A Taste of Magic

by Andre Norton

  I needed to prepare.

  I needed to know more about them, Lord Purvis especially. I needed Alysen safe. So I prayed to the Green Ones that merchants or herders would pass through this village soon so the bodies could be taken care of.

  “Bury no one, Eri?”

  I fought back tears as I shook my head.

  “That is wrong. We should—”

  “We take things only from the House of Ewaren, understand, Alysen? These other folks have relatives in nearby villages and cities to the south, and their goods should be willed to them.”

  Alysen hurried into the manor house. I waited a few moments, tasting the breeze again, making sure nothing was stirring and that there was no hint of the men returning. There remained only the tastes of blood and death and sorrow.

  Satisfied we were alone, I followed her, taking a winding staircase to the second-floor chambers, my knees shaking and threatening to spill me. I knew Alysen had come this way, as I heard her moving around behind her closed door. I knocked and opened it.

  She was folding clothes into a satchel. “About Nanoo Gafna, Eri, will you please—”

  “Aye, I will go in search of the Nanoo with you. I promise. I’ll not abandon you.”

  “Because the wyse is strong with me? Like it is with you?”

  “No. Because keeping you safe is the right thing to do.”

  “Even if I had no magic about me?”

  I didn’t bother to answer that.

  I left her for several minutes, retreating into my own room and collecting a few changes of clothes. These I put in a heavy cotton bag, adding to it a comb and brush, three strands of beads Lady Ewaren had given me, two of them woven of a thick yarn, looking like lace speckled with shiny stones and miniature carved wooden animals and flowers. The third was a strand of polished carnelian stones, carved into half-moon shapes, that I treasured.

  My favorite necklace I put on. This was a gift from Bastien, and I suspected it had belonged to his mother, as he’d had no wife, and with no lady-friend he’d had no cause to purchase such jewelry. This strand was made of moss agates smoothed into the shape of teardrops. Each stone was a slightly different shade of green and was shot through with veins of brown and gray so dark they looked black to one who didn’t inspect it closely. I’d mourn the dead with the moss agate tears now. I would properly cry my own tears later, when we were well away from this blood-drenched place.

  I had only a handful of gold coins to my name, these willed to me by Bastien. I kept them in a small pouch, which I thrust deep into the bag. I paced around the room, tugged a gray wool blanket down from a shelf and rolled it, tying it with leather hair cords.

  There were other odds and ends I gathered—two cakes of precious oatmeal soap, a soft pair of slippers, and a leather-bound journal I’d kept while I studied with Bastien. I added an earthen jar filled with skin cream Willum’s mother had made, and a dozen ivory ribbons I’d traded a wolf pelt for on a trip to Mamet two years past and had never put in my hair. My hair was far too short, as I always kept it trimmed close so it was easy to wash and comb and wouldn’t tangle in the tree branches. Bastien said my head looked like an acorn, my skin smooth and tanned and my hair looking like the cap. But I thought I might grow my hair longer someday, and so I’d wanted the ribbons. Was it foolish of me now to take them with me?

  I also took a section of lace I’d woven when I was Alysen’s age—the first piece I’d made without Lady Ewaren’s help. There were other treasures in my room, certainly, but I wanted to travel lightly and quickly and not be slowed by precious burdens. A last look around my room—the place I’d called home for the past ten years—then I returned to Alysen.

  I saw that her door had a lock. Odd that I’d never noticed this before—but then, I’d not spent any amount of time with the girl, other than to greet her at the evening meal or to nod to her in passing. We were years and interests apart, though she called me Eri, a familiarity that bothered me a little, as that was what Lady Ewaren and Bastien had called me.

  … But a lock on her door? I’d never found the need for such. Lady Ewaren had no lock on her door. That the child would lock her room in refuge made me aware that I knew very, very little of Alysen t’Geer.

  She’d finished stuffing a second satchel. Both were small, and therefore acceptable. She, too, looked at her room a last time, tears threatening the corners of her eyes. She slipped a cloak on, while I took a blanket off her bed and tied it as I had mine. Then I handed it to her, though she had trouble managing it and her two satchels. I did not offer to help her; she would have to make her own way.

  I glanced out the window of her room, then out the window at the end of the hall, watching for any sign of riders. The only thing stirring was my horse, Dazon. He was drinking deeply from the trough at the stable.

  Alysen followed me to the kitchen, and we took what we could fit in a backpack hanging on the back hook—dried provisions that would not spoil and two jars of strawberry jam one of the cooks had put up a few days past. I pulled two traveler’s water bottles from a high shelf.

  “We’ll fill these at the fountain in the courtyard.” After a moment, I took a third, then Alysen and I crossed the courtyard to the barracks.

  Since Bastien’s death the barracks had been empty, serving mainly as a place wayfarers could rest between villages and where traveling soldiers could stop during their patrols. His room had been left largely intact, in the event distant relatives came by to claim his things. This is where I went.

  “Wait outside and be wary,” I told Alysen. “Call out if anyone approaches.” Then I sat my bag and blanket at her feet and let the shadows of the barracks claim me.

  If Bastien had distant relatives, I didn’t know of them. And if they existed and knew of his passing, they would have come for his things by now—if they were interested. There were so many things I would have claimed. But I tried to keep my burden reasonable, and so I passed over his weapons, hanging dusty on the rack. A few were missing, and I wondered if some of the villagers had come in here and grabbed them in an effort to fight off the riders. I could have searched through the homes and the field, looking for such evidence—but the knowledge would be useless and would do nothing for either me or the dead.

  I looked through the corner he’d considered a den and hesitated over a small, fancifully carved wooden box. It was no larger than an apple, and it held a secret, as I had never seen it open. I knew it was my mother’s, and that Bastien was holding it for me. I’d tried opening it many times through the years but was never successful. Perhaps if I’d been closer to my mother, it would have intrigued me more. But, as it had been with my father, my mother and I’d never been close.

  Oh, I could have bashed the thing open with my fist or a hammer, or forced it somehow, but Bastien had talked me out of that. He said I must discover the “key,” or else I was not ready to see its contents. I balanced it in my hand a moment, considering leaving it. But after a moment more I put it in a belt pocket.

  I took Bastien’s cloak from the hook. It was too large for me, but was well made, lightweight wool dyed dark green. Another remembrance of him, this cloak. I folded it and tied it with a piece of twine. Then I took down a woodsman’s hatchet, fitted in a leather pocket. It might come in handy.

  “Eri!”

  I rushed outside, fearing the return of the men. But Alysen was merely anxious.

  She took the lead as we hurried to the stables. There were eight more horses inside, marking our village as quite prosperous. I selected the three best—a draft, a cob, and a dappled gray fell pony, and saddled them, then released the others knowing they could survive on the hay in the barn and the grass in the fields and at the edge of the woods. Too, I asked the Green Ones to let merchants or passing farmers find them and give them good homes.

  I opened the gate to the field so the cows could also graze farther and get water. The one with the throwstars in its hide was down, already dead. I felt sorry that I had not ended
its suffering immediately, that it had to feel such pain for so long, but so many things had flooded my mind.

  I tied the backpack filled with food, Alysen’s two satchels, and my satchel to the draft’s saddle, adding Bastien’s folded cloak and the three filled water bottles. I checked the curl-horns on Dazon, and added my small backpack and blowpipe and bolt quiver. When I was certain that everything was secure, I handed the reins of the fell pony to Alysen, pleased she was quick to get on its back—though was not at all graceful doing so. I took the cob.

  Dazon was clearly fatigued, as I’d had him up so early and had traveled with him far this day and two days before. I wouldn’t leave him, but I wouldn’t ride him again until tomorrow. Nor would I give him anything else to carry the rest of this day. Dazon was seven, foaled by Bastien’s prized mare, one of the horses I’d turned loose. Given to me as a Harvest Day present, there had not been a day I had not spent time with Dazon. The horse knew my moods as well as anyone who had lived in the village—as well as Bastien and Lady Ewaren had.

  “Does she have a name?”

  I turned and saw Alysen’s gaze riveted to the woods beyond the gate.

  “The pony, Eri, does she have a name?”

  The pony had been in the village for nearly a dozen years, and I suspected it was a few years older than that.

  “Spring Mist,” I told her. The pony had been named for her hide and mane, both the color of early morning fog. Despite living in Nar for a year, Alysen obviously had not been around the village horses much—I could tell that from the unsure way she rode.

  “Spring Mist. I like the name.” She twisted her fingers in the pony’s mane, a gesture I suspected was meant to give her more security on her mount.

  “We’ll travel slower than I’d prefer, Alysen. I want to keep Dazon from coming up lame or from suffering exhaustion.” By the Green Ones, I’d not leave Dazon in this village of the dead!

  Less than one hour after I’d come home to discover the massacre, I was leaving the Village Nar. Without looking back, Alysen and I made our way out the main gate, heading northwest.

  I wondered if I would ever see home again.

  4

  No path led to Nanoo Gafna’s home—to any of the hidden places of the Nanoo. Those who would deal with the witches had to watch the trees carefully for artfully crimped branches, symbols in the whorls, patches of gently scraped bark—all of those things serving as well as carved signs along the road to one who knew how to read them.

  The way to Nanoo Gafna’s was entrenched in my memory, and so I took barely passing notice of the signs. I was too preoccupied with visions of the Village Nar to pay much attention to my surroundings, too guilty that I’d buried no one … more guilty that I could well be to blame for all their deaths.

  The way to the Nanoo’s fen was seemingly known to Alysen as well, as she’d taken the lead. Or was she dipping into my mind and tugging the directions from me?

  When I pulled myself back from the horror and grief and looked to the ground, I could tell that none of the riders had come this far into the woods. They’d turned around shortly after entering the treeline. I saw no signs of a scuffle where they’d stopped, and so I breathed easier about the fate of Nanoo Gafna. I did not believe they’d managed to catch her.

  Before we took the first twist in the unseen path I signaled Alysen to stop, and I led Dazon well away and loosed his burden. I let the curl-horns lay stiff-legged on the ground. It was hard for a hunter such as myself to waste that supply of fresh meat. Still, to have left it at the village would have betrayed my return, and to carry it to the Nanoo was to invite evil to the witches. Slaughtered animals were a bane to them and dishonored the gods they revered. No trace of animal flesh passed their lips, lest they risk losing their arcane powers. I knew woodland creatures would rejoice to find the curl-horn carcasses and would feast—at least that was some consolation for my morning’s hunting efforts.

  I cut off a strip of meat and wrapped it in a piece of hide I pulled loose.

  Alysen watched me, curious.

  “I will cook this later, when we stop for the evening,” I told her.

  I raised my head and stared into the growing shadows, as the afternoon continued to advance. I got on the cob and nodded for Alysen to continue, Dazon and the draft drifting in behind, neither needing a tether. Sometime later, as the sun edged lower, its rays turning the water standing in a marshy land golden, we passed a lone willow birch.

  “Wait, Alysen.” Not speaking the ancient words above a whisper, I repeated the Gift-Give ritual Nanoo Gafna had taught me years ago.

  “Haltha yorin tildreth.” I traced a pattern in the air that symbolized a weeping branch stretching to the ground. “Drathra yorin soldreth hal.” I held my hand parallel to the earth and blew across my palm.

  Alysen slipped from the back of the pony and watched. Her eyebrows were raised, but she didn’t ask any questions. Perhaps she knew I spoke a salute to the spirits of the Nanoo who rested beneath the earth. I was certainly not inclined to share this particular bit of wyse knowledge with the girl—I doubted she knew it. And I concentrated to keep my thoughts hidden from her prying mind.

  I dismounted and took the reins of the cob, and signaled Dazon to follow; we treaded softly now along the hidden way. It was nearing sunset, and I believed that a storm was gathering above the forest canopy, intending to add to the wetness of this place. I could smell the water heavy in the air, stagnant pools lying beyond my sight, the dampness thick in fallen, rotting trees. The scent of this place was strong, and while not pleasant, it was not odious. It was full of life and magic and old things, and I breathed the air deep into my lungs and held it as long as I could.

  “We’re being watched,” Alysen said. “I can feel it.”

  “Aye, girl. We have been for quite some time.” I breathed again and noted that Alysen tried to copy me. “The forest itself watches us.”

  All ancient woods had inhabitants, guardians who did not share the life span of humankind. The guardians were as old as the eldest trees, perhaps were the trees themselves. They didn’t worry me, rather they gave me a measure of comfort. I led the horses between the trunks of two gray ash trees that stretched so high above I lost them in the canopy and the darkness.

  “I will help you!” The cry came from Alysen, and startled me. She repeated it, sundering the silence of the woods.

  I whirled to face her and get her to hush, but she dropped the reins of her pony and was by me in an instant, crashing through the brush ahead, feet slapping against the marshy loam. I had not been prepared for her to shoulder me aside, and my attempt to grab her came late, my fingers closing only on damp air.

  I knew the Nanoo’s clearing was roughly two miles away, and I worried that Alysen might reach it before me and break the witch’s protocol if she charged in uninvited. So I dropped the reins, too. I knew Dazon would follow me, likely causing the other horses to join him. I chased after her, intending to reach her and bring her down before she made the clearing.

  I caught up to her quickly, but she was nimble and dodged me, racing ahead despite the shadows and the danger laden in this venerable fen. She narrowly avoided slamming into a stone pillar greened with thick moss. The ground was terribly spongy here and sucked at my feet.

  Dazon nickered inches behind me, and I slowed. I wanted to catch Alysen, but I’d do neither of us any good if I stumbled into a bog.

  “Easy, my friend.” I repeated it, slightly louder. “Careful.”

  Dazon complied, planting his four hooves heavily. I knew the horse well, and knew his will agreed with mine at the moment. I drew my fingers down his neck, where the hair was roughened by sweat. He wuffled softly.

  Moving steadily, I led him through a stand of trees, the draft, cob, and fell pony plodding behind. I couldn’t see Alysen’s boot prints here, but I could see where bushes and low-hanging tree limbs had been disturbed in her haste.

  We traveled a little more than half a mile before I s
lowed the pace further. It was getting difficult to see, because of the numerous trees and dense canopy, and more so difficult to spot Alysen’s signs. Still, I had no worry that I would find the girl, as I knew where she was headed. But I knew reaching her before she got to the Nanoo was unlikely now.

  With each step, I thought about the dead Village Nar and Lord Purvis, and I prayed that he would pay in blood for what he did this day. At my belt swung the two sheathed knives of different lengths, and my chain was hooked there, too—one of these weapons I would use to kill Lord Purvis, the demon-of-a-man.

  I could use a sword, Bastien had taught me well, and now I wondered if I should have taken one from his office. But a sword was considered a noble’s weapon, and in some places there were laws against carrying such unless your birthright permitted it. Should I have taken a weapon for Alysen? Or a leather vest to protect her like light armor would? Her cloak was bulky, but would not suffice against weapons.

  No, she wasn’t trained with weapons. Carrying one might only put her at risk. She wouldn’t need weapons or armor if I could get her safely into the hands of the Nanoo … or at this speed, if she could get herself there.

  I heard her then, moving clumsily through the brush ahead and to the south—not toward the Nanoo village. Where was she going?

  I listened intently to make certain she hadn’t gotten too far ahead. Then I couldn’t hear her any longer. At first I thought she must have stopped, hopefully waiting for me.

  I looked over my shoulder to Dazon. He’d started to snort nervously. I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, and I glanced at the fell pony. She was nervous, too. The cob and draft had found sweet grass to eat and were unaffected. I turned to face the woods in front of me again and tentatively opened my mouth.

  I tasted the heady loam of the spongy earth beneath my feet, rich from recent rains. I tasted the moldy, fusty scent of rotting wood. Nothing seemed amiss. But something looked wrong. Straining through the shadows, I saw the way ahead was blocked by a tight weave of thorny branches.