“May Nordu find pleasure in your service, and may her blessings be upon you,” Arie replied in the tradition of the greeting, the mirth gone from her voice. Her eyes lingered on his faerie hand a moment before she met his gaze again. “I pray your pardon, Tal, for my…” Arie paused to search for the word and smiled. “For my familiarity. You see, I expected you to come through here eight years ago. In fact, I wasn’t even going to stay in Ryth, except that I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been rather looking forward to it, as I’m sure you can imagine, and I do have to admit that I was both younger and easier to look at back then.”
Sorin shook his head as if trying to clear it. Krea didn’t blame him one bit. “Did I break faith with you, milady?” Sorin asked. “Eight years? I don’t remember having any reason to come through Ryth. When did we meet?”
“Oh no,” the mage clarified, pushing one of her long braids over her shoulder. The blue leather thong on the end reminded her of the cobbler. “You were unaware of our impending meeting, obviously, or you would have passed on the eight-year bath. I was given a vision from the goddess. She told me you were coming and that you were bringing the…well, let’s just see who you have brought, shall we?” Arie turned to Krea, who rose to her full height, but took one bold step backward at the mage’s sudden attention. “You are Krea?”
Krea nodded, her throat suddenly too dry to speak.
“Well, Krea, the goddess didn’t show me what you would look like; she only gave me your name, but I have to admit, I thought you would be younger.” The woman placed the flat of her fist against her forehead and gave Krea a cursory bob of her head. “Welcome to my home, Krea. I am well met.”
Krea tried to return the greeting, but in her nervousness, she smacked herself in the nose with the hand she intended for her head. The mage smiled, gave her an encouraging wink, and then stepped over to Dane. To his credit, the little pelt stood his ground, even when the woman’s expression grew quiet and serious. “And you are?”
“Dane, lady witch.”
Sorin slapped his hand over his mouth. Krea glanced from him to the mage, trying to understand the problem, but the woman’s deep brown eyes held only laughter.
“Dane.” The mage spoke the name into the night with an unnatural authority, and Krea could feel the Essence coursing up through the ground. “I think you have another name, child. She peeked over his hands at the knot of oak he still held clenched against his chest. “And it seems you have come with instructions.”
“The tree gived me this,” Dane explained, hugging the chunk of wood tighter. “The same one what saved me from the pulks. Did you send them pulks? ’Cause Sorin says ain’t no one can send no pulk nowhere, not even no witch, but he also says they comed from the water, and you live right by the water.”
Arie glanced over at Sorin in search of clarification. “He was attacked by a large group of loireags at the bathhouse,” Sorin explained, “and then, even after we scared them away, one came back and tried to go through Krea to steal his burl.”
“Loireags?” Arie asked. “You are sure they were loireags?”
Sorin nodded.
The mage turned back to Dane. “Let me see that knot.”
Dane’s eyes grew wide with fear and a determination that Krea had never before seen in him. He glanced at Krea and eyed the door, pulling the twisted lump of wood in under his arm, and shook his head. “I can’t give this to no one, lady witch,” he whispered, coiled and prepared to spring for the exit. Krea was ready to go with him. “Not to you or no one.”
Sorin stepped forward, his dismay obvious. “He means no offense, milady. He doesn’t know any better. I only discovered him on my way into Ryth today, and I should have taken the time to instruct him before bringing him here. The fault is mine, not his.”
Arie waved her hand through the air to dismiss Sorin’s apology. “Dane, I will answer your question, and then I will remedy this problem. Tal Sorin is correct. I did not send the loireags, nor can I imagine anyone else sending them. As for me being a witch, pay close attention, child. I will only explain this once.” Arie’s otherwise amiable expression grew suddenly dark as she stared down at him. “I am a mage. I am a woman who was gifted by the goddess with a talent for magic and a responsibility for how it should be used. I use my gift in accordance with the natural world that Nordu created. Do you understand that?”
Dane trembled slightly under Arie’s stern reproach and managed little more than a nod in answer.
“Good. A witch is a woman who may have been born with a gift for magic, but she never accepts the responsibility that goes with it. She never accepts the whole gift, just the parts that suit her, and she uses those gifts to twist and pervert nature in ways that the goddess never intended. Young morni, I serve the goddess. I take great offense to being called a witch.”
A single tear streaked Dane’s cheek as he continued to stare up at the woman before him. “I didn’t know,” he finally managed in barely more than a whisper.
The mage squeezed his shoulder. “And Tal Sorin said as much when he tried to offer himself as a sacrifice for your blunder a moment ago, but now you do know. That means that I hold you responsible from this moment forward. Do you understand that as well?”
Dane’s nod was considerably more enthusiastic, and Krea found herself nodding right along with him. Goddess have mercy, this woman was scary.
“Wonderful. Now, back to the oak. I don’t want you to give it to me, boy. Just show it to me.”
With the tenderness of a child presenting a wounded fledgling, Dane held the wood out for her to see. All three of them bent over his outstretched hands and dutifully followed when Arie led him over to the lamp for better light.
The knot curved and twisted in streaks of yellow, tan, and brown around a core so black Sorin could hardly look at it. As he followed the patterns in the wood, Sorin realized that the black core was actually a hard ball of resin that had been covered over time with twisted layers of wood until only bits of the eerie blackness peeked through. Bits of splintered wood still clung to the swirling palm-size oval, but with a little work, the knot would be smooth to the touch and hard as stone.
Arie brushed her fingers over the rough, broken wood and whispered something into the air. Across the room, the fire in the hearth blazed. “A bloodlock,” she announced, noticing Dane’s hands for what looked like the first time. She brushed her fingers over the dried blood and smiled patiently when the boy pulled his treasure back against his chest. “And it would seem the receiving of the gift took nearly as much effort as the giving must have. The boy is drained. We must eat.”
“I thank you for your kindness, milady,” Sorin began, obviously trying not to offend, “but we are three more than you were expecting for your evening meal. I cannot presume upon you to feed us all.”
Arie smiled. “But you are wrong, caller. I have been expecting you for a very long time. The goddess told me you would come on the hollow moon, so I have made dinner in anticipation of your arrival. You are only one more than I had planned on, and I think I can manage that one just fine.” She waved them over to the bench along the back wall. “Please sit.”
Krea didn’t move. “You have been making dinner for us on every hollow moon for the last eight years?” That didn’t even make sense when she said it.
“Does the goddess not expect us to be faithful in our obedience? She said you would come. She said I was to feed you. She said I was to be prepared. I am prepared.”
“But for eight years? Why didn’t you give up? That doesn’t make any sense,” Krea questioned.
She followed the mage’s gaze over to Sorin. His expression was a mixture of shock and horror. Maybe he thought the mage’s words were meant for him. In a way, he had been running from his calling. For all of the years since Tormismir’s loss, he had been turning his back on his duty, his responsibility as a chosen of Nordu, by hiding in Trasdaak. Maybe he was embarrassed by what the mage was saying. She didn’t seem to notice or
, more likely, care. She just answered Krea’s question.
“Give up on the goddess? Who would do such a thing? Tal, the child is failing. Please help him to a seat.”
Sorin shook his head, cleared his throat, and finally found his voice. “Lady, I cannot eat food you serve me. I should be serving you.” His voice cracked and he paused. After a moment, he turned to Krea and motioned toward Dane. “You two, go sit. You may need to help him.”
Krea glanced over at Dane and had to agree with Sorin. The little pelt looked like he had just been whipped. She grabbed his arms from behind and walked him over to the bench. Once she got him seated, which wasn’t easy since he wouldn’t let go of his burl long enough to help, she pulled out one of the last pieces of her candy and gave it to him. He gave her his impish grin and popped it in his mouth. “Pelt!” she whispered.
Arie laughed, but not at them. She was still facing Sorin, and her expression conveyed indignation, not humor. “It’s not for you to decide a person’s role, caller. Just because you chose to walk away from the path the goddess set for you doesn’t mean I will. I was to do several things in preparation for your visit, and serving this dinner is one of them. Considering the fact that your delay has cost me more respectable meals than I care to recall, the very least you can do is eat it.” With that, the woman spun and walked away, dismissing Sorin with a swish of her skirt.
For a long moment, Sorin didn’t move and Krea and Dane both stared in mutually agreed-upon silence. Finally, Sorin wandered over to drop down next to Krea, but nobody spoke. Only the scratching and clanking of Arie retrieving their dinner broke the palpable silence.
Not soon enough, Arie was scooting small wooden bowls brimming with stew across the table. She dropped a plate of bread and cut cheese between them, along with a pitcher of water and a cluster of mugs. Then she swished off to the hearth again. Dane reached for a piece of bread, but Sorin cracked him on the knuckles before his fingers locked on their target.
“We offer thanks; then the lady who served us eats first.” Dane sucked the candy and slowly withdrew his hand, watching Sorin the entire time. Sorin pretended to turn his attention to the hearth, but his ploy was obvious to Krea. Apparently not to Dane. Sorin had no more than looked away before Dane’s fingers were sneaking across the table, this time with considerably more stealth.
“Dane,” Sorin prompted, still pretending to watch the hearth. “Do not disrespect a mage. I don’t care how hungry you are, how cold, how tired, how desperate. Never ever disrespect a teacher of magic. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
The hand slipped back. Krea snickered at his pathetic skill and Dane settled into a noteworthy pout, but not before acknowledging Sorin’s advice with a quiet grunt.
Tired of watching Dane sulk, Krea looked across the room at the mage. She was pulling what looked like meat pies out of a cooking stone. “She’s a teacher?”
“Aye. Mages do many things. They heal and advise and often act as priestesses to the goddess, but mostly they teach magic and wisdom to those who will learn it.”
“Did a mage teach you how to do magic?”
Dane still watched the bread with such an expression of longing Krea wanted to laugh, but his hands were on his lap, probably rubbing the burl. Sorin glanced from him to Krea and nodded. “Many mages taught me,” he explained. “We go to the temple when we are ten. From there, we are taught by mages how to meld with nature, how to serve the goddess and each other, how to call and control the Essence that lends us power and,” he glanced over at Dane, “manners.”
“That’s where you learn the songs that control the kyrni?” Krea asked.
“Mages teach us the chants that call back the kyrni, but we don’t control them.”
Arie propped the edge of a wooden tray on the table and scooted off five small plates, each bearing a meat roll wrapped in a thin crust and topped with small round mushrooms and herbs. “There is an extra one for whoever wants it,” she announced, finally walking around to stand beside Dane. “Shall we offer thanks?”
Sorin slid the bench back and stood, nodding his approval when the other two followed his lead and bowed his head. “My Lady,” Arie began, her voice quiet and assured. “We offer thanks for your gifts, your faithfulness, and your guidance. We pray our service will be pleasing to you and that our faith will not fail.” She closed her prayer with a quiet chant that Krea couldn’t decipher, and smiled. “I am very thankful to finally be having this meal. Let us eat.”
Dane needed no more prompting than that. He piled his plate with bread and cheese, shoving slices into his mouth as he went, and then pulled his stew bowl toward him. “Ain’t never had no cheese before,” Dane informed them between mouthfuls of stew. “It’s sorta sticky.” He was tearing off bites of bread with one hand and spooning stew into his already full mouth with the other, sometimes shoving the food with his fingers to keep it from falling out.
“Dane!” Krea said, disgusted. Dane froze, a piece of cheese in hand, ready to be crammed into his already full mouth. “You’re even embarrassing me. No one is going to take your food from you. Slow down. If you eat like that, you’ll just throw it up later. Or I will now. Honestly!”
The child glanced around the table as if he only just noticed that he wasn’t alone, and then went back to his meal, albeit with considerably more restraint.
“The cheese came from a herder outside the village,” Arie explained, foregoing the stew and cutting right into the crusty meat pie. “An illness was taking his sheep, and he asked for my help. He offered me a goat in payment, but I have no need of one, so he brings me cheese every year when he comes to Ryth to sell.”
“My thanks for the meal,” Sorin said. He seemed to be having some trouble eating, and Krea didn’t think it was because of the little pelt’s disgusting manners.
“My pleasure. Would you mind pouring the water? Then I would like to hear what finally brought you to Ryth.”
Sorin filled the mugs, passed them around, and launched into the story of finding Krea in the alleyway. He made it as far as the proth attack before Arie’s confusion stopped him. “What?” Sorin asked, noting her expression.
“You have lived in Trasdaak this entire time, alone?” Arie asked.
“No. I have a household staff, and my steward, Kole.”
The extra meat pie sat in the middle of the table, steam still drifting off of it. Krea was just cutting into her own pie, but she could see Dane eyeing the extra already.
Arie shook her head and pointed to Krea. “I mean, Krea doesn’t live with you?”
“I only just found Krea. We left the next day. The day of the proth attack.” Sorin glanced over at the two and decided to avert a war. “Dane, Krea, mind yourselves. Remember where you are.”
Krea shot Dane a warning look, then turned to Arie. “Would you like the last pie, lady Arie?” she asked.
Arie smiled. “My thanks, but no. Why don’t you two split it?”
“Fair enough,” Krea agreed, reaching for the plate. Dane started to argue about who should cut it, but Krea’s glare cut him off. He was a pelt for sure, but he wasn’t a stupid one.
As Krea cut the pie and slid Dane’s half onto his plate, Arie turned back to Sorin and grabbed her mug. “I assumed you had been with her this entire time. Now I’m wondering if the mistake was mine rather than yours.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sorin.
“In my vision, the goddess said that a caller would come on the hollow moon with a kyrni named Krea, who was not linked, and a child. The caller would bring with him the prophecy and the key. She then instructed me to feed you, give the child clothing, and perform the blessing on the kyrni.” Arie shrugged. “I assumed that the child would be the kyrni, but now listening to your story, I think I assumed wrong. The kyrni and the child are not the same person, and that means that you are here exactly when you are intended to be here.”
Krea looked over at Dane, who was staring at Arie in shock.
“Nord
u told you that?” Dane asked.
“Aye.”
“She ain’t never told me nothin’.”
Arie reached over and smoothed his hair. “Maybe you just haven’t been listening.”
Dane shrugged. “Seems like she would be hard to ignore.”
Sorin snorted. “Isn’t that the truth!”
“What’s the key?” Krea asked. “And what’s the prophecy?” She looked over at Sorin. “Did you bring it with you?”
“The prophecy is always with me,” he explained, shoving his mostly empty bowl away from him. “As to the key, I don’t know what that is. Do you?” he asked Arie.
She shook her head. “I don’t. Why have you not shared the prophecy with Krea? As a kyrni, she needs to know these things. She is nearing her shift, but you already know that.”
“I was hoping she could learn everything she needs to know in Shaylith. She has never had a caller. I can’t hope to give her ten years’ worth of training in a few weeks.”
“No,” Arie agreed. “But you can give her what you can. That’s all that’s ever asked of us. She can hardly receive the blessing if she doesn’t know the prophecy on which it is based.”
Krea had been watching their conversation bat back and forth, more than a little annoyed. She raised her hand. Dane took the opportunity to steal Arie’s uneaten bowl of stew, but she ignored him. “The kyrni in question is right here at this table, and in case you thought you were whispering, you should know that she can hear you.”
Sorin, at least, had the decency to look chastised. He stepped out from the table and gathered the dishes. “Why don’t I take these out and wash them?” he said, looking a little too eager to leave. “Dane, bring the rest outside when you finish.”
“And did you tell him of his gift?” Arie asked, adding her dishes to his stack.
At that, Sorin stopped. “Now that, milady, is definitely not my place.”
She shrugged. “Well enough, but you did call it right.”
Krea looked over at Dane, who was staring up, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What gift? What do you mean?” she asked.
Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1) Page 19