Linden blinked fast, but her eyes remained dry, and her voice was level when she crumpled the handkerchief in her hand and looked at him again.
"I don't know Commanders or this Passage, Rianor. I don't know why I am seeing the light of the pillar and why you are not. I don't know the way out. But I know I am not staying trapped. Let us climb, shall we?"
"Wait," Rianor replied softly, staring at the indistinguishable spot of darkness where she seemed to be locating the pillar. "Not yet. Sit here and try to rest that leg a little, and I will have a small chat with our friend."
He handed her the light, drawing his dagger.
"Can you see it now?" Linden whispered, not motioning to sit. "Do you think it will tell us the way? I don't know if we should—"
Rianor sighed, the darkness as uniform around him as ever.
"I would think that I was quite clear, my apprentice. I never said 'we.' You sit down and wait for me here."
"Do you really think I would allow you to go alone after something that you can't see or sense?"
"Allow me to?" He had made a step away from her, but now turned, once again half-irritated, half-amused. Even Bers, Mierenthia's ultimate authority, did not officially allow or forbid High Rulers.
Linden collided with him. She must have walked after him, despite her leg. This leg now gave away, and she lurched to the side, gasping with pain. She tried to get the leg out of the way, but it hung unnaturally stiff from her body and caught Rianor in the shin, just as he gripped her shoulders and tried to steady her. Rianor staggered, his ribs and head exploding with pain at the effort to hold both of them up, then he settled heavily on the stones.
"Are you all right?" he breathed just as Linden murmured the same question at his throat.
"I suppose so," they both said, and his voice was steadier now, but he would not yet lift his head from hers. He had succeeded in not lying down, and it was probably safe to move now, but for a moment he wanted to sit still and inhale the lavender scent at least as much as he wanted her sharp elbow away from his ribs. She sighed again, dragging her twisted leg straight, and Rianor jerked his head up.
"Damn it, Linde, can't you for once do what you are told?"
He bent over her shoulder to assist her, but did not hear her reply at all as he saw his handkerchief sprawled on her thigh. One of Audric the Insane's embroidered ramblings was clearly readable on it. Suddenly Rianor's recognition of lavender made sense, and for the second time in his life so did the words of his infamous ancestor.
Behold, you stinker who fears,
Fear, you rake who beholds,
Nothing is as it appears,
But I'll kick you and you shall see all.
A nine-year-old Rianor had first perceived these words one night in lady Selene's room, although he had been seeing them for many years, ever since he had learned to read the embroideries on the Qynnsent handkerchiefs. Lady Selene had been downstairs at the ball with his parents. His little cousin, Inni, had cried and begged him to sneak into the lady's room and smell her lavender perfume from the bottle for so long that at last he had grudgingly agreed. He had gazed at the lovely picture of a telescope on the lady's desk, while Inni fluttered around her mirror. Then, just as he thought it was high time to leave, Inni brought the bottle to him—as if he cared about women's smells, really—and managed to pour purple liquid all over the telescope.
Rianor remembered the smell as if it were yesterday, not fourteen years ago. It had been stronger, sharper, and sweeter, but unmistakably similar to Linden's delicate scent. It had made his eyes water and his head ache, as he had desperately tried to wipe it away with his handkerchief, succeeding only in making a purple mess out of lady Selene's picture and his handkerchief's embroidery. It was then that he had noticed the text. Instead of the usual wise thought of some great ancestor, the silk letters had spelled the unorthodox utterances of Qynnsent's most notorious lord. The frightened small boy had built a whole theory around them while waiting for his teacher with a sinking heart.
The old madman had surely talked about people who could not see things but feared them, little Rianor had thought, and people who saw things and had no fear. Rianor could see the lavender, and he was going to see lady Selene, too, so he should try to not fear her. And lady Selene would certainly fear losing her picture and her perfume, and if Rianor did not fear what she would do, perhaps she would not see what had happened at all?
But not fearing lady Selene had not worked at all, so the boy had turned his attention to the more understandable kicking part of the verse. He would have loved to kick stupid Inni, especially if that would make the lady see who had actually spilled her perfume; but of course it had been out of the question for the future Lord of Qynnsent to not take the blame himself, let alone do that. And who would the grown-ups suspect, anyway—the sweet and obedient girl, or the boy who had almost killed himself jumping from the roof with what he had called an enhanced version of his mother's umbrella?
Kicking Inni would have probably worked, the grown-up lord Rianor thought, right according to Audric's drivel. That would have scared her enough to confess and make the adults see things as they were. Whatever else Audric had said, there certainly was logic behind the kicking aspect. Strangely enough, his logic concerned Rianor's current situation in some way. It had to. The current Lord of Qynnsent was not prone to indulging in nonsensical thoughts and childhood memories. Not with a wounded woman to take care of and an enemy of unknown essence in proximity.
"Rianor—"
Linden had managed to drag her leg in a more natural position at Rianor's side. She had turned her face towards him, the light and handkerchief in one of her hands, her other arm on his shoulders. She was trying to push him up and seemed to have been calling to him for some time.
"Rianor, please say something!"
"If you ask me so nicely, my lady." He could not resist teasing her as he gently freed himself from her arm with the intention to bend and examine her leg, but did not receive the angry or witty reply he was coming to expect from her. Instead, a silent tear crept down a cheek that was way too pallid.
"This was not a funny thing to do, Rianor. It was not funny at all."
Cursing silently, Rianor gathered her in his arms. She felt so soft and vulnerable, this girl who battled Bers and invisible monsters.
"This verse on the handkerchief," she whispered, "you saw it and your face went blank. I thought that you were going to faint. And I thought that the verse was not real when I saw it earlier tonight. I thought that the samodiva was doing something to my eyes."
"She is doing something to your eyes, yes," Rianor said softly, "that we know, but the verse has nothing to do with it. It is just something a past and weird Qynnsent lord created. Look as it may, this verse is nothing. You can read books about old Audric the Insane and his attitudes. He made his dog a First Counselor of Qynnsent once."
Linden smiled faintly. "Really?"
"Really." Rianor was interested in what her reaction would be. Audric had admittedly gone to an excess, but it was not unusual for nobles to have close relationships with their dogs or cats. Rianor had such a relationship himself. Some nobles, Rianor included, also had affection for their horses, despite horses being beasts of servitude who were only forced into tractability by Ber harnesses and Magic. Somehow, Rianor could not believe the Bers' words that Star and Beauty and the others were treacherous creatures who would have otherwise taken every chance to kill or maim him.
All animals but dogs and cats were treacherous, the Bers said. Besides, wheeled motion, or indeed any non-human and non-Magical motion, was treacherous and perilous itself. So, the combination of wheeled motion and animals, such as a running carriage, was even more treacherous and perilous. Only strong Magic made carriages and carts and such at all possible, and people should still try to stay away from them when possible.
Still, the Bers did look the other way concerning nobles' attitudes towards horses. They even allowed some commoners,
at least Master Waggoners, Stablers, Riders, and some of their apprentices and workers, to exhibit kind feelings towards horses, oxen, and similar. Even Master Growers and their workers, those of them who dealt not with the growing of plants but with the raising and care of pigs, cows, chickens, and other animals to be eaten, were allowed some kind feelings towards those. Even Balkaene peasant shepherds, cowherds, pig keepers, carters and such had allowances made for them.
Of course, nobles were allowed more aberration than others in everything, while the commoners who dealt with animals as a part of their profession had their animal rites and Mentors' blessings to protect them and the world. Of course, this was what the Bers would say. What the truth was, Rianor did not know.
He did not believe all this. He did not, despite what had happened ten years ago. He did not blame the horses or the carriage for what had happened then, but blamed the Commanders and the Bers.
Think of dogs. Think of Linden. Now was not the time to be angry or sad yet again.
For reasons of their own, the Bers taught everyone rites for controlling dogs and cats, and let people keep dogs and cats in their homes. Yet, would commoners distrust those animals more than nobles distrusted them? Would she?
"I would like to read about Audric," Linden said. "And I wish I had a dog, too."
"Well, the books are in my library, so you will have no problem with them." Rianor returned her smile. " As for the dog, we will see what you think about mine, and what he thinks about you."
He was glad to see some color return to her cheeks as the thoughts concerning Audric and kicking occupied his attention again. He would not be thinking of this, and even of motion and horses, if it did not matter here and now, but he just could not find a connection between Linden, kicking, and the whole situation. Still, an idea nibbled his mind, in the way it happened sometimes when he was about to discover something interesting but did not have all the details yet.
He had felt the same years ago when he had watched that big bird swoop; later, not yet knowing why, he had changed the size and shape of his mother's umbrella according to both his own body and the idea of the bird. Probably that was the only reason the fall had not been lethal. He had felt the same with his spring-device, too, before he had even drawn the diagram and confirmed the principle. But kicking and Linden?
She shifted, pulling away from him, and dragged herself up, breaking the sequence of his thoughts.
"Rianor, are you all right? We cannot just sit here."
Rianor sighed, not quite feeling like kicking her, but close. She had interfered with his concentration for the second time tonight. He needed to be alone at times like this—to walk around and think, to draw a diagram, create an experimental environment. He did not want anyone around to distract him, did not want to be aware of their existence at all ...
But, of course!
Rianor jumped up and seized Linden's waist just before her leg gave away, very much aware of her.
That was it. The awareness of a person's or a thing's existence must be at least somewhat relative. To some extent, it must depend on whether he actually wanted to be aware, and to some extent it must be determined by accidental or intentional contact with the person or thing. Contact or, perhaps more accurately, physical contact was all there was in the kicking and "making you see all" verse, too, whatever the old cranker had really meant, if he had meant anything at all. Rianor would need a diagram and a better explanation of the whole concept later, but for now he knew one thing. He had to somehow make physical contact with the samodiva or her well, and there should be a way for Linden to help him, see as she could the damn abominations.
"Rianor, talk to me!"
She was clutching his shirt, as if she wanted to shake him but was restraining herself. He hesitated.
"I am all right, Linde. I am sorry I made you worry. I had some ideas, and I almost know how to get us out of here. Just stay quiet for a while now, and let me think it through."
She looked at his eyes then, with the last expression he expected. It was not admiration, skepticism, polite indifference, or fear; it was nothing that people who heard about his ideas usually displayed. It was not even the hope or caution the situation would warrant.
The girl looked at him with nothing short of enthusiasm as she exclaimed, "And why would you think it through all by yourself? I will help you!"
Rianor cut his words just before he could politely tell her to shut up and not mess with things too big for her beautiful head.
It had happened sometimes, with other ladies in his arms.
"I am your apprentice. Please, tell me what you were thinking about," urged this particular lady, and Rianor sighed. She did have a point. He should start engaging her beautiful but clever head with Science and Natural Mechanics—and his own head with how he could use her unusual talents. She could be of use to him, that he already knew. Suddenly he was also wondering if she could actually participate in, and not just be an object of, his research.
Could her attitudes and her behavior tonight perhaps mean that she had submitted a Science Guild application because she wanted Science in truth, and not just the corresponding connections, social status, and the chance for nobility?
He would not have thought something like this possible. He should test her.
And when she could walk by herself again, he should keep her away from his arms.
"All right, listen ..." Rianor told her, not really expecting her to understand flying thoughts on the border of the acceptable, not organized in at least a basic theory. "And be quiet now."
Linden narrowed her eyes, twisting the handkerchief in her hands, while Rianor tried to focus on the rest of his kernel of a theory. In a moment she had unsheathed her dagger and thrust it in his hands. "Here you go. It was in the well's drum at some point."
But as he fingered the blade and wondered whether the small blue flicker where the well was supposed to be was real or his imagination, Linden jumped.
"You never really drank any of the water, did you?"
Linden
Night 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705
"You can still die," the pillar resonated, and Linden felt Rianor's arm tighten around her in warning.
"I will deal with her this time," he whispered in her ear.
The pillar sniggered, an almost invisible glimmer spreading on its surface, then started to shapeshift. The hard blue stone became liquid and flowed towards Linden and Rianor like water—and yet not like water exactly, for it was more agile than water, and lighter. It was more frightening, too. "Fire" was the word that Linden thought of as the stone reached towards her. She had never seen fire, but this was how fire felt. Trembling, she tried to step back, but Rianor held her still. A tiny blue spot crept up her boot and danced on her trousers, and she kicked hard, sharp pain shooting up her wounded leg.
"Whatever you are doing to my lady's senses," Rianor said calmly, "stop it now."
He was still looking before him, where the pillar had been, and for a moment Linden thought that drinking the water had not done anything, that for a second time he had decided to confront an invisible enemy. She had been uncertain that drinking the water would be enough, anyway. Something about Audric, the past Qynnsent lord, and his verse was still tugging at her mind, refusing to let go. Rianor's ideas had not been fully coherent, either, and her own thoughts of daggers and water had been more of an impulse than a carefully considered theory. Something was missing.
However, the blue spot flickered and died, and a reply came from where the pillar had stood, and the waterwell before it. Now Linden was not seeing it.
"Don't you play the Commander with me, human."
Rianor's eyes were as hard and sharp as daggers, but his voice was expressionless.
"Those who command you are human, too."
"But you are not a Commander, and neither is she. I am not bound to let you live." Then it laughed, with the clear laugh of a beautiful woman full of hatred and pain. "Pe
rhaps I might let you. But give the Transgressor to me."
Rianor smiled. At least, it was usually called a smile when someone twisted his lips like this, although his pale and handsome features suddenly emitted darkness, and what his eyes hinted about was not handsome at all.
"I do not think so," he whispered. "You have already had your share from me."
The samodiva sobbed.
"I did not ask for all that, human lord. Humans, you are as selfish and cruel as you are weak and blind. Your fellow humans made me the way I am now, and I feel more pain than you ever have, more than you will ever know, more than the sharp and inquisitive mind you prize so much can ever comprehend. I did not choose this. I do not want it. I know not how they did it to me—why, I know nothing, or I would not be in this place. But at that point it matters not. I see you are trying to understand. You cannot. What do you know of life, you petty Lord of a petty race?"
"Not enough." Rianor swallowed hard. The terrible smile slowly drained from his face, drops of sweat surfacing on it. The daggers withdrew from his eyes, and suddenly he looked even more haggard than he had when he had lain on the stones unconscious. His arm was steady on Linden's waist, but the pulse she could feel from his touch was not, and his hand was cold when she put hers on it.
"Rianor ..." He did not reply immediately, and suddenly Linden wanted to do to him what she had done to Calia, to caress him with her mind, to take the pain away, to put a real smile on his face again. But she could not. An impenetrable barrier stopped her from accessing the workings of Rianor's body and his mind. Her own body trembling with the weakness that the attempt had brought, she squeezed his hand and turned to what now looked like a heap of stones made of solid water.
"No matter how much pain you have felt," she said through clenched teeth, "I promise you that you will feel much more—" The touch of cold fingers on her lips hushed her, as Rianor's hold of her waist tightened again, while the stones of solid water sighed.
"A promise worthy of a Transgressor, little girl. And of a daughter of a Healer."
The Seekers of Fire Page 7