Frostflower and Windbourne (Frostflower & Thorn)

by Phyllis Ann Karr

  “Thank you, Wallkeeper,” said Eleva. “You may send a barracks-girl to wait outside the door at about two long-ballads’ length after sunrise. If I have not come out to give her an errand by midmorning, you may come in and search for me—you and Youngwise, and Firethrust if you will—no one else.”

  “That might be too late to help you, Lady.”

  “If so, it will have been too late long before sunrise. And let the girl bring her breakfast out with her.”

  “As you wish, Lady Eleva, but this may give your brother a red-hot edge to scrape our skins with.”

  “I’m confident that Youngwise can find a blame-catch with very little trouble if you need one,” Eleva said dryly.

  Eaglesight laughed. “Well, let’s hope that somehow or other he can make it Snagcut. If griefs come, don’t let ‘em come with empty claws.”

  “As Youngwise says,” Eleva remarked. “Yes, he knows how to make the demon give as well as take.”

  The wallkeeper laughed again. “His Reverence had the door hung at the next farthest southeastern alcove, beside your own.”

  “No doubt it gave him an excuse for staying longer, as well as a chance to demonstrate his great concern for his poor young sister’s helplessness. Though his logic in giving the sorceress the next alcove to mine seems somewhat murky.” Eleva drew back the doorcurtain. “You do not need your lamp to reach the barracks, Eaglesight?”

  “I haven’t been a townwarrior so long I can’t still find my way around stranger places than this, Lady. On darker nights, too.”

  “Good. Then give Frostflower your lamp.”

  The wallkeeper coughed. “We’re breaking town law as it is, standing here with our lamps closer than four strides from her.”

  “I want both lamps, and I do not want to occupy both my hands in carrying them. And I doubt you can give your lamp to the dog! Now, I had almost decided to grant Master Youngwise that the mealshop owners and innkeepers of Five Roads could enjoy the same prices and early choices as the raw-food merchants when buying from my farm. Should I rethink my decision?”

  Eaglesight grinned and handed Frostflower the lamp. “We’ll just pray to the gods you’re still here long enough to write out that agreement, Lady Reverence.” Then she turned and started for the warriors’ barracks, whistling.

  “Let’s get inside, Frostflower,” said Eleva.

  The sorceress went in, shielding the lamp flame with one hand to prevent its setting the doorcurtain alight. Such an accident could so easily seem malice on her part!

  She waited, Dowl beside her, in the entranceway between the front alcoves. A few pale blue constant-wicks marked one corridor. Eleva came in, carrying the summer lattice-door in her left hand. She tried to set it into grooves in the jambs, inside the curtain, and Dowl pressed close to her as if to see what she was doing. Frostflower stepped forward to hold Dowl or assist Eleva, and the priestess thrust the lamp at her.

  “Here, hold this for me a moment,” said Eleva. “It’s clumsy enough setting this door in the grooves one-handed even without your dear dog’s curiosity. How well does he get along with cats?”

  “He used to chase them sometimes in his puppyhood, Lady, but we have not seen him do it for—two years, at least, and he has never fought nor bitten one.”

  “Good. Though our cats should be able to take care of themselves.”

  “Cats here, Lady?”

  “We have a pair of them to keep our cellars clear of vermin.” Having angled the door into place, Eleva held out her hand to receive her lamp again, and made no comment when the sorceress returned it at once.

  She is brave indeed, thought Frostflower. By all they know and suspect of our people—part of it from my own story—she has put herself more at my mercy than I would seem to be at hers. And if she believes her husband to have been killed by sorcery…but she could not believe it and still treat me like this.

  “How thrifty of my sibs,” the priestess remarked. “I told them I would sleep in the far southeastern alcove, and they lit only the constant-wicks on this side of the corridor, to lead us there, no doubt regretting I had not chosen a closer alcove to spare them the expense of so many wicks.”

  “They lit only every other wick, Lady Reverence. But do not the townmasters supply your hall here in town?”

  “No. They did for some generations, but four winters ago Master Youngwise, after working at it all his life, finally persuaded Deveron to release the town from that expense. And I had my part in helping Deveron decide,” she went on proudly, leading the way along the corridor. “The chief counter-argument was that it would rob the town of another chance to prove their piety. But we replied that to be supplied by the townsfolk was to lose part of our hold on this property—we had supplied it in the beginning, six or seven generations ago, and by continuing to let the town supply it now, we risked it eventually being lost to us as priestly ground and coming to be considered town property we were merely privileged to use. Rondasu argued against us. He pointed out that the town merchants had bought from us the food and drink they donated afterward to the cellars of this house. But we replied that by stocking it directly ourselves we would be sure of having the best quality. And once Deveron had decided, most of the small southern farmers voted with him—Rondasu was still too young in his rule to counter our influence. Master Youngwise embellishes his own storage chambers with our left-over supplies, of course. But he does it circumspectly, and shares his servants and stores with us at need. Do you wonder why I explain all this to you, Frostflower? I have a use for you, and it requires that you know something of our ways.”

  “I am grateful for your confidence, Lady.”

  They reached the alcove meant for Frostflower. The solid wooden door stood slightly ajar, a thin bolt leaning against the wall beside it, ready to be slipped into place. Eleva lifted the bolt and dropped it back against the wall. “Light as a kiss without passion! As much as to say, ‘Little sister, we know you’re too weak to lift a true, useful bolt into place!’ By the Seven Secret Names, they’ll find I’m strong enough to do more than that!” Pushing open the door, she took a few steps into the alcove and raised her lamp to look around. Near the bed stood a smudge-incense stand and a small table, set with wine flask, cup, two covered dishes, and a constant-wick ready for lighting. Otherwise, the room looked much like a bedroom alcove in Elvannon’s hall—bed, one chair, a wall niche with the statue of some god, and little other furniture—comfortable but adorned chiefly by lack of clutter.

  “Well,” said Eleva, “let’s inspect what they’ve prepared for me.”

  Except that one alcove was guarded by a wooden door and the other by a linen doorcurtain, there was little to indicate which room had been readied for the sorceress and which for the priestess. Eleva went to her table and lifted the lid of one dish, letting forth a vapor that smelled of stewed meat and spices. She looked down and nodded.

  “Lady Reverence, shall I return to my own alcove now?” said Frostflower.

  “Um,” said Eleva. She made no further reply, gave no further sign of having heard the question. But Frostflower was at once sickened by the smell of meat, aware of her stomach’s need for food and her nerves’ for a little wine, and not entirely sure the priestess had really meant for her to follow into this room at all.

  The sorceress returned to the alcove meant for her. She was loath to close the door, nor did she quite dare as yet lift the lids from the dishes and learn whether these folk knew and respected her aversion to meat. She put her lamp down on the table and started to pour a cup of wine. Her right hand trembled, and she held the wrist with her left hand.

  “Stop!”

  Eleva’s sudden command made Frostflower upset the cup and sluice a dollop of wine from the flask. She glanced around and saw the priestess standing in the doorway, her lamp in her hand and Dowl by her side. Bowi
ng her head, Frostflower bunched her sleeve to begin wiping up the spillage.

  “Leave that!” said Eleva. “Don’t dare dabble your robe in it.”

  “Lady Reverence?”

  Eleva crossed the room and looked at the dark wine puddling on the table, dripping to the floor. “You hadn’t already drunk any of it, had you?”

  Dowl followed Eleva, bending toward the liquid with an inquiring whine. The priestess caught him round the neck and held him back.

  “No, Lady,” said the sorceress. “I had only begun to pour.”

  “Then Maejira nudged me in time—one of our goddesses, Frostflower. Jehandru’s great intermediary of mercy. A reasonably sure sign she’s watching you, sorceron or not. What urged you to leave me like that and creep back here?”

  “I…was not aware that I crept, Lady. I made no special attempt to soften my steps. I’d asked first whether you wished me to go or stay, and when you did not answer, I thought…”

  “Aye, so perhaps it was your question penetrating late into my brain, and not Maejira’s nudge, after all.”

  “Lady, if the wine is not wiped up, it will stain—”

  “Let it! Stain or perhaps burn away part of the wood and tile. We’ll close the door, of course, to guard against the animals coming in to lap it up while we sleep. Convenient that this is the alcove with the door. Although the flask here on your table may have been safe enough, after all.”

  “Poison?” Frostflower whispered. “Lady, you suspect…”

  “Sorceress, I suspect enough danger from my own kind to explain my seeming courage toward you. My wine is likelier to be poisoned than yours. They would blame my death on your sorcery. They half mean you to escape, you know, leaving that puny bolt for the door as they did. Aye, sibs come to know one another’s minds to some extent.”

  Dowl made another attempt to sniff the dark pool on the floor. Eleva pulled him back and said, “Let’s leave and close the door before one of the cats finds this alcove.”

  Frostflower took her lamp and followed the priestess out, holding both lamps again as Eleva closed the door and settled the bolt in place. “Yes, it’ll be enough to keep two cats and a dog out,” the priestess said with a nod. “If you did escape, Frostflower, they’d have another sorceron blame-catch to rail against. And if you didn’t, they’d most likely have you speared down. Still, it’s possible they may have poisoned your wine, too. They could call it the just vengeance of the gods, this time—though Jehandru knows why His justice should strike down one murderer and not another. Well, they’d find an explanation for Jehandru’s ways. They’re very orthodox, my sibs.”

  “Lady…you are sure? And the food also?”

  “No. I can’t be sure without consuming the stuff. We may find ways to test it in the morning. But I call it foolish to gamble. Come with me and we’ll either find ourselves a supper we can trust or remain hungry and healthy.”

  Eleva led the way into the long hall and down the stairs behind the dais. To one raised in the small but merrily individualistic buildings of a sorcerous retreat, where many cottages tended to perpetual overcrowded, cozy clutter, the dwellings of farmer-priests remained awesome in their echoing austerity. Frostflower thought she could understand how priests who created and lived in such halls could also fashion a creed that held so many people in its sway.

  Besides the ablution chamber, which Eleva mercifully passed by, the underground tunnel led to storage cellars with floors of hard-packed earth and walls plastered and lined with shelves, like those of common folk, rather than covered with priestly mosaic.

  “They may think I’m pouring myself and you directly into their plans,” said Eleva. “Or they may have guessed I would be suspicious. It hardly seems likely they would have attempted to poison the food in storage; still, best be careful.” Bypassing any foodstuffs that seemed ready to hand or easily unwrapped, she selected a small cheese with its beeswax covering unbroken and lightly dust-covered, four pears that she dug from several layers down in their pit, and nine eggs. She paused at the shelves holding flour—they were sparsely laden at this time of year—and touched a small bag. “They could have poisoned flour easily enough,” she said, “but I doubt they have. We priests are not taught to cook. They know I cannot prepare my own bread from this.”

  “Lady,” said Frostflower, “I can cook.”

  “Can you?” Eleva took the bag of flour from the shelf and added it to the other foodstuffs in a basket she had chosen from the hard-to-reach corner of a high, dusty shelf.

  In another room, she selected a jar of charcoal-filtered water and one of sweet Western honey-wine. Both jars had unbroken wax seals with films of dust.

  Frostflower noticed that Eleva had chosen no meat, though a few long, hard-rinded sausages had hung from the ceiling and several wax-sealed jars of insects in brine, each jar marked with a picture of the kind of insect within, stood on the shelves.

  How would Eleva have accepted the idea of the sorceress growing fresh, safe vegetables and fruits for their supper? Frostflower did not suggest it. That a strange priestess should entrust her with the cooking—that was a great enough advance for tonight. If Eleva herself were trustworthy, and not playing out a long game to dull her prisoner’s suspicions and gain her confidence…

  At last they came up by stairs that led directly into the kitchen, a small building just inside the garden wall—one difference from priestly farm residences, where the kitchen was one of the cottages well outside the garden wall. The place was dark, and chill with the unnatural cleanliness of a kitchen cleaned more often than used. But it was well equipped, with many implements unknown to Frostflower, for all the skill of retreat cookery. The sorceress kindled a fire with her lamp and set to work, conscious that Eleva, even while lighting the numerous kitchen lamps, was watching her.

  Frostflower sifted the flour and Eleva scrutinized the maggots left by the fine sifting-screen. “Most of them seem still to be lively,” she said, “but some look dead.”

  “They might have died in their own natural time, Lady.”

  The priestess took a large pinch of sifted flour and dropped it onto the open flame. It caused no unusual color. “I’ve become overcautious,” she said with a laugh. “The bag was sewn up and dusty, was it not? And would they have risked spreading their traps throughout the storerooms, with the necessity of removing them afterwards to avoid poisoning themselves or some of the southern farmers or perhaps our good townmasters? But have you any sorcerous tests for poison, Frostflower?”

  “There is one way I could test it, Lady. But to practice sorcery within your walls…”

  “It may not be the last time I ask that of you. And I promise you this: whatever I ask you to do here will remain my secret and yours.”

  Frostflower took a pinch of flour and studied it for a moment. If it were poisoned, the poison would need to be very strong for such a small dose to prove fatal. And if Eleva meant to kill her, she had gone about it in an irrationally convoluted way. But if the priestess were being honest with her, then whatever she could do to show good faith might be worth the risk. With one thought of Thorn, of the infant Starwind, of Puffball and the others in Windslope Retreat, she put the flour on her own tongue.

  Eleva started and caught her wrist. “You’ll test it on yourself? Why not on your dog? Why not on one of our priestly cats, if I can find them?”

  “I dare test it on no other creature than myself, Lady.” Frostflower closed her eyes, thought of a single sharp, clear musical tone in a quick effort to drive away all dangerous imagination, and speeded her heartbeat until its pitch seemed to blend with the note, in her mind. Feeling no ill effects, no twinge of nausea nor dizziness nor other symptoms that might result from poison, she normalized her heartbeat and opened her eyes. “It seems wholesome, Lady.”

  “What did you do?”

&nb
sp; “I sped my body’s time, passing the equivalent of a day in those few moments. If the flour were poisoned, I should have felt some effect of it.”

  “So this is your sorcery? It seems to depend more on what you tell me of it than on what I can see. And had you told me what you were about to do, I’d have found one of the cats. I am allowed to endanger animals in order to protect humans. Though our cats seem peculiarly shy tonight. Perhaps my sibs took them away to prevent our testing the food on them. Or perhaps they merely scent the strange dog.” Eleva glanced at the salt and herbs in their gridwork niches that covered the walls. “We’d best eat bland tonight.”

  “Lady Reverence…I carry a little salt and a few herbs of my own.”

  “Good. I dislike bland food. The well-water will be safe, if you wish to boil anything. They could hardly poison a common source.”

  Frostflower made thin batter for filled flatbreads. Eleva, still watching her, peeled the wax from the cheese.

  “Lady,” said the sorceress, “I’ve heard that a piece of cow’s stomach must be thrown into the milk curds when cheese is made?”

  “I don’t know whether it must be. It has been, each time I’ve seen the process.”

  Frostflower did not ask whether the eggs had been fertilized. It was safest to assume that priests would store only eggs laid by hens who had been segregated from cocks. She filled a flatbread for herself and one for Dowl with beaten eggs alone, then mixed cheese into the filling for Eleva’s, as she would have mixed chopped vegetables if she had had them.