The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Then every moment it took me to find it was worth the trouble, ten times over.’ Jav glanced at Albaral. ‘Oh just hold your tongue! I know you’re thinking it wasn’t worth yours, but didn’t I promise you that golden colt from my herd?’

  ‘I’m glad to see you remember,’ Albaral said. ‘Saves me the trouble of badgering you for it.’

  ‘Huh.’ Javanateriel stood up. ‘Let’s go get him now, then. I suppose you expect me to give you a halter, too.’

  Albaral got up and followed him out of the tent. For a moment Valandario smiled after him, then with a sigh she brought her attention back to the two dweomermasters.

  ‘I traded for scraps of Bardekian silk last year,’ Valandario said. ‘It’s lucky I have them. A stone like this deserves a beautiful wrapping. They are lavender. Is that an appropriate colour, Master Aderyn?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Aderyn said. ‘May I have a closer look at the stone?’

  ‘But of course!’

  For a long while that afternoon the three dweomerworkers puzzled over the obsidian pyramid. They all could tell that it possessed dweomer; the question was, what kind? The answer eventually came from an utterly unexpected source, when little Evan—or Ebañy, as Nevyn reminded himself—came crawling into the tent.

  ‘Well, well,’ Nevyn said to him. ‘What brings you here, lad?’

  Ebañy shrugged, popped his thumb in his mouth, and stood looking around him. When he noticed the stone, he took the thumb out and smiled.

  ‘Pretty,’ he said. ‘Pretty stone.’

  ‘It is, truly,’ Nevyn said.

  Ebañy toddled over and plopped himself down into Nevyn’s lap without so much as a by-your-leave. Nevyn put one arm around the lad and held the black stone up to give him a look at it.

  ‘Shiny,’ Ebañy said, then laughed aloud. ‘Look, island! An island in there.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Nevyn worked to keep his voice level. ‘So, you see an island inside the stone, do you? Do you see anything else?’

  ‘Water all around. Tall house. Boat with a funny head on it. Lizard head.’ Ebañy leaned closer, his eyes suddenly wide. ‘And a man, a funny man. Yellow hair.’

  ‘Yellow like Valandario’s hair?’ Nevyn kept his voice low.

  ‘Not. Yellow buttercups. Blue eyes, funny blue eyes.’

  ‘Does he live on the island?’

  Ebañy shook his head no. ‘Island all gone. The funny man’s got somewhat in his hands.’

  ‘Can you tell me what the somewhat looks like?’

  ‘A flat thing, a flat white thing, and a black lizard. A lizard on it. Not a lizard. A bird.’ Suddenly he frowned and shook his head. ‘Clouds, and now it’s all gone.’

  Valandario had been watching wide-eyed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think our Dev has fathered a very remarkable child.’

  ‘I’d say so, too,’ Nevyn said.

  Aderyn nodded his startled agreement. Outside the tent a frantic female voice began calling Ebañy’s name.

  ‘Morri.’ Ebañy slipped off Nevyn’s lap, then stood up. ‘My go to Morri.’

  ‘By all means,’ Nevyn said. ‘Let’s not make her worry.’

  Ebañy launched himself into a flat-footed run and barrelled out of the tent. They could hear Morwen laugh in relief and call out to someone, ‘I’ve found him! I’ll just give him some dinner.’ The voices moved off slowly.

  Valandario ran her fingers over the stone. ‘A very remarkable child indeed,’ she said, ‘and he seems to have some kind of kinship with a very remarkable crystal.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Nevyn said. ‘You’re too young to take an apprentice, but then, Ebañy’s too young to study the dweomer. When his time comes, you’ll be ready.’

  She looked up sharply, her lips half-parted.

  ‘It’s part of the work,’ Nevyn went on. ‘Passing on the lore, that is. We don’t want to see it lost again. Remember the bitter price of secrecy.’

  ‘True spoken. I only hope I’m good enough to teach him when the time comes.’

  ‘I have a feeling you will be.’ Nevyn paused for a smile. ‘And now we know what this bit of obsidian is: a showstone.’

  ‘Indeed. But what is it showing us? I wonder who that “funny man” is, for instance.’

  ‘Evandar.’ Aderyn spat out the name like a curse. ‘There’s only one creature it could be. This whole thing is doubtless another one of his blasted riddles.’

  ‘How odd!’ Valandario said. ‘Little Ebañy seems to be the only person who can see into the stone. Could Evandar have planned that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, even down to the names. Evan and Evandar, I mean—he might well have intended us to see the resemblance.’ Aderyn paused for a grimace. ‘Oh, who knows the all of what the Guardians can or can’t do? Or why they do it, either. I suppose the lizard that might be a bird is a dragon.’

  ‘Ye gods!’ Nevyn said. ‘So the Maelwaedds of Aberwyn are mixed up in this?’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Aderyn said. ‘I wonder if I’ll ever forgive Evandar? I wonder even more if I should bother.’

  ‘Of course you should,’ Nevyn said wearily, ‘but for your own sake, not his. Hatred binds a man to what he hates, and I think me you need to be free of him.’

  For a brief moment, rage flared in Aderyn’s eyes. Then he managed to smile, a twisted wry smile, but a smile nonetheless. ‘True spoken. Well, this certainly explains why that box is so new.’

  ‘It does indeed,’ Nevyn said. ‘Evandar must have put both the stone and the scroll there when he saw your lads riding west.’

  ‘I wonder why the slimy little—I mean, I wonder why he left the scroll?’ Aderyn looked down at the box in his lap. ‘No doubt he never meant it to come to me.’

  ‘I’m sure he meant just that,’ Nevyn said. ‘From everything you’ve told me about him, I’d say he thinks in a very primitive way. A bride-price, or part of one, is my guess.’

  Aderyn swore under his breath in Deverrian.

  ‘My apologies, Master Aderyn,’ Valandario said, ‘but I do not know those words you just used.’

  ‘Good,’ Aderyn said. ‘You don’t need to. Now, as for this scroll, we probably won’t know what Evandar intended until we open it. I don’t want to do it right in the middle of camp, just in case there’s some foul spell or suchlike on it.’

  Nevyn sighed aloud. ‘Oh come now! Wouldn’t I have felt the resonances if it were some evil thing?’

  ‘Um, truly, you would.’ Aderyn had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘But you never know about the Guardians.’ He glanced at Valandario. ‘Nevyn and I will take a look at this first, some distance away from camp. Later we’ll tell you what we’ve found. I don’t care to take chances with your well-being.’

  ‘As you wish, Master Aderyn.’ Valandario stroked the gem with two loving fingers. ‘I shall have plenty of work to occupy me on the morrow as it is.’

  After the evening meal, Nevyn decided to look in on Wffyn. As he walked across the strip of neutral ground twixt the merchant and his prospective customers, he could see the horses that Wffyn had already acquired in trade, a beautiful herd of some twenty head, mostly blacks and dapple greys, but here and there he saw a golden horse with a silvery mane and tail. Around their campfires the muleteers were laughing and joking with each other as they passed around a skin of elven mead.

  Wffyn himself was sitting cross-legged on the grass and unloading some hammered steel knife blades from one of his canvas packs. He laid a scant selection of blades and other small bits of ironware out on a blanket big enough to hold three times as many. Firelight winked and danced on the polished metal.

  ‘Nevyn, and a good evening to you!’ Wffyn called out.

  ‘And the same to you,’ Nevyn said. ‘It looks like you’ve sold most of your wares.’

  ‘I have, and truly, I’ve done well enough, I suppose.’

  ‘You sound mournful.’

  ‘I am, but it’s my own fault for reaching too high. I’ve been trying to acquire a
stud and a couple of brood mares, as I believe I told you some while past. No one would sell me anything but geldings. I tried offering gold, I tried gems, but naught did I get in return but scorn.’

  ‘Ah.’ Nevyn wasn’t in the least surprised. The Westfolk aren’t stupid! he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘True spoken, good sir! Well, soon we’ll be heading back to Pyrdon. Will you and your apprentice be coming with us?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’ve not seen Aderyn in many a year, and we still have much to talk about.’

  ‘What about little Morri? Is she going to settle here, do you think?’

  ‘Most definitely. She told me she’d never been so happy in her life.’

  ‘No doubt that’s true. The poor lass!’ Wffyn paused to look around him. ‘I wonder where Tirro’s got to.’

  ‘Gwairyc probably knows. I’ll ask him to send your wandering prentice back to you.’

  For some days Morwen had been waiting for a chance to question Loddlaen about the dweomer. He seemed willing enough to discuss it, but every time they started a conversation, it came to an abrupt end. Either Ebañy would wake and demand her attention, or someone from the Westfolk camp would innocently interrupt, or Tirro would appear, all ears. Once, when Loddlaen had been telling her about dweomer gems, they’d caught Tirro hiding in the rocks above Loddlaen’s tent. Loddlaen had scolded him for it, too, but Tirro had grovelled and wept his way into forgiveness.

  On the evening of the day that Javanateriel returned, she left Ebañy with his father, and she and Loddlaen retreated to his tent site, well out of earshot of the noisy camp. They’d just started talking when Tirro trotted up and sat himself down at the fire without so much as a by-your-leave. He’d brought them a basket of bread and a honeycomb, wrapped in fresh leaves, to drip onto the slices.

  ‘Morri, I thought you might like somewhat other than meat,’ Tirro said.

  ‘Well, that does look lovely, and my thanks,’ Morwen said, but she was thinking that she would rather have had the privacy.

  Tirro passed the bread and honey around, talking all the while, but he saved his real news till the last.

  ‘We’re leaving tomorrow,’ Tirro said. ‘It’ll sadden my heart to go, truly.’

  ‘Well, once you’ve become that rich Bardekian merchant,’ Loddlaen said, ‘mayhap you can return.’

  Tirro tried to smile, but he suddenly looked like a small child, lost in some strange place but determined not to cry.

  ‘Or maybe sooner than that,’ Morwen said. ‘From what you’ve told us, Bardekian goods should do well out here. Spices for the meats, carpets for the tents, that sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s true!’ Tirro tried another smile. ‘And I won’t have to be rich to get together a shipment of little things like oil lamps and glass beads.’

  ‘Well, there you go, then!’ Loddlaen saluted him with a slice of bread.

  They’d nearly finished eating when a second uninvited guest showed up: Gwairyc. He strode into the pool of light from the fire and pointed a finger at Tirro.

  ‘You,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Have you been here the whole time?’

  ‘I have, truly.’ Tirro said.

  ‘Good, but now your master wants you. He says you’re to go back to camp. There’s packing to be done, lad.’

  Without another word Tirro got up and followed, leaving the last of the bread and the basket both. Morwen waited for their footsteps to die away into the darkness before she spoke.

  ‘Poor Tirro! Gwairyc truly does treat him like a dog.’

  ‘Gwairyc treats everyone like a dog—well, except for Nevyn and my Da, of course,’ Loddlaen said. ‘What I wonder is why Tirro puts up with it.’

  ‘Tirro’s terrified of him.’

  ‘True spoken, but why?’ Loddlaen was silent for a long moment as he thought something through. ‘You know, I’d like to have a talk with Tirro before they go. Once he’s finished his work, his master shouldn’t mind. I’ll take this basket back for an excuse, like.’ He glanced into it. ‘You can have that honeycomb for Ebañy.’

  ‘He’ll enjoy that ever so much. But Loddlaen, about the dweomer, do you have to be born with it, or can you learn it?’

  ‘Both. You have to have the gift, but then you’ve got to study for years and years. It’s not some simple thing.’ He looked away, and for a moment he looked as sad as Tirro had earlier. ‘I’ve got the gift, but it’s a slender one. I keep trying to study, but I’ll never match my Da.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that. He’s a fair bit older than you, isn’t he? So he’s years ahead. Besides, to have even a small touch of dweomer—oh, it seems so wonderful!’

  ‘Does it?’ All at once Loddlaen laughed aloud. ‘You know, for years I’ve been thinking of it as a burden, and here you are, all amazed! My thanks, Morri. You see things more clearly than I do, I think.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that. I wish I had a gift for dweomer.’

  ‘But you must. You’re a Deverry woman but you see the Wildfolk. The only Roundears who can see them all have dweomer gifts.’

  Morwen caught her breath, too stunned to speak.

  ‘Now, how much of one I couldn’t say,’ Loddlaen continued. You won’t know that till you start learning to use it.’ His voice fell to a bitter whisper. ‘They let you see the treasures, sometimes, then snatch them away.’

  Morwen barely heard him. Her mind was galloping like a half-tamed horse towards the freedom of an open gate.

  ‘Do you truly think I could study dweomer?’ she said.

  ‘Why not? It’s the only way to find out how great a gift you have.’

  ‘I’m afraid to ask Nevyn or your da. They’ll think it’s presumptuous of a cripple like me, I’ll wager. Whenever I wanted anything, you know, it got snatched away from me, one way or another.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly. I remember finding a copper in the marketplace when I was a little child, and how my brother took it from me. He pried my fingers open to get it, while my da just laughed. I made myself a doll out of straw, and my sister snatched it, and no one would make her give it back. Well, those were silly little things, I know, but it was always like that.’ Morwen paused on the edge of tears, thinking of Lanmara. ‘Everything I ever loved got taken away. Except for Evan—Ebañy I mean. I nearly lost him, too, and I would have, but for Nevyn.’

  Loddlaen was watching her solemnly with his head tilted a little to one side. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought I had a wretched time as a child, but I can see that yours was worse.’

  ‘Oh, maybe, maybe not. I’m surprised that all those little things still matter so much. But you see, I’m afraid that if I asked Nevyn or your da to teach me about dweomer, they’d just laugh. That would be so horrid.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Loddlaen reached out and caught her hand in a sympathetic squeeze. ‘But I could teach you what I know.’

  ‘Would you? Will you truly?’

  ‘I will.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’ll be our secret until we see how strong your gifts are.’

  ‘Our secret?’ Morwen hesitated, feeling a stab of doubt. ‘Shouldn’t we tell Nevyn at least?’

  ‘And have him stop us? He might, you know. The masters are really jealous of their precious lore. They don’t want to share it with anyone they don’t think is worthy of it.’

  If ever a person fell under the heading of ‘unworthy’, Morwen supposed, it would be her, with her nasty temper and well-stewed resentments, to say naught of her ugly face. Loddlaen—handsome, kind Loddlaen—smiled a little as he leaned towards her and touched her hand.

  ‘Oh do come on, Morri,’ he said. ‘It’ll be grand, having a secret that’s ours alone.’

  ‘So it would. Well and good, then, and my thanks.’

  They talked until late that night, while above them the stars wheeled in a brilliantly clear sky. Somewhere well past midnight Morwen realized that she was in danger of falling asleep where she sat, and Loddlaen kept yawning.
She gathered the remains of the honeycomb up in the leaves and hurried back to Devaberiel’s tent.

  Fortunately Ebañy slept late the next morning. Apparently his father had kept him up far longer than Morwen would have. It was the middle of the morning before she woke, only to find Ebañy just beginning to stir. He was wet, of course, since he’d slept so long. She fed him, then took him down to the stream, where she washed out his blanket. Ebañy was singing to himself and playing some elaborate game with shiny pebbles when Loddlaen came hurrying up to them.

  ‘Morri?’ Loddlaen said. ‘I’m going down to talk with the merchant about Tirro. Why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘What’s Tirro done?’

  ‘Naught, naught.’ Loddlaen smiled at her. ‘I had a long talk with the lad early this morning, and we hatched a plan. I could use a bit of support.’

  ‘I’ll come then, of course. Let me just finish cleaning Ebañy up. He had that honeycomb with his breakfast.’

  Honey and dirt smeared his face from ear to ear, but a twist of grass and some stream water soon solved that problem. She spread his blanket out to dry on clean grass before they left. Hand in hand they walked with Loddlaen across the empty stretch of meadow between the Westfolk and the merchant’s camps. Morwen felt as if she were crossing a real border, twixt the Deverry world and the Westfolk world, and that by going over to the Deverry side she’d gone among strangers rather than back to her kinsfolk. We’ve not been here long, she thought, but oh, it’s been so lovely!

  They’d just reached the merchant’s camp when someone hailed them from behind. Morwen glanced back to see Gwairyc trotting after them.

  ‘Oh ye gods!’ Loddlaen muttered. ‘What does he want, I wonder?’

  Gwairyc told them when he caught up. ‘I just thought I’d have a last word with Tirro.’

  ‘It might not be the last one,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Wait and see!’

  ‘What?’ Gwairyc snapped. ‘What do—’

  Loddlaen chuckled under his breath. ‘Wait and see,’ he repeated. ‘We might be having a bit of a surprise.’