The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Imph,’ Nevyn said. ‘Let’s hope that he slept in the darkness of his mother’s body, at least for most of the time.’ May the Lords of Wyrd have been merciful enough for that, at least.

  Aderyn stood up, staring off into the distance. ‘I see there’s a new alar riding in. I’d better go tell them the merchant’s already left.’ He walked off without a glance back.

  Nevyn stood and looked for himself, shading his eyes. Indeed, in the far distance he could see the tiny figures of horsemen riding through the billowing grass. They would have found out for themselves soon enough that they’d missed the trader, but Nevyn couldn’t begrudge his old friend the excuse.

  Every day more and more Westfolk brought down their tents, cut their horses out of the herd, and struck out into the grasslands. Morwen and ebañy would watch them go until they disappeared, sinking into the grass, or so it seemed, along the far horizon, dancing with heat. With fewer people in camp, it became harder and harder for Morwen to avoid Loddlaen, and finally, one sunset hour when she went to the stream to draw water, he caught her alone.

  ‘Morri, please,’ Loddlaen said, ‘won’t you even talk to me? I didn’t steal that gem, truly I didn’t. I just wanted a chance to study it.’

  His voice ached so badly that she felt her heart softening. She put down the heavy water jug and turned to look at him. Tears glistened in his eyes.

  ‘You could have asked Val first.’

  ‘I know, but I figured she’d never let me have it even for a day, and I just couldn’t concentrate on it when she was standing right there.’

  Morwen looked away. The setting sun gilded the stream among the grey rocks. In the thick-growing rushes frogs were croaking their evening song.

  ‘Please, Morri?’ Loddlaen’s voiced dropped to a whisper. ‘You’re the only real friend I’ve got, you know. Don’t you remember telling me how things got taken away from you? Let’s not let our friendship get snatched away from us.’

  He’d said the perfect thing to melt her resolve. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said. ‘But if somewhat like this happens again, you’ll ask first, won’t you? I’ll help you if you need me to.’

  ‘Then I will. I promise.’

  She turned back to find him watching her, his eyes as large and solemn as a child’s.

  ‘Besides,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Don’t you want to go on with your lessons?’

  ‘I do, truly. I’ve missed them dreadfully.’

  ‘Them but not me?’

  He reminded her so much of a small boy at that moment that Morwen had to smile. ‘You, as well,’ she said.

  He grinned at her. ‘Here, let me carry that jug for you. It’s heavy when it’s full.’

  ‘So it is. My thanks. When it’s dark, and I’ve got Ebañy to sleep, shall I come to your tent?’

  ‘Please, and we’ll have one of our talks.’

  Aderyn and Nevyn both felt Valandario’s absence, but they continued to work with the dweomer scroll. After they’d studied it for some weeks, Aderyn began to wonder about its place in the overall dweomer system developed in the ancient elven cities.

  ‘The language of the calls intrigues me,’ Aderyn said. ‘Some of the words have an oddly Bardekian flavour to me, but others are just simply odd.’

  ‘They are that, for certain!’ Nevyn said. ‘I wonder if it’s an artificial language.’

  ‘It could well be. Some of the old tales that have come down from the Great Burning mention sages who supposedly could talk in a great many strange tongues. Unfortunately, no one remembers exactly what they were.’

  ‘Well, if the names were invented, they’d be hard to remember, I suppose.’

  ‘Good point. And of course, they had that wretched obsession with secrecy.’ With a sigh, Aderyn stood up, stretching. ‘Shall we go back to camp?’

  Nevyn got up and joined him. Twilight was just beginning to darken the sunset sky, and a soft wind made the tall grass bow down before it. When Nevyn looked towards the camp, he could see fires glowing between the tents and hear music as the Westfolk sang at their evening’s work.

  ‘Addo,’ Nevyn said, ‘before we go back, we’ve got to have a talk.’

  ‘I suppose you mean about my son?’ Aderyn said. ‘I’ve noticed the way you look at him, as if you’re studying him like a disease.’

  ‘Not like a disease. I worry about the lad.’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Aderyn crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face his old master.

  ‘Actually, I do like the lad,’ Nevyn began. ‘Besides, it’s not a question of like or dislike. It’s a question of—’

  Aderyn went straight on as if he’d not heard Nevyn’s words. ‘We all have our faults, don’t we? But I’m his father, and fathers do forgive their children. Well, the good ones do.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to condemn him. Quite the opposite. I’m asking you to stop teaching him dweomer. Or trying to.’

  ‘Just what do you mean by that?’

  ‘That he’s learned what he’s going to learn, that’s all. He doesn’t truly want it, for one thing. He wants to please you—that’s the only reason he keeps trying.’

  ‘He just tires easily. You said that yourself when we were first working with the scroll. He’s done better at other times.’

  ‘Mayhap, but he’s got a very slender dweomer gift. The dry lore is one thing—anyone can learn that—but actually working dweomer is very different.’

  ‘Oh come now! He can form the body of light and travel on the etheric—quite easily in fact. If that’s not working dweomer, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘Certainly, but what does he have to balance it? Of course he can split the levels of his being. That’s the result of what those wretched Guardians did to his mother when she was pregnant. I’ve been studying the lad. Open your sight! You can see his etheric double hanging around him like an ill-fitting cloak. His various bodies have never properly knitted together, Addo. I’m surprised he managed to get fully incarnated.’

  ‘Naught of the sort! I—’

  ‘You can see it, can’t you? You just don’t want to admit it to yourself.’

  Aderyn let his arms drop and hang limply by his sides, but his hands clenched into fists.

  ‘It aches my heart to be so blunt,’ Nevyn softened his voice.

  ‘Oh? And what about yourself, then? You think you see so clearly while I’m blind, do you? How wrong you are!’

  Nevyn stared at him, utterly taken aback.

  ‘I mean Morwen.’ Aderyn brought out the name with a tight little smile. ‘That poor lass! Do you truly think you can teach her dweomer? I don’t care how many oaths you swore. She’s been scarred by her horrid childhood. Can’t you see it? She can no more control her rages than lightning can stop striking the earth. It means she’s been twisted inside by the ghastly way she was treated. Do you truly think she’s fit to learn dweomer?’

  For the briefest of moments Nevyn considered swearing at him—how dare he insult his old master this way? But a cold sick feeling in his stomach stopped him. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said instead, ‘I hadn’t seen it before this moment, but you’re right.’

  Aderyn’s smug smile vanished. He started to speak, choked it off, half-turned away, then turned back. ‘Well, I—’ Aderyn’s voice was barely audible. ‘You may be right about Loddlaen as well.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘At least in part.’

  ‘Just think about it, that’s all I ask. As for Morwen, well, there’s naught I can say to that.’ Nevyn had to pause and collect himself. A strange grief threatened to force tears.

  ‘She’ll stay here with little ebañy for some years at least,’ Aderyn said. ‘Mayhap I can help her lay aside the bitterness in her soul. She’s part of my alar now, and it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘My thanks. From time to time I’ll ride your way and see how she’s faring, if I may.’

  ‘Of course you may! Ye gods, there’s no reason for you to ever leave, for that matter.’

&nb
sp; ‘Of course there is.’

  ‘Your duty to Gwairyc?’

  ‘That too.’

  Aderyn tried to smile, then let it fade. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘I—well, forgive me. Loddlaen’s the only thing I have left of Dalla.’

  ‘I know that. But he’s a man now, not a thing, any more than—’ Nevyn forced himself to go on. ‘—any more than Morwen is Brangwen.’

  ‘That’s true spoken.’

  ‘I brought the matter up out of concern for Loddlaen as much as for you. He’ll make a splendid herbman and healer, if only he’s free to study that body of lore.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Aderyn’s voice dropped in exhaustion. ‘Truly, perhaps so.’

  Nevyn tucked the scroll box under one arm, then held out his hand. Aderyn clasped it in both of his for a long moment before he released it. It seemed that he would speak again, but he turned on his heel and walked away fast, heading for the camp, which glowed with the light of little cooking fires against the darkening sky.

  For a little while Nevyn stayed out in the grass and watched the stars come out until the Snowy Road hung full and bright in the sky. Normally the sight soothed him, but that night it seemed ominous, as if the stars were sparks from a fire that might drop to earth and set the grasslands burning. Although he tried meditating upon the symbols that this feeling presented to his consciousness, he could find no concrete reason for it, not in vision nor in the vague hints that the Lords of Wyrd at times manage to give dweomermasters. Finally he decided that he was picking up traces of the past from the scroll, memories of ravaging Horsekin burning the Seven Cities of the Far West. When the wheel of stars showed that the night was approaching its zenith, he walked back to the tents.

  At breakfast the next morning Nevyn told Gwairyc that they’d be leaving soon to return to Deverry.

  ‘That gladdens my heart, my lord,’ Gwairyc said, and he smiled in sheer delight. ‘Will we be going back to Eldidd?’

  ‘Most likely. Has being out here troubled you?’

  ‘To some extent.’ Gwairyc considered for a moment. ‘A man feels more comfortable, like, among his own kind, though if I could speak their blasted language, I might have liked them better.’

  ‘I can see your point.’

  ‘But you know, my lord, in a cursed strange way I’m grateful that you brought me here. The world’s a fair bit wider than I thought it was, and that’s always good for a man to know. Eldidd was only a name to me, too, and now I’ve seen it.’ Gwairyc paused again. ‘I’ve been thinking about the things you said, back in Dun Deverry, about your taking me away, I mean. You said it would be to my benefit, and it has been, at that.’

  ‘Well, that gladdens my heart to hear.’

  Before they left, however, Nevyn wanted to gather some medicinals. On the morrow Nevyn and Gwairyc were working along the bank of a stream, hunting for young green willow withes, a remedy for sore teeth, when Morwen brought Ebañy out to see what they were doing. ebañy was particularly interested in the little silver sickle that Nevyn used to cut herbs whose virtue lay in the watery humours. As he showed it to the boy, he noticed that Morwen and Gwairyc were chatting while they watched, and after Morwen took ebañy back to camp, Gwairyc mentioned their conversation.

  ‘She was asking me about Loddlaen, my lord,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Did I think he was trustworthy.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Nevyn said. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘That it depended on what she was trusting him for. If he made some small, easy promise, no doubt he’d keep it. I wouldn’t trust him to do anything of grave import. He’d want to keep the promise, but ye gods, he’s so miserable, it would be hard for him to do.’

  ‘I’d say that’s a very good judgment.’

  ‘My thanks, then.’ Gwairyc paused, glancing back at the elven camp. ‘The poor lass! You know what she reminds me of, my lord? When I was but a little lad, my sister had a favourite hound. And one day the blasted dog got its paw stepped on and crushed by a horse out in the stable. The kennelmaster was minded to slit its throat and put it out of its misery, but my sister begged so prettily that our clan’s chirurgeon took the paw off instead and bound up the wound. It healed, though she had a three-legged hound ever after.’

  Gwairyc had never even mentioned before that he had a sister, Nevyn realized. He smiled to encourage him further. ‘And Morwen,’ Nevyn said, ‘reminds you of your sister?’

  ‘What?’ Gwairyc looked sincerely puzzled. ‘Not my sister. The hound.’

  Nevyn felt the smile freeze on his face. Apparently Gwairyc noticed. ‘Well,’ Gwairyc went on, ‘that harelip’s turned her into a wild thing, hasn’t it? She’s never going to lose her vile temper.’

  By the hells, even Gwairyc sees it! Nevyn thought. Has everyone noticed but me? ‘Never is a very long time, lad,’ he said aloud. ‘It won’t be easy for her to heal, certainly. It’ll take a fair bit of help.’

  ‘No doubt. If she’s even worth it, ugly little mutt that she is.’

  For the first time in some hundreds of years, Nevyn felt like smashing someone’s face with his fist. He could feel the Wildfolk swarming around, offering to lend their energy to the blow. Fortunately his rigorous training in controlling his emotions kept him from doing so, and Gwairyc never realized how close he’d come to a broken jaw. Nevyn found himself remembering Ligga and her little son. They breed like rabbits, Gwairyc had said about farm families, then compared them to horses. Now, be fair, Nevyn thought. The king’s riders value horses above the men of their own class, too.

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ Nevyn told Aderyn later, ‘if I can ever get Gwairyc to see the common-born as human beings rather than animals.’

  ‘I wonder, too,’ Aderyn said. ‘Probably the only way he’s going to see it is to live poor himself. Mayhap he’ll be reborn one day as a farmer or a servant.’

  ‘Mayhap, indeed. Who knows what the Great Ones will decide?’

  ‘You know the old proverb: you can load a manger with hay but you can’t force your ox to eat it.’

  ‘And an excellent proverb it is! I’ll meditate upon all this.’

  ‘It always helps.’ Aderyn paused, and he seemed to be gathering his strength. ‘I’ve been doing the same, you see, about Loddlaen.’

  ‘Ah. My apologies once again for being so blunt. I –’

  ‘No need to apologize. You’re right. I was wondering if you’d take him on as apprentice.’ Aderyn hesitated, then smiled. ‘In the healing arts, that is. I know you have Gwairyc on your hands now, but once you’ve sent him on his way, like.’

  ‘I’d be glad to, truly glad.’

  ‘A thousand thanks, then. I’d been planning on teaching the lad more dweomer this winter, but I’ll stick to herblore instead.’

  ‘Splendid! Whether I come back alone or with Gwairyc, I’ll be visiting you and Morwen next spring, and Loddlaen and I can discuss his apprenticeship then.’

  That evening Nevyn went off alone to meditate. He realized that while Gwairyc had expressed his pity for Morwen in an arrogant and condescending way, he’d at least felt pity. He’d changed in other ways, too, during his time on the road. Perhaps I’ve done all that I can do, Nevyn decided. The gods all know that I can think of naught else!

  Despite his decision to leave, Nevyn ended up lingering for a few days more, because, as he knew deep in his heart, he hated the idea of leaving Morwen. Not that he saw much of her these days—she and Loddlaen always seemed to be off alone somewhere. Like everyone else in camp, he assumed that they were having a love affair, the best medicinal he could have prescribed for the bitter loneliness in her heart.

  ‘It should be good for Loddlaen, too,’ Nevyn remarked to Aderyn.

  ‘Indeed,’ Aderyn said. ‘You’re not jealous?’

  ‘Only of his youth.’

  They shared a laugh, then returned to their study of Aderyn’s mysterious scroll.

  Somehow, Morwen knew, her dweomer studies caused the strange way she was feeling about Nevyn. Sh
e liked him, she had many reasons to be grateful to him, and yet she found herself avoiding him. For a reason beyond her understanding, she felt profoundly guilty every time she saw the old man.

  ‘I truly should tell Nevyn what we’re doing,’ she said to Loddlaen.

  ‘Why?’ Loddlaen said. ‘I think it’s splendid, having our secret. Why spoil it?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. I just feel that he should know.’

  ‘Well, we’ll tell him together, but in a little while.’ Loddlaen smiled at her, his open grin that reminded her so much of ebañy. ‘He’ll get a splendid surprise, won’t he? You’re making such fast progress, Morri. It’ll be our gift to him.’

  ‘So it will. Well and good, then. I’ll let things be.’

  Morwen had learned how to go into trance at will. In that state she could conjure up a body of light as well, but she was having trouble transferring her consciousness over to it.

  ‘It’s just a matter of practice,’ Loddlaen told her. ‘Once you get the hang of it, it’s quite easy.’

  ‘Huh! You may find it easy! I most certainly don’t.’

  As the nights passed, Morwen kept practising. Loddlaen had told her enough about the marvels of the etheric plane that she longed to see them for herself. When Nevyn mentioned that he would be leaving the Westlands soon, she became more determined than ever. She wanted to give him the gift of the secret she and Loddlaen shared before he left.

  Finally, and almost by accident, she succeeded in reaching the etheric plane. She and Loddlaen were lying in the grass in front of his tent as usual for her lesson. She went into trance, built up the image of the body of light, and attempted the transfer over. Suddenly she heard a peculiar noise, a rushy sort of click, too distinct for a buzz, too soft for the sound of metal on metal—and she was looking out of the simulacrum’s eyes. Her shocked delight thrust her right back into her normal body again, but she sat up with a laugh and a shout of triumph.