by Cathi Shaw
“I’m glad you are here, Brijit Carnesîr,” she said as she clasped Brijit’s clammy hand in hers. “I apologize for any distress the secrecy of your journey may have caused you. I know you had believed you were going to Séreméla. This is not at all what you expected, I’m sure.”
Brijit kept her face clear of all emotion and her shield firmly in place, although she doubted the princess had the power to read someone’s mind. She didn’t want the Elders to know that she had known Séreméla was not their final destination. She wished she’d been able to speak with Weylon the previous evening.
“Come, sit and have some refreshments,” Princess Neirdre said as she turned to a small table laid with tea and an assortment of baked treats. Brijit’s stomach growled in spite of herself. She’d been too exhausted to eat the evening meal that had been sent to her the previous night, and this morning she hadn’t had time to eat more than a few quick nibbles of the fruit Raina brought to her.
As Princess Neirdre sat, her hand went automatically to her rounded lower abdomen, an age-old sign that she was cradling a babe in her womb. Brijit smiled in spite of herself.
“You know why you were the student chosen this year?” Princess Neirdre asked as Brijit reached for a tiny, delicate cake. Brijit froze with the cake in her fingers and waited for the princess to speak again.
She smiled slightly, and Brijit noticed for the first time that the smile did not reach her eyes.
“We’ve been watching you since before you were first sent to the Academy, you know. Your skills as a healer and midwife were noted even in Séreméla.” Her hand went to her stomach again. “It was always obvious that you would be coming to us. We just had to find the right male Coimirceoirí to accompany you.”
Brijit was surprised. She thought Weylon was the one they had chosen from the start, but it appeared that the Elders had wanted her all along.
“We were fortunate that Weylon Forborrow was in the same year as you. He has proven exceptionally useful.”
Princess Neirdre stared distastefully at the cake that was still suspended between Brijit’s fingertips midway to her mouth. Horrified Brijit stuffed the tiny morsel into her mouth and dropped her eyes to her plate.
“The child is a girl. Our best healers have confirmed this. I’m sure you already suspected as much.”
Brijit still didn’t say anything. She was not gifted in guessing the gender of an unborn child. Her grandmother had always said it was impossible to tell for certain until a child was born. But she did wonder why the Elders had need of her when it was clear that their own healers had already assessed Princess Neirdre.
“Your value comes from the fact you are not Elder,” Princess Neirdre said as if she had read her mind.
Brijit wondered what the motive could be in having a non-Elder healer as the princess’s personal midwife? She remembered how brutal the female Elder had been when she killed the child in the cottage; how quickly it had happened. Did Princess Neirdre fear something similar could happen to her child? But surely the royalty would be guarded so that the child would be safe with or without the mark.
Before Brijit could think of a way to put the question running through her mind to the princess, an older Elder woman entered the room. She walked with a regal air and came and sat beside Princess Neirdre. At once Brijit was aware of the resemblance between the two.
“Brijit, this is my mother, Erulassë. She will be involved in all aspects of my confinement. Mother, Brijit is the Coimirceoirí who will care for us.”
Erulassë raised her eyebrows as her gaze swept over Brijit and then seemed to dismiss her.
“Surely an Elder midwife would have sufficed, my daughter,” Erulassë said coolly. “If not, then someone more,” she paused and looked at Brijit again, “experienced as a midwife.”
Brijit tried to keep her face clear so the Elder woman would not see how her words had stung. She knew many Elders thought the Coimirceoirí were unnecessary in modern times. They believed the Coimirceoirí were part of an old and dated tradition that took opportunities away from Elders themselves. Many modern-day Elders believed that they were more than capable of providing healers and guardians to the royal family, ones who were themselves Elders and thus understood their ways.
Erulassë was not likely to be the only Elder who felt this way. Brijit would have to become accustomed to such talk, especially when they went to Séreméla.
But for now she would have to find a way to work with Erulassë until her grandchild was born.
Princess Neirdre scowled at her mother. “This is the one chosen. You know that. Why are you always difficult?”
Erulassë merely shrugged and reached for a tiny berry tart on the tray. She nibbled it for a moment before putting it down on a small plate and standing.
“As always, you will do as you think best, my daughter.” And with those parting words, Erulassë swept from the room as regal as when she had entered.
Princess Neirdre glared after her mother’s form with narrowed eyes. “She is always trying to dictate how I live and the choices I make. She forgets too often that I am the Crown Prince’s bride.
Brijit smiled in what she hoped was understanding. “I’m sure to her you will always be her little girl.”
Princess Neirdre snorted in an unroyal manner.
“I was never her ‘little girl.’ The wet nurse cared for me until my governess took over.”
Brijit could hear the pain in her voice, but the princess seemed to be unaware of it. Brijit was surprised. She had assumed the Neirdre and her mother were close since the princess had insisted that she was to be so involved in Neirdre’s pregnancy. Brijit said as much to the princess.
Neirdre laughed, “Oh, no! She hates all this. I don’t think she was even conscious for my birth. I’m making her take part because she despised it so much.”
Brijit tried to hide her shock. She couldn’t imagine being so cruel toward one’s parent. Her own parents had been killed when she was small and her grandmother had raised her. But even with Grandmamma’s sometimes eccentric views, Brijit would never have dreamed of speaking against her.
Neirdre was glaring at the door through which Erulassë had disappeared. After a moment, she turned her attention back to Brijit.
“You have met the sorceress, I assume?”
Brijit started. Sorceress?
At her confused look, the princess laughed. “Of course, Nestariel would not have introduced herself as such. She never does. She prefers to use terms like ‘healer’ or ‘prophet.’” Princess Neirdre narrowed her eyes. “I suspect she would use ‘healer’ with you.”
Brijit nodded.
“Well, she is a healer but not one I would allow to touch either my daughter or myself. She delves in magik. Of course, living this close to The Rift, you can hardly blame her.”
Neirdre didn’t seem to care what Brijit’s response might be. She continued speaking, “Did she tell you that this is her refuge?”
Brijit nodded noncommittally. Nestariel had told her that this was her home. Brijit had just assumed that she was employed by the Elder royals, she hadn’t realized that Nestariel was the actual mistress of the fortress.
Princess Neirdre stood and strode over to the huge window that took up part of the western wall. “I don’t know why she would want to live here. But it is what she chose a long time ago.” She turned back to Brijit. “She is my aunt, of course. My mother’s sister.”
Brijit was further stunned by this news. Nestariel bore little resemblance to Erulassë. She seemed decades older than the princess’s mother.
“Living here has aged her prematurely,” Princess Neirdre explained offhandedly as she anticipated Brijit’s question.
Or living in Séreméla had kept the princess’s mother youthful, Brijit thought to herself. She had heard many rumors about the magik that was used to keep Séreméla the paradise the Elders coveted. But she wouldn’t say such a thing to the woman in front of her.
“She talks in
riddles always,” the princess went on, her tone almost whiney. “She never says anything clearly and then when you question her she slips into the ancient language and only that old friend of hers speaks that dialect. She thinks we should all keep the old language alive. It’s ridiculous.”
“Friend?” Brijit asked.
“Former lover, if you believe the rumors. I don’t know. They are so ancient that the thought of either of them having a lover makes me ill. His name is Eöl Ar-Feiniel. You probably will meet him. He followed my husband here. Why the Crown Prince has need of the old man, I do not know.”
Princess Neirdre came back to her chair and lowered herself gracefully. “We wouldn’t have come here except we had to, you know. As soon as they told us it was a girl, we knew we had to flee. There were too many on the council who would just as soon kill me and her as risk having a new queen.” She sighed. “I hate it here. You can almost feel the evil. But my husband said it was the only place our enemies wouldn’t dare to come. I just hope that we can return to Séreméla after Minathrial is born.”
Brijit raised her eyebrows. “Minathrial?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, her name has been chosen for generations. The next queen of the Elders.”
Brijit smiled and nodded politely. But to herself she thought how strange it must be to not be able to choose your own child’s name.
“I just hope she comes soon. I long to return home.”
She smiled at Brijit and suddenly Brijit’s breath was taken away once again by the sheer beauty in front of her. “I’m so glad you are here, Brijit Carnesîr. You have been foretold to do great things. And you will be a wonderful chaperone for my daughter.” Her hand went to her swollen stomach again. “She is the future of our people. We must all keep her safe.”
Chapter Twelve
Brijit had taken to visiting Nestariel in her rooms when she wasn’t busy with the princess. As Tèarmann was Nestariel’s home, it wasn’t unexpected that the old Elder had an entire wing of the fortress as her private quarters. What Brijit was surprised to find was that the wing was filled primarily with books.
On her first visit to Nestariel’s rooms, Brijit met Eöl Ar-Feiniel, of whom the princess had spoken of so negatively. The old Elder was the only one Brijit had seen who actually looked older than Nestariel.
“Hello, Coimirceoirí, I have already heard much about you from Nestariel,” he said as he took her hand on their first meeting.
“You have?” Brijit was surprised.
“Yes. You are a unique and very talented girl, I hear. What you did in Jirgen Forest is extraordinary.”
Brijit was stunned. This was the first time anyone had suggested that what she had done to save Weylon was not a negative thing.
“Eöl Ar-Feiniel thrives on experiments and puzzle solving, my dear,” Nestariel told her wryly. “He finds the mix of Kurunii and Coimirceoirí intriguing.”
The old man ignored her. “Of course, it’s intriguing. Why no one else took an interest in this or prepared her properly is beyond me.”
“Well, I agree with you there,” Nestariel murmured and then changed the topic. “So, my dear, how did you find my lovely niece?”
Brijit hesitated before answering.
“You can be honest, my dear. I personally think she’s a spoiled brat.”
Brijit hid a smile. “Well, she does seem to have a mind of her own,” she said diplomatically. “But she’s excited about her baby.”
Nestariel’s eyes narrowed. “You mean she’s excited to give birth to the next queen of the Elders.” The old Elder sighed. “Sadly, my niece is not at all excited about actually becoming a mother. Her husband seems more eager for the child to arrive.”
Brijit privately agreed with Nestariel. Princess Neirdre’s fixation on having a girl-child was disconcerting. But feeling uncomfortable speaking ill of the princess who she was Coimirceoirí for, Brijit shifted her attention back to Eöl Ar-Feiniel.
“What are you doing?” she asked the old man.
He had multiple pieces of old parchment spread out in front of him and was scratching rapidly with a quill on another piece of parchment at his side.
He looked over at Brijit and smiled. “I’m translating the Prophecy, my dear.”
Brijit’s stomach dropped. The Prophecy.
The old man laughed when he saw her face. “Oh I know, the sacred text of the Elders and all that. Really it is just a bunch of pieces of paper that need to be deciphered.”
Brijit smiled slightly, not sure she believed him.
“And how are you making out with that?” she asked.
“It’s slow and tedious work,” Nestariel answered for him. “But he loves it.”
Nestariel’s eyes warmed as they rested on the man sitting across from her. Brijit’s heart pinched when she saw the love in her eyes. Eöl Ar-Feiniel clearly meant a lot to Nestariel.
Later, when Brijit left Nestariel’s rooms, the old woman followed her into the halls. She looked strained now she was out of Eöl Ar-Feiniel’s presence.
“I know you’ve been wanting to see Weylon, Brijit. He is doing much better, and I think he would be up for a short visit now.”
For a reason she couldn’t explain, Brijit hesitated. She missed Weylon, and it was true that she wanted to talk to him, but an image of him being consumed by evil suddenly filled her mind. She recoiled from it and shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ready to see him,” she admitted softly.
Nestariel’s face tightened. “But you’ve been asking almost constantly to see him.”
“I know,” Brijit admitted, feeling ashamed of herself. She just wasn’t ready to see what she had done to Weylon yet. What if he wasn’t the same boy she’d come to care for so strongly? What if she had destroyed him?
Nestariel narrowed her eyes. “Getting this first meeting over with will help both of you on the road to healing.”
She was probably right, but Brijit still could not bring herself to do it. Instead she nodded and murmured, “I will soon.”
Nestariel watched her for a moment until Brijit started to feel uncomfortable. To shift the Elder’s attention off of her, she changed the subject. “Eöl Ar-Feiniel seems nice.”
Nestariel laughed. “Subtle, my dear,” but her face softened as she looked back over her shoulder. “He is one of the most gifted archivists that we have ever had.”
“Do you think he will translate the Prophecy?”
Nestariel turned back to her and shook her head slightly. “The Prophecy can’t be translated in just one lifetime, my dear, not even in the long lifetime of an Elder. It will take generations before we know the secrets that lie in that document.”
Those words were still ringing in Brijit’s head as she headed back to her room. The Prophecy it seemed was not translatable, despite what so many now believed.
#
Weylon wandered through the fortress wondering where Brijit was. He had only seen her once since he’d woken up and that visit had been supervised by Nestariel, the strange Elder healer who continually looked at him with suspicion through her eerily dark-green eyes. He knew she didn’t trust him, but he didn’t understand why.
And she seemed to wholly disapprove of his relationship with Brijit. It was obvious from the way she looked at the two of them that she thought they were more than just friends. Regardless of what he might feel for Brijit, the truth was they hadn’t taken their relationship further than friendship. Not that Nestariel would believe him. He could tell the old Elder had already made up her mind on the matter.
Weylon knew that it was against Elder tradition to let Coimirceoirí become romantically involved, but there seemed to be more than just disapproval of their relationship in Nestariel’s expression. It was almost as if she were guarding Brijit from him. It was ridiculous. He was the last person Brijit needed protection from. The truth was Weylon would do anything to make sure she was safe.
While he understood that they were in Nestariel’s fortress, he didn’t know
what the Elders’ plans were for him. Apparently Brijit had already been briefed on the reason for her being here. She had been chosen to help Princess Neirdre bring her child into the world safely. Why an Elder midwife had not been chosen, Weylon did not know.
In the meantime, he’d had no luck in discerning why the Elders had brought him to Tèarmann. He had asked Nestariel about it each time she came to tend to his dressing but she had given him no clear answers. She had merely said that he needed to rest and recover from his injuries and that his purpose would be revealed in time.
Weylon was irritated with this secrecy. He already felt wholly recovered from the injury. In fact, the bandage that still covered his wound had remained clean and dry for the last two days. It was clear he didn’t need it anymore, and yet Nestariel kept changing it once a day and encouraging him to rest. He didn’t feel like resting; he felt like getting out.
So this morning that was exactly what he’d done. He had left his room and wandered through the fortress. He was mildly surprised that no one tried to stop him, but then again he was a guest here not a prisoner.
The fortress turned out to be much larger than he had anticipated. Of course, he had been unconscious when they arrived so he’d not had anything to gauge his assumptions about the place on. But as he wandered idly through the halls, he realized that it was as vast as a palace.
There was no way he would ever find Brijit in such a huge building. He would have to wait for her to come to him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t explore.
An hour later he found himself on the ramparts at the top of the fortress looking westward. What he saw intrigued him. What could only be The Rift lay in the distance.
Weylon stared in fascination. So this was the legendary source of evil that threatened all of Five Corners. Part of him had always believed that it couldn’t be real, that it must be a story made up to entertain the young Coimirceoirí students at Stone Mountain. But there was nothing imaginary about what lay to the west, right in front of him.