The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Now that you know what?’ His smirk vanished. ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Something, I forget what.’

  ‘This time you’re the one who’s lying. Now that you know what?’

  Caught by a wave of exhaustion, Sidro leaned back against the edge of the table. ‘Now that I know Alshandra’s not a goddess,’ she whispered. ‘Damn you, Laz! You’ve destroyed everything I loved so much, my vows, my faith, and now Zakh Gral.’

  ‘Don’t blame me for Zakh Gral! The Lijik Ganda are the ones trying to bring it down. What makes you so sure they’re going to succeed?’

  Hope—one sweet note of it—sang in her heart. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘They’ve not finished building it yet, the fortress I mean, but we’ve got enough men there to stand a siege. More are supposed to arrive, too, though I’m not sure when. The rakzanir were always talking about reinforcements coming from Braemel.’

  ‘And surely they’ve got sentries out east of the river. I’m only a filthy depraved outlaw, but even I know enough to have my men keep a watch.’

  ‘That’s true, isn’t it? Of course they do.’

  ‘You see? You’ve been wallowing in unnecessary despair. Don’t mourn Zakh Gral just yet, Sisi my love. It’s quite capable of defending itself. Unfortunately.’

  She grabbed the plate and slung it straight for his head. He ducked, twisted, and caught it with his right hand. With a wince and a curse he dropped it onto the bed.

  ‘I hope that hurts,’ Sidro said. ‘I hope I broke half the bones in your hand.’

  ‘Very nearly.’ Laz was concentrating on examining the hand in question. ‘But not quite.’

  ‘What a pity!’

  ‘I’ve never seen you so angry before.’ He looked up with a twisted grin. ‘Which is odd, considering how often you’ve raged at me over the years.’

  ‘You get more infuriating the longer I know you.’

  ‘Ah, I see. But you know, just because I do love you, I’m not going to tie you up to keep you here. If you want to go back to Zakh Gral, go. I’ll have Pir take you back to Alshandra’s road, while I stay here, moaning and rubbing ashes in my hair to mourn your imminent demise by dragon fang.’

  ‘Oh hold your rotten tongue, will you? How can I go back now, knowing what I know? If it weren’t for Lakanza, I wouldn’t even want to, I suppose. I wish I could beg Alshandra to keep her safe, like I used to, when I believed.’

  ‘Are you going to weep? You’ll feel better.’

  ‘I can’t even do that. I’m too tired.’ With a sigh she sat down on the nearer tree stump.

  Laz knelt beside her and laid a gentle hand on her thigh. She laid her hand over his, but she found it too difficult to look him in the face.

  ‘Tell me something, Laz. If Alshandra wasn’t a goddess, what was she? There are all those old stories of miracles. Surely they can’t all be lies. Was she just a sorceress?’

  ‘No. As far as I can tell, she was a kind of spirit. The Ancients call them Guardians. Vandar was another one. They’re as mortal as you and I, but they have power beyond anything we’ll ever be able to command.’

  ‘There are more than just the two, then.’

  ‘A good many more, or so Hazdrubal told me. I remember a few of them. There’s a man with a stag’s head, and then someone the Ancients call Our Lady of the Beasts. They’re both forest spirits. There was a half-fox, half-man, too, who seemed more malicious than powerful. And oh yes, some sort of furred sea creature, a male, and another female the Ancients call Our Lady of the Waves. They’re all rather grotesque, living on the astral as they do. Apparently they try to look like creatures on the physical plane, but they’re not terribly good at choosing their illusions.’

  Sidro grimaced and shuddered.

  ‘Sisi, what’s wrong?’

  ‘A grotesque spirit and a mortal, and I was ready to die for her.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘I feel so shamed.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He was watching her without a trace of a smile or a glint of mockery in his eyes. ‘You look so sad,’ he went on. ‘I wish I could do something to make you feel better.’

  ‘The only thing that would help would be warning Lakanza somehow, and that’s impossible.’

  ‘Yes, but—wait! I wonder. We know that the white crystal links with the black. Were you the only priestess who used to look into the black one?’

  ‘No. We were all trying to see if we could feel the presence of the holy witness Raena through it. There was some sort of legend that she’d left a message in the stone.’

  ‘Maybe it was more than a legend. I might be able to send them an omen.’

  ‘But you want them dead. Why would you even want to warn them?’

  ‘Only out of love for you.’ Laz frowned, staring down at the floor. ‘It’s a vast thing, the love I bear you.’

  Sidro felt like screaming at him, her usual shriek of ‘oh don’t lie!’, but he looked up with eyes so full of genuine warmth that she held her tongue. She’d seen him look at her with lust a thousand times, and with affection almost as often, but never with such a depth of feeling. When she reached out to stroke his hair, he caught her hand and kissed her fingers.

  ‘Let me think about this,’ he said. ‘There’s something about omen crystals in the Pseudo-Iamblichos Scroll.’

  While Laz studied the book, Sidro left the cabin. She was planning on talking with Bren the Lijik rider, but she saw Faharn standing some yards from the cabin door.

  ‘You can’t go in,’ Sidro said, ‘Laz is studying.’

  Faharn turned on his heel and strode off without a word. Sidro felt like yelling something nasty at his retreating back. Instead, she resumed her search for Bren.

  She found him sitting on a log bench with Pir and eating cold porridge with his fingers from a cracked bowl. She could tell he’d washed, because his brigga were sopping wet, his hair was clean, and his wet shirt hung from a tree branch nearby. She could have counted his ribs had she wanted, proof that he’d wandered in the forest for a long while. When Sidro walked up, he started to set the bowl down, but she bade him go on eating.

  ‘There be no need on you to kneel or suchlike,’ she said in Deverrian. ‘But eat not too quickly and too much, or you risk a foul stomach after so much starving.’

  ‘True spoken,’ Bren said. ‘Holy one, do you despise me for not dying at the dun?’

  ‘I do not, because in your own way you be a true witness to our goddess.’ How could you, Sidro! she was thinking. You slimy deceiver! ‘What other news have you for me?’

  ‘I managed to hide until they took the dun,’ Bren said. ‘Then I pretended to be one of the servants. You see, there were a lot of noble lords in the siege army, and they’d all brought servants, so if anyone asked me who I served, I’d just pick a lord’s name and say I was new to his dun. I had to hide my sword, though, and then I never managed to fetch it back before I left. So anyway, I heard the fortguard talking. The gwerbret’s sent messages to the high king of all Deverry and to the Mountain Folk as well as his own vassals and allies. The lords say Alshandra’s men have been killing farmers out on the border, so they have the right to bring down Zakh Gral. They’re lying, aren’t they? About the raiding?’

  ‘I wish in my very soul that they did lie,’ Sidro said, ‘but they do not. Some of our men have gone mad, I do think, slaying the innocent, stealing their women for slaves. Our lords do wish to slay the Westfolk, too, and steal their lands. All those of us here in this camp do decry such things and the false notions some priests spread among the faithful. We be exiles therefore.’

  Bren sobbed deep in his throat, just once. For a long moment he stared at the ground, then slowly raised his head. ‘I was going to try to warn the fortress,’ he said, ‘and if you order me to, I will. But I’ll be doing it with a cold heart.’

  ‘Nah nah nah! I do have another charge for you.’ She turned to Pir and spoke in the Horsekin tongue. ‘Can we outfit this man wit
h weapons and a horse?’

  ‘Easily. Movrae won’t be needing any of his gear in the Deathworld.’ Pir considered Bren for a moment. ‘Movrae had the new sort of sabre, but Bren will get used to it with practice.’

  ‘With luck he won’t need to swing it.’ Sidro returned to Deverrian for Bren. ‘Now heed me well! First, there be a need on you to rest and eat. When you be strong again, I shall give you a horse and a sword and send you with messages to the men of the Boar. Ken you them? They do dwell east and north of Lord Honelg’s dun, but a short way over the Deverry border.’

  ‘I’ve heard of them, holy one,’ Bren said. ‘Are they loyal to our goddess?’

  ‘They be so. There be a need on us to warn them. Will you ride that message? I shall show you how to see the markings of Alshandra’s holy road. It will take you there.’

  ‘Well and good, then.’ He smiled, one weary twitch of his mouth.

  ‘Return to your meal,’ Sidro said. ‘My blessings upon you.’

  When Sidro turned to go, Pir got up and followed her. He waited to speak until they’d gone too far for Bren to overhear. ‘That were well-spoken.’ He used Deverrian. ‘He should make trouble for none now.’

  ‘What?’ Sidro spoke in their own language, then paused for a laugh more startled than amused. ‘I had no idea you spoke the Lijik tongue!’

  ‘Oh, I’ve tried to learn everything I need to know.’ Pir sighed and glanced away. ‘Over the years and all.’ Without another word he turned and ambled off to rejoin Bren.

  Sidro returned to the cabin to find Laz still sitting at the table. He’d set the white crystal pyramid under a wizard light beside the open book of the Pseudo-Iamblichos text. Leaning on folded arms, he appeared to be studying both at once, his eyes narrowed, shadowed, so intent that the tattoos around them stood out, as thick as embroidery on his face.

  Sidro sat down opposite him, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. Her years as a priestess had taught her patience if naught else. Every now and then Laz would turn a page in the book or mouth a few silent words. Outside the windows the light slowly faded until they sat surrounded by darkness in a pool of silvery glow from the wizard light, but still he read, his knife’s edge of a face all concentration. Suddenly he threw his arms in the air and laughed, a long croaking rasp of triumph.

  ‘I think I understand now,’ he said, grinning. ‘Sisi, look into the showstone. Tell me when you see one of your holy fools looking back.’

  Sidro leaned forward on to the table on folded arms and stared into the crystal. She could see through the smoky glass of the black pyramid into the shrine back at Zakh Gral. Two oil lamps burned on the altar, a sign that someone had come into the shrine to pray. Laz, sitting opposite her, mirrored her pose and stared into the crystal from the other side. For a long while they waited under the silver wizard light until at last she saw a woman’s shape moving towards her. Rocca walked up and knelt before the altar. Her mouth moved in the salutation to the holy witness Raena.

  ‘Now, Laz,’ Sidro said. ‘Rocca’s looking into the black pyramid.’

  Laz murmured a few words, then let his head drop onto his arms. He had slipped into full trance with his eyes wide open and his mouth slack. The ease with which he could work magic, whether he was transforming himself into the raven or merely translating his consciousness to another level of being, had always frightened her. In the beat of a heart, he could stop being Laz, the man she loved, and turn into someone or something else—so quickly that it made her shudder at the edge of nausea.

  When she returned her focus to the white crystal, she realized that she could no longer see Rocca or the shrine. A silver whorl, flickering like a candle flame in a draught, blocked her view. Across from her, Laz lay so still, slumped half across the table, that she feared him dead, but he moaned under his breath and his lips moved to form a few silent words. In a moment he blinked, grinned at her, and sat up, stretching his back as if it pained him.

  ‘Now look into it,’ he whispered.

  Sidro could see Rocca again, her eyes wide with fear as she rose and saluted the altar. She seemed to be calling out, then turned and rushed away out of the smoky view.

  ‘She saw something, certainly,’ Sidro said. ‘She’s badly frightened.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s what I wanted her to see. I sent an image of the Lijik army at the ford.’

  ‘You what? You know what this army looks like?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve been flying over it for weeks now.’

  ‘So that’s where you’ve been going when you fly, and that’s why you haven’t wanted to tell me.’

  ‘Yes. They’re heading north for the ford.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Sisi, dearest, how else are they going to cross the river?’ Laz started to get up, staggered, and sat down again. ‘Ye gods, I’m soaked with sweat, and curse it all! I’ve drooled all over my sleeve.’

  ‘Shall I bring you some water?’

  ‘Please.’ His voice cracked and croaked on the word.

  Sidro got up and fetched the bucket of clean water she kept on the windowsill, then found their one cup. He drank greedily, smiling at her between gulps, his face softened by sheer exhaustion.

  ‘You need to sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Quite right you are. Let’s hope your holy fools interpret the omen correctly.’

  He stood up more easily this time and staggered over to the mattress. As soon as he lay down he was asleep, flopped on his back with one arm flung over his face. Sidro doused the wizard light, took off her dress, and lay down next to him.

  As she was falling asleep, she remembered Laz telling her that he’d found the crystal in the ruins of Rinbaladelan. As if I’d believe that! she thought. All at once she was wide awake, wondering if he’d actually sent a warning to Zakh Gral. Why would he? ‘Only out of love for you’, he’d told her, a dull spur when it came to urging him to forgive the people who’d tried to kill him. She remembered how he’d looked at her so lovingly. She desperately wanted it all to be true. Was that why he’d said those particular words and given her that look, to ensure she’d believe him?

  But what then had frightened Rocca so badly? Sidro lay awake for a long time that night, trying to resolve in her own mind what Laz might or might not have done, and whether or not he’d ever tell her the truth about it. Finally she realized that whether he said yes, he’d sent it or no, he hadn’t, she couldn’t believe him. Zakh Gral and Rinbaladelan merged in her mind until, that night, she dreamt about a city drowned in forest like breaking waves and saw the raven, drifting high above an army marching to destroy it.

  ‘Ebañy, wait up! If you’d be so kind, I mean.’

  The voice belonged to Kov, the dwarven envoy, speaking Elvish with a guttural accent. Salamander turned around and saw him, staff in hand, dodging his way through the noisy Deverry camp. The army had halted for the night’s rest not long before. Servants and fighting men swarmed around, putting up tents, clearing grass and digging firepits, rushing this way and that with rations and bedrolls. Salamander waited in a clear spot by a wagon for Kov to catch up.

  ‘I’d like to speak with the Wise One, Dallandra,’ Kov said. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Salamander said. ‘Would you be offended if I ask why?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. It’s about this staff. It has some very ancient runes on it, and I thought maybe a learned woman like her would know what they meant. I realize it’s a trivial matter.’

  ‘Ancient runes are never trivial.’

  They found Dallandra supervising her helpers as they set up the healers’ tent. When Salamander hailed her, she left the job to her chief apprentice, Ranadario, and came over to join him. After a few moments of shouting at one another over the noise of an army making camp, Dallandra led them inside to the relative quiet of the tent, which smelled of herbs and roots, a spicy blend in the hot summer air, from the packets of medicinals lying stacked on the floor cloth. They stood u
nder the smokehole to catch the last of the sunlight.

  ‘It’s about this staff.’ Kov waggled it in emphasis. ‘I was wondering if you knew anything about the runes upon it. It’s very old, at least a thousand years old, in fact.’

  ‘May I?’ Dallandra held out her hands.

  When Kov handed it over, she spent some while studying the twelve runes, then turned the staff so Salamander could get a good look at them.

  ‘I recognize Rock and Gold,’ Kov said, pointing. ‘Those two there. This third one might be a very old form of Dust. And of course, there are two Deverry letters at the very beginning.’

  Dallandra nodded and continued studying the staff. Her lips moved as if forming words. With a shake of her head, she handed the staff back.

  ‘Two of the symbols are from an ancient version of our syllabary,’ she said. ‘I recognize them from a scroll that Aderyn left me as a legacy when he died. The one that looks like Dust to you is actually the elven Cloud, and this fourth one is Sky.’ She pointed to the runes with a fingertip. ‘Two are Gel da’ Thae, but there are others that I can’t sound out.’

  Kov caught his breath, and his eyes grew wide. Dallandra continued to study the runes. ‘So, we have twelve marks,’ she said eventually. ‘Two are in the Mountain language, two in Elvish, two in Gel da’ Thae, two from Deverry, and then there are four others that I can’t decipher. Tell me, if Rock and Gold stood alone, what would they mean?’

  ‘Earth,’ Kov said. ‘Earth in the elemental sense, that is.’

  ‘Good, because Cloud and Sky together mean air. These Gel da’ Thae marks—well, I can speak something of their tongue, and while I can’t read it, I did see an explanation of their writing once. If I’m remembering it a-right, this pair means fire. The Deverry letters—’ She glanced at Salamander.

  ‘It could mean Aethyr,’ Salamander said. ‘The actual word has four letters, but if you say the names of those two aloud, you get eth err.’

  ‘Hah!’ Dallandra’s eyes gleamed. ‘So the symbols that we don’t understand should mean water—in some language or another. Bardekian, could it be?’