny that there are girls at court who are that stupid, Mika, but you know perfectly well that I’ve never found stupidity attractive. At least you have a brain—even if you don’t seem to be using it much at the moment.”

  Unfortunately this reminded Mikayla of her original complaint. “Oh, I don’t have a brain, Fio,” she said with acid sweetness. “Haramis has two: hers and mine. As far as she’s concerned, I’m a cross between her property and a part of her body.

  “Look at the way she treats Uzun. He was a person once; he was her friend and her teacher … and what is he now? Her harp. He can’t move on his own, and she can pick him up and cart him around anyplace she wants, subject, of course, to the difficulty of moving a harp that large.

  “He’s a thing, I’m a thing, her servants are things, and you’re a nuisance—to her, that is, when she remembers who you are. I certainly think of you as a person; it’s as if you’re the only real person here. I’m not even sure that I’m a person or that I’ll ever be a person again. And you know that as soon as she remembers who you are and why you’re here, she’ll send you away again.”

  “You don’t know what’s been happening in Var,” Fiolon said. “I’m not leaving this time just because she tells me to. I’m not twelve years old anymore.”

  24

  “It’s certainly true that she’s not in much of a position to throw you out at the moment,” Mikayla agreed. “But what is happening in Var?”

  “Something is coming down the Great Mutar River and killing all the fish,” Fiolon said. “And that’s only what is immediately obvious. I was at Let when it started, overseeing the timber shipments, and there’s a wrongness in the water. I sent a message to my uncle the King that I was going to investigate, and then I went to the Citadel. I passed through Lake Wum on the way, and every fish in the lake is dead—and so are some of the folk who were on or near it when whatever it was happened.”

  “Wyvilo?” Mikayla asked.

  “Mostly Wyvilo, but some humans died as well, and many more were made very ill.”

  Mikayla gasped. “How is that possible?”

  Fiolon looked unhappy. “I don’t know. Ruwenda isn’t my land, so, while I can feel that there is something seriously wrong, I can’t feel exactly what it is or how to fix it.”

  “Couldn’t you feel it while you were in Var?”

  Fiolon shook his head. “The problem isn’t in Var—that is, Var isn’t part of it. All I could feel in Var is something horrible coming out of Ruwenda, down the river. And I’ll tell you one thing,” he added, “it would be much worse if the prevailing winds blew from Ruwenda to Var instead of the other way. At least I was spared the wrongness in the air until I crossed the border. From the Citadel I traveled by fronial so that I could go through the Mazy Mire and see how things were there.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Mikayla, your land is very sick.”

  “Haramis’s land,” Mikayla reminded him. “Not mine.”

  “By the Flower, Mika, it’s your home!” Fiolon looked appalled. “Don’t you care about it at all?”

  “What good would it do me to care?” Mikayla shrugged, trying to hide the hurt she felt. “Do you actually think Haramis would let me do anything about it? Do you know why I was waiting for your arrival?”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer the question; he looked confused by it in any case. “The reason that I was standing on the plaza waiting for you is that Haramis, now that she’s ill, has decided she needs to speed up my training. She’s teaching me to water-scry.”

  “What do you mean?” Fiolon asked. “She taught you to water-scry when you first came here—four and a half years ago!”

  “I know that,” Mikayla pointed out, “and so do you. She doesn’t.”

  “Oh, no.” Further comment seemed beyond him.

  “I’m pretty sure that she doesn’t have the land sense anymore,” Mikayla added, remembering, “and I don’t think she’s had it since her first brainstorm. When you got the land sense for Var, and I asked her a general question about what it felt like to have land sense, she asked me quite sharply if I had it for Ruwenda.”

  “But if she doesn’t have it,” Fiolon asked, “who does?”

  “I don’t know”—Mikayla sighed—“and neither does Uzun—I asked him about it then. We think that if someone else had it, we’d know by now, so it must be in abeyance somehow. I know I don’t have it.”

  “Well, even if you don’t have the land sense, we’ve got to do something about this mess!”

  “We can try.” Mikayla sighed. “Can you make a list of what needs to be fixed?”

  Fiolon made a face and shook his head. “My perceptions of Ruwenda aren’t that detailed.”

  “Detailed!” Mikayla snapped her fingers and bounced to her feet. “Come on,” she said impatiently, heading out of the room.

  “Where are we going?” Fiolon asked.

  “The mirror. If you want detail, that’s definitely the place to get it.”

  “You need more clothes if you’re going down there,” Fiolon pointed out.

  “No I don’t,” Mikayla said blithely. “Red-Eye taught me to control my body temperature last year. You can get warmer clothes for yourself while I get parchment and ink, and I’ll meet you down there.”

  By the time Fiolon arrived in the ice cave that held the mirror, Mikayla was sitting cross-legged on the icy floor, directly in front of the mirror, scribbling furiously. “I’ve found what’s killing your fish, Fiolon,” she said. “It’s some sort of tiny little plant that produces a powerful poison when the conditions are right—which fortunately isn’t often. When Haramis had this last brainstorm, we had some really bad earthquakes—”

  She broke off and spoke to the mirror. “Mirror, display earthquakes during the last two months.”

  “Working,” the mirror replied. A map of Ruwenda appeared with an overlay of pale blue lines across it. For several seconds it just sat there, then one spot after another sprouted a bright blue dot with jagged lines running out from the dot in various directions, but always strongest along the light blue lines.

  “The one here,” Mikayla said, reaching up to lay a fingertip on a spot at the northwest edge of the Thorny Hell, “was the first one. It happened before dawn the morning we found Haramis on the floor in her room. Then they spread through most of the northern portion of the Goldenmire.” She twisted her upper body to look at Fiolon. “Is that the route you took here?”

  Fiolon nodded silently, with a wary look at the mirror.

  “Were there still tremors in the area then?” Mikayla asked.

  He nodded again.

  “How often and how strong?”

  Fiolon looked at the mirror again, and Mikayla suddenly realized what his problem was. “It’s all right, Fiolon, you can talk wi
thout changing the pictures. It responds only to requests that start with its name.”

  “Its name?” Fiolon asked.

  “Its use-name; if it has a true name, I don’t know it,” Mikayla explained. “Mirror, show abnormal water levels in the Mazy Mire.”

  “Working.” The picture changed, becoming a black-and-white map of the Mazy Mire with varying unusual shades of brown and blue covering most of the white.

  “The blue is where the water is higher than it should be,” Mikayla explained. “The darker the blue, the deeper the water. The brown is where the land is higher than it should be, and gets darker as the land gets higher.”

  Fiolon shivered, looking ill. “No wonder the land felt wrong.”

  “True,” Mikayla agreed. “You were probably lucky to make it here without getting lost.”

  “I did get lost,” Fiolon admitted. “Several times. I just used my sphere to track yours whenever I couldn’t recognize where I was. That way I knew we’d at least end up in the same place, wherever you might be. It’s not as if you’re always here, you know,” he pointed out. “There was your little half-year side trip to Red-Eye’s cave on Mount Rotolo, to say nothing of the time you spend at the Temple of Meret.”

  “Which is a month every spring, and can be predicted,” Mikayla pointed out. “But I think we’re going to have to leave here to fix as much of this as we can. Lake Wum alone is going to take a lot of work.”

  Fiolon groaned. “Let’s eat dinner first, shall we?”

  Mikayla chuckled. “By all means. You must be starved.” She rose to her feet, gathered up her writing materials, and spoke to the mirror. “Mirror, thank you. Recharge.”

  “Hiatus for recharge,” the mirror replied, going dark.

  Mikayla led the way back to the Tower, controlling the lamps in the hallway with whispered commands.

  “Do you talk to everything around here?” Fiolon asked.

  “Most of the things, yes,” Mikayla said. “The people, not much. Enya’s pretty busy, the other servants ignore me, and as for Haramis …” She sighed and did not finish the sentence.

  As they passed the kitchen Enya popped out. “There you are, Princess,” she said. “You are to go to the Lady’s room at once; she’s been asking for you for the past two hours.”

  Mikayla made a “what did I tell you?” face at Fiolon and assured Enya she would go see the Lady immediately.

  “She’s ordered dinner served in her room,” Enya added.

  Mikayla nodded and continued up the stairs, waiting until she was out of Enya’s hearing before mumbling, “Oh, joy,” in her most sarcastic tones.

  “Mika, show some respect,” Fiolon reproved her. “She can’t be that bad.”

  “If we both weren’t needed to repair the damage to the land,” Mikayla said, “I’d let you stay here in my place and see for yourself. As it is, we’d better transfer Uzun to his new body, and leave him to sit with her and listen to her stories.”

  “Will she let us do that?” Fiolon asked. “Last time she wouldn’t allow it.”

  “This time,” Mikayla replied firmly, “I’m not planning to ask her permission. If Uzun agrees to the transfer, I’ll do it, even if I have to do it alone.” She looked questioningly at Fiolon.

  “If you do it,” he said, “I’ll help. Any ritual from the Temple of Meret probably needs as many people as possible.”

  “Thanks.” Mikayla smiled at him, then composed her face to blankness as they entered Haramis’s room.

  “Where have you been, girl?” Haramis demanded.

  “Downstairs,” Mikayla replied quietly.

  “Didn’t it occur to you that I might want you?”

  “I’m sorry if you needed me and I was not here,” Mikayla said politely, avoiding the question Haramis had actually asked. Fortunately Enya came in then with dinner, so Mikayla was spared the rest of the harangue, at least for the moment.

  Haramis spent most of dinner complaining about how much she missed Uzun and why couldn’t she be carried down to the study so that she could visit him, since he couldn’t visit her. Mikayla was relieved to note that Haramis apparently had some trace of memory that prevented her from demanding that Uzun be brought to her room again. Even if she doesn’t remember why, she thought, at least Haramis doesn’t consider dragging the harp up here to be an option. Thank the Lords of the Air; I couldn’t stand it if he were damaged again.

  “Perhaps in a few days, Lady,” she said, “we can arrange for you to see him. In the meantime you need to rest and recover your strength, so we shall bid you good night.” She stood up, and sent the dirty dishes down to the kitchen with an unobtrusive wave of her hand. Fiolon bowed to Haramis and followed Mikayla from the room.

  “Do you feel up to fetching the body now,” Mikayla whispered to him once they were alone in the hall, “or are you too tired?”

  “I can help you carry it up,” Fiolon replied, “but we should probably wait until morning to start the ritual.”

  “Agreed,” Mikayla said, “but I think we need to have the body at the same temperature as the harp for the transfer, so if we leave it next to Uzun tonight, it should be ready by morning.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Fiolon agreed. “Let’s go get it.”

  “There’s just one thing we need to do first,” Mikayla said, pulling Fiolon into the study as they passed it. “Uzun,” she said, “it’s Mikayla and Fiolon.”

  “Lord Fiolon,” the harp said. “This is a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?”

  “Troubles with the land, I’m afraid,” Fiolon replied.

  “I feared that would happen when the Lady took ill.” Uzun sighed. “I wish I could go to her; I am certain she misses me.”

  “At least this time she remembers that you’re a harp,” Mikayla said, “so she’s not as ill as she was that time at the Citadel. And she seems to realize that dragging you up to her room again will damage you. But you are correct; she did spend dinner complaining about how much she misses you.”

  “If only there were something I could do about it.” Uzun’s strings positively jangled with frustration.

  “Maybe there is,” Mikayla said. “Remember the body I got for you at the Temple of Meret?”

  “I thought Haramis had destroyed it,” Uzun said.

  Mikayla looked at Fiolon. “It’s still where we left it,” he said. “I checked on my way to the ice caves, and the wrappings look intact.”

  Mikayla walked over to the bookshelf and tilted several books forward. The scroll from the Temple was still behind them, right where she had put if when she first brought it home. “We will bring the body up here and unwrap it, Uzun,” she said, “and make certain that it has not been damaged. If it is not damaged, are you willing to take the risk of attempting to transfer to it?”

  “How is the transfer done?” Uzun asked.

  Mikayla unrolled the beginning of the scroll and scanned it hastily. “I have the instructions for the ritual here,” she said. “The process appears to be similar to the one Haramis used to put you into the harp.”

  “Then I want to try it,” Uzun said. “Just remember your promise to me, in case anything goes wrong.”

  “If anything goes badly wrong, I’ll set your spirit free,” Mikayla said. “I promise.” She placed the scroll back in its hiding place. “Come, Fiolon, let’s go get the body.”

  It took most of an hour to carry the body upstairs and unwrap it. Fortunately, by that time all the servants had gone to bed, so there was no one to interrupt them.

  “This is a true work of art,” Fiolon said, admiring the painted wooden body as he bent each of its joints in turn to be certain that they were all functional. “It looks just like you, Master Uzun—at least it looks just like the pictures the mirror showed me of you and Haramis.” He looked at Mikayla across the body. “It seems to be in fine shape to me.” He yawned and apologized.

  “Why don’t you go to bed now, Fiolon?” Mikayla suggested. “I’ll sleep here tonight to m
ake sure that nothing is disturbed. And I want to read through the ritual before I sleep, anyway.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Fiolon said. “Good night.”

  “Sleep well,” Mikayla replied. “I’ll be locking the door when you leave, so call me with your sphere before you come down in the morning.”

  “All right.” Fiolon headed toward the room assigned to him, and Mikayla locked the door, added another log to the fire, retrieved the scroll, and sat down to read it. She read the chants silently, but the directions out loud so that Uzun would know what to expect.

  When she had finished, she turned to him. “Do you still want to do this?” she asked formally. “You can refuse, you know.”

  “I’ve wanted to do this for years,” Uzun pointed out. “I’m not going to back out now.”

  “You do realize that you won’t be aware of most of the ritual, don’t you?” Mikayla pointed out. “Once we’ve begun the first step, removing the bone from the harp, you won’t know anything more until we’ve finished successfully.”

  “What time is it now?” Uzun asked.

  Mikayla could feel it, but she moved to the window and checked the position of the stars in the night sky anyway. “About two hours before midnight,” she replied.

  “Then, since the first step involves soaking the skull fragment from midnight until dawn in a bowl of tears, you might as well start now,” Uzun said. “Otherwise you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night, and you’ll lose an entire day. And,” he added tartly, “you may not have that day to lose. I know that you and Fiolon will have to go out into the land as soon as I am free to look after Haramis.”

  “You are truly wise, Uzun,” Mikayla said. “I’ll start setting up now then. Do you think that Haramis’s scrying bowl from the workroom would be appropriate for the tears?”

  “Yes, I think it would be most appropriate,” Uzun replied.

  Mikayla visualized the bowl in the workroom where she had left it, and then visualized it in her hands. The bowl landed in her outstretched hands with a soft puff of displaced air. Mikayla looked at the scroll again to double-check the first instruction. “Soak the skull fragment from midnight until dawn in a silver bowl, with the bone covered completely by the tears of a maiden who mourns the person’s death.”