by Andre Norton
I directed Crust to follow her closely.
“But being slow to use the wyse is not a fault, Wisteria of Nar. It shows restraint and is evidence that you hold magic in esteem. My sister Gafna especially likes that about you.”
“Please, just call me Wisteria,” I said. “Eri, actually. Lady Ewaren and Bastien called me Eri. Gafna calls me that, too, sometimes.” That was the first I’d spoken since leaving the fen. “And I’m no longer of Nar, Nanoo Shellaya. Nar is lost to me. Lost to everyone.”
“Eri.” She nodded. “Then just Shellaya. I am past the age of needing titles … Eri.”
“Someone will burn all of Nar, you know. A relative of one of the dead, I believe. No one will live in a place like that … too much blood on the ground. Too many horrid memories in the air. It is a place of ghosts now.”
The three riders traveled single-file, keeping to the east side of the road, the one with the sword staying in the lead and obviously watching us. As we neared them, I saw they were well dressed and clean, their faces shaved, their boots showing minimal dust. There were no packs on the horses, and so I knew they were not going far, perhaps to the Village Grauthen, a little north and to the east of the fen.
I nodded politely as we passed the trio and I resisted the temptation to use my wyse-sense to discover more about them. I admonished myself for being overly suspicious, and I kept myself from turning to look over my shoulder to see if they were watching us. Bastien had called me a trusting soul, and though I might well have been, I was now a distrustful one.
We rode without stopping until midafternoon.
I was surprised at Nanoo Shellaya’s resiliency. There were no horses, or even mules or donkeys in Mardel’s Fen, and yet she rode the pony without complaint as if she was born to it. When we stopped, she slid off the pony easily, and led it to a pond ringed by low ferns and shaded by oaks and black walnut trees. She still walked stoop-shouldered, but she did not evidence the awkward gait of someone who was unaccustomed to riding and had ridden for hours without rest.
“We will look in on my sister Gafna,” she told me. Shellaya dropped the pony’s reins and knelt at the water’s edge, cupping her hands and drinking.
I joined her, after I gave a brief rub to Crust’s neck. “She is in one of two villages, Nan … Shellaya. Either Dewspring or Elspeth’s Knot. They’re within a few miles of each other, and both sit on the river and are in the shadow of the great hill we saw on the surface of the tea. I have not been in either village since I was a child, and so the building we saw is unfamiliar to me.”
She motioned for me to kneel by her.
“Scry magic is not so difficult a thing as you believe, Eri.”
Had she poked into my mind? How could she know what I thought of the old spells of the Nanoo?
“It is rare magic,” I returned. “Dangerous, I’ve heard.”
“Rare?” She shook her head, the hood falling away. “Not rare at all, Eri. It requires a gift of the wyse, to be certain. But it also demands a strong desire to see a particular something, an itching curiosity, if you will.”
“I desire to see Nanoo Gafna,” I stated. Then I gasped. In the water in front of Shellaya and me was Gafna’s lined visage.
She looked more tired and worn than I’d ever seen her, worse even then when I’d watched her in the tea. The water clearer than the tea, mirrorlike in the sun, I could make out more details. There were large, dark bruises on her face, and I knew she’d been beaten, one of her eyes blackened from a punch. Her hair was a horrid tangle, a section of it matted with something. Blood, I believed.
“My sister does indeed suffer, Eri.”
I wondered if Gafna was a sister to her by blood or if all Nanoo considered one another brothers and sisters in the wood and the wyse.
“Dying…”
“Not yet, Eri. They still need her for something.”
“To lure me.”
Shellaya shrugged, her gaze locked on the weary eyes of Gafna. “They’ll not let her die until she is wholly useful to them, and then useful no more.” She pushed up the sleeves of her robe, and her birdlike fingers hovered over the image, as if she could touch Gafna’s lined skin and ease away the bruises.
“Shellaya, can you pull the image back, so we can see the building again?”
Still she kept her gaze on Gafna. “I could, but why don’t you do that, Eri? This is your vision, after all.”
I leaned away from the water, startled, and in that instant the image of Gafna winked out. Shellaya shook her head and made a soft tsk-tsking sound.
“My vision?” My words were a whisper. “I conjured that?”
Shellaya nodded.
“But I don’t know how. Nanoo Gafna never taught me how to scry. Alysen said Gafna taught her. No one taught me.” I barely stopped myself from telling Shellaya that Alysen used the scrying magic often and had looked in on the great city … and saw my father die. But I’d promised to stay silent on that matter.
“Some magics do not require teaching, Eri. Some magics come from the heart and are nurtured by the wyse.”
“I’ve never used such magic before.” I looked at the water, again trying to see Gafna in it and seeing only the sunlight and my own face staring back.
“But you have, Eri. In my home.”
I shook my head.
“In the tea. Remember?”
I turned my head and looked at her. “The tea?” I mouthed.
“That was your scry, Eri. Not mine. Oh, I could have called Gaftna’s image, probably should have days ago. I just hadn’t realized my sister was in trouble. Gafna was known to wander, as I told you. Always, always wandering.”
“My image? I did that?” I looked back to the water and saw my reflection. “How?”
Nanoo Shellaya didn’t reply, but out of the corner of my eye I saw her rock back against her heels.
“Shellaya, I don’t know how to do this.”
Again no reply. I let out an exasperated sigh and thought of Gafna. At the same time I focused on my wyse-sense. A heartbeat later Gafna’s image superimposed itself over my reflection, and then my reflection faded away.
“By the Green Ones! I can scry.”
“See? Not rare magic at all,” Shellaya whispered. She edged forward again, bird fingers once more hovering over Gafna’s battered face. “Not rare. But dangerous—you are correct there, Eri.” She traced the outline of Gafna’s head. Gafna’s eyes opened wide and seemed to stare back at us. “Finish the magic, Eri. Find out where she is.”
I wanted to say “I don’t know how,” but apparently I did know … or I was learning. I imagined Gafna getting smaller, so I could see all of her. The image wavered and I was afraid I was going to lose it. Again I focused on the wyse, feeling the arcane energy of the world and finding it stronger in the water than in the ground beneath me. Was that possible? That there was more magic in water than in earth or in the air? I shook my head to shake off my questions and concentrated on the wyse. I directed it to circle the image of Gafna, like a hawk circles prey on the ground, making the colors more intense and the details clearer. The lines on her face seemed deeper and the bruises looked more painful.
“Smaller.” I urged the magic to pull back from Gafna, and I was surprised that it did just what I wanted. Once more I saw Gafna seated on the chair, but this time I noticed that her ankles were tied to it, and that her hands were tied together in her lap. I tentatively opened my mouth, wondering if I could taste the scene.
Suddenly my senses were flooded. I picked up the scent of the dirt and grass under my knees, the black walnut that rose behind me, its bark damp from a recent rain and smelling wonderfully heady. I picked up a pine that rose between two large oaks, its fragrance as delicate as an expensive perfume oil. There was the sweetness of wildflowers—red and white trillium and bluebells—the soft musky odor of Shellaya, and the foul smell that swirled around Gafna. I was surprised my senses extended inside the vision.
Gafna smelled of old sweat and
dried blood and was sitting in her own waste. She’d not been released from the chair in long, long hours. My eyes started to water, and I tasted a smoky acridness. I caught sight of a large fireplace in the middle of the room and saw a hint of orange from embers—the smoke smell so strong I couldn’t tell precisely what they’d cooked … some sort of meat. A bony hound lay stretched out on a rug, his legs twitching in some dream.
I detected the smell of the dog, and of a man wearing clothes that had not been washed in some time—not sweaty, but suffused with the odors of the fireplace smoke and dirt. Too, I could smell the old wood of the tables, chairs, and benches that filled most of the large room. I willed my vision to distance itself farther still from Gafna. Near the door, the man sat, head slumped forward, his lower lip quivering as he snored.
I looked once more at Gafna, wanting so much to speak to her. She seemed to stare straight at me, unblinking, her expression strong.
“She sees you, Eri. Gafna is so strong in the wyse that she knows someone watches her. Strong enough to know we watch her from this very pond.”
“Can she hear us?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Shellaya shake her head. “The magic does not work that way.”
Neither could I hear anything in the room where Gafna sat, though I knew I could have heard the man snoring if I stood in the building. I could have heard the sounds of the village outside.
I could hear other things, of course—Shellaya’s breathing, the faint clicking sound the walnut branches made in the wind, the song of a jay perched high above me, my own frustrated sigh.
“Smaller.” I concentrated harder and felt a shiver, like I’d been caught in a chill breeze. The wyse exacted a price for overuse, and I suspected I was pushing the magic too much. Still, I persisted. I was rewarded a moment later when I saw the outside of the building.
It was the village’s lodge house, well cared for on the outside as evidenced by the recently painted trim and shutters. The door was painted, too, a dark green that matched the cloaks of the two Moonsons who stood at attention outside the door.
A shiver raced down my spine, and not from using the wyse.
“So wrong,” I whispered. “Moonsons should not be doing this. They are noble and honorable men.”
Bastien would not have allowed Gafna to be so treated and so confined. Neither, I believed, should any Moonson. What righteous man would stand by and not help a battered woman?
A worse thought occurred to me, and I shuddered.
Had a Moonson beat Nanoo Gafna? Was one of them responsible for her deplorable condition?
“More, Eri. Find out the village where my sister is held.”
The image drifted back from the Moonson guards, the wyse magic fueled by my growing anger. I saw muddy streets and wooden buildings, people—some worn-looking and some men burdened with sacks and pieces of timber. I imagined myself a bird gliding above it all, and the vision shifted to accommodate my wishes.
The streets spiraled out from the lodge house like the spokes of a wheel. The river formed the eastern boundary, the village perched on a cutback. The high hill loomed to the west.
“It is the village of Elspeth’s Knot,” I told Shellaya.
I looked to my left, but the elder Nanoo was not there. I looked behind me.
Shellaya sat astride the fell pony, beckoning me with a birdlike finger to hurry.
19
We reached the edge of Elspeth’s knot late the following afternoon. The village was easily twice the size of Nar. From the number of homes and shops, I guessed that more than two hundred people lived and worked there. A considerable number of sheep were confined in several pens to the west of the village. I remembered that the village was known for its wool, and that their most noted craftsmen had the ability to dye the weave, making the wool a very desirable commodity in cities.
I saw a ramshackle building beyond the sheep pens, and near it cattle were kept, along with a large gray goat with an overlong beard. By the smell, which reached me here even without the use of the wyse, I could tell the building was a slaughterhouse. Nanoo Shellaya was wrinkling her nose in disgust at the thought of killing beasts for food. I, however, touched my stomach and wished for meat to fill it.
She got my attention and nodded toward the river to the east.
Birch trees with stark white bark contrasted sharply with the blue-brown water. Two docks stuck out on to the river, and a fishing boat and two small rowboats were tied there, gently bumping against the pilings.
“We will wait by the trees,” she said. She led the pony to a clump of birch and tied the reins to a low branch. She turned to look at me, a puzzled expression on her face.
I, too, was puzzled. Why was she clinging to the river rather than going into the town? I knew the Nanoo were a wise and mystic people, and I could not fathom all of their intentions. Why did she want to wait?
I stood at the north border of Elspeth’s Knot, looking down a straight street lined on the east side by several merchants—a potter’s, a cobbler’s, a narrow building with a crooked roof that by its sign proclaimed it a chandlery. I could read, but there were few words on any of the signs I spotted. I saw pictures of shoes, a mug of ale, cups and plates, barrels, a horse head, and more. I knew that the majority of common folks could not read, and so looked to pictures for information about what businesses offered.
On the west side, residences made of wood and stone sat in a precise line, all of them small, save for one midway down, which rose three levels. A sign out front had a painting of a bed on it, and so I figured it must be a boardinghouse or perhaps an inn. To sleep on a bed, I mused, with a quilt and a pillow and walls to hold back the wind. Again I was missing my room in Lady Ewaren’s house. I was missing, desperately, the comforts of civilization.
At the end of the street was the hub, or center, of the village. My eyes locked on to the green door of the lodge house—the one I’d seen in my scry vision. Nanoo Gafna was in there. I could sense her presence, as without trying I tasted the wyse that spiraled outward from that place. Gafna was nearly as strong in the wyse as Shellaya. Two Moonsons stood outside, though from their builds I could tell they were not the same men I had scryed yesterday.
The wind gusted from the east and I looked in that direction. Shellaya clearly had been responsible for the breeze, an effort to get my attention. She motioned for me, and I led Crust to her. I dropped the reins, knowing the horse would not leave.
“We will wait here, Eri.”
I opened my mouth to ask why, but didn’t get the chance.
“We will wait until darkness, here by the river. In the dark we will take back my sister Gafna. It will be a more suitable time. We would have a better chance at success.”
“Wait?”
She nodded and drew the cloak around her and sat at the base of the largest birch. She tugged the hood down over her face, knowing villagers could see us here and not wanting them to know that she was a Nanoo. Save Gafna’s wanderings, the witches rarely ventured from Mardel’s Fen, and her presence could draw the whole village out to ogle and ask questions.
“Shellaya, I do not want to wait. Gafna is hurt, we saw that in the scry vision. I want to get her out of there.”
She shook her head. “There are too many people bustling around, Eri. After their evening meal, that is the time. Gafna is suffering, yes, and my heart grieves for that. I would take her pain if I could. But now is not yet the time to do something about it. Especially if this is a trap set to snare you.”
“Let them try to catch me, Shellaya.” I balled my fists and set them against my hips. A once-docent of Bastien, I’d not take orders from this woman. She was wise, the leader of the Nanoo of Mardel’s Fen, and I respected her. But she likely had not set foot in a village in decades and was not so familiar with the ways of men. Later was not the time, I knew. Later the lodge house, no doubt, would be filled with men drinking into the darkest hours, maybe beating Nanoo Gafna again, maybe killing her. Now, wi
th people milling around, would be the best opportunity. Guards would not be as likely to do violence against a woman in daylight and in the open.
Besides, if Gafna was the lure, and I the prize, it didn’t matter what time of day I went after the bait. They would be waiting for me.
I strode past Shellaya and onto the smallest dock, leaning over the edge and looking at the water. I knew how to scry now, and I called upon the magic again, after a few moments of concentration seeing Gafna’s bruised face and swollen eyelids.
This magic came too easy for me! After this was done, after Gafna was back with the Nanoo, I vowed not to use it again. Dangerous and easy, and I’d managed well in my life before I knew how to use it.
Gafna; I focused on her and brushed away thoughts of magic. Her head was slumped forward, and I feared the worst, but I watched carefully and saw her chest rise and fall. Nothing appeared as distinct as before, and it took me a moment to realize that this was because the surfaces of the tea and the pond I’d looked in were smooth. The river had a current, though a sluggish one, and the images in it were distorted.
Damn this scry magic and my need to use it!
I focused on the wyse and the image, gazed on the entire room and found one Moonson inside, sitting across from a cold fireplace and eating berries out of a wooden bowl. I did not recognize him, nor had I ever seen the ones outside the lodge house. This did not surprise me, as I’d not been to a Moonson function in a few years, and I’d never attended the largest gatherings with Bastien.
Now was the time.
Only three Moonsons there, and by the braids and medals, the one with the broader shoulders outside the door was of some rank. If I chose the correct words, he might listen to me and release Nanoo Gafna. He could not be a Moonson without having honor in his heart. He might tell me why the Moonsons condoned the treatment of Gafna. And perhaps I could make him divulge the location of Lord Purvis. I had hoped he was in this village, but I knew that highly unlikely. There would be soldiers visible on the streets, and enough horses that the small stable could not contain them. I would have heard them snort.