A GLIMMER OF GUILE
By
Mary Patterson Thornburg
Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon
2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-180-6
A Glimmer of Guile
Copyright © 2014 by Mary Patterson Thornburg
Cover design
Copyright © 2014 by Judith B. Glad
Young woman photo © aleshin
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Published by Uncial Press,
an imprint of GCT, Inc.
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For Sil and (in loving memory) for Claire,
two women of great guile.
CHAPTER ONE
Mani lay beside me, dying. There was nothing I could do for him now, nothing I could give him but the hope of revenge.
"I'll get her," I told him. "I'll finish her. I'll get them both. That's a promise."
"Ahh..." He sighed, a long breath of relief.
It was his last breath.
Very gently, I took his broken hand out of mine. His face was a mask of dried blood, dark wounds where his eyes had been. One of his friends had blinded him with the jagged end of the branch that lay by his head. Which one did that? I wondered--absurdly, because of course it didn't matter. He'd killed them, as they'd killed him, and as they'd killed each other. Both of them, too, lay dead, a few yards away, in each other's arms beside the fire they'd been building when Orath's terrible influence struck all three. I lay on the ground beside Mani, weeping in hard, bitter sobs the way I'd sometimes done when I was a little girl.
But not for long. There wasn't time for such self-indulgence. The sun was setting fast and I had work to do.
I dug a wide, shallow grave, scraped it out with their kitchen implements, while thanking God that the earth was soft enough to let me do it. I dragged their bodies to the grave and arranged them there together. As I worked, I felt Orath's glimmer, scarcely diminished, ringing like a harsh, doomful bell all around me, and remembered the morning I'd felt it for the first time, less than a month before.
* * * *
It was early, not yet sunup three days from the summer solstice. Practically the middle of the night. I was standing on the arched bridge over Heart Stream a half-mile from Ladygate. I'd awakened before everyone else that morning and gone for a walk, just to be alone for a while. It was good to be away from the constant noise of the community, not only the daylight talk and whispers and complaints and grumbling but also the weird undercurrent of unshielded dreams and worries throughout the night.
This far from Ladygate, I could hear none of it unless I really concentrated, and I hadn't any desire to do that. I was enjoying the cool air, smelling the lovely scent of the water, watching the little trout that darted from under the banks into the shallows, quick dark shapes against the dark. In the distance I could hear the hoof beats of a mule and the faint creaking of a wagon over cobblestones as a farmer took a load of produce to the market at Heart Town.
And suddenly, a cloud of horror loomed over it all.
Something was moving along the water toward me. Something invisible.
It drifted like a shadow, flowing into the darkness under the stone bridge, darker than that darkness. Smooth as a venomous breath, it surged over the bridge, engulfing me without a sound.
I grabbed the bridge's railing and shielded myself, but that didn't help much. My heart pounded, my stomach turned over, and the hair at the back of my neck stood up. Even someone without guile, I think, would've felt a shiver, the kind of chill my father called a goose walking on his grave. It was a lot worse to me, with my guilish senses--my "witchy ways," Father used to say, giving me a sidelong look and wondering what he'd done to deserve such a daughter.
I knew exactly what that drifting darkness was: a glimmer of guile, one of the strongest I'd ever felt and certainly the most dire. It was fading, thank God. The witch whose mind had exuded it was gone. But, whoever it had been, he--or she--was a bad, bad person and a wielder of powerful guile. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my teeth, and waited for the glimmer to pass.
It was coming from somewhere upstream. Not from the farm wagon on the way to market. Not from Ladygate, where the women were beginning to rise, to light their candles or lamps and start their various morning chores. From where, then? I had no way of knowing. These things could come in waves, I knew, and could float for a long way over water without dispersing. I held on to the rail and steeled myself, hardly able to move.
That was when I heard Charras' voice, anxious and piercing, coming from the park between Ladygate and the bridge. "Vivia? Vivia?"
The horrible glimmer faded. Had I imagined it? No. I'm not capable of dreaming up anything that awful. It was real, all right. And something told me, even then, that I hadn't felt the last of it.
But first things first. The mysterious glimmer had passed, and the first thing now was poor Charras.
"Vivia? Vivia?" she called again in a scared little voice. I could see her in my mind's eye, creeping down the path toward the bridge, afraid to move, afraid to stand still. The woods were still dark and I knew--not by guile but just because I knew her--that she was tiptoeing along, peering into shadows, afraid of what she might see.
But also, I thought, she was probably not too eager to find me.
I was not the most popular person in the community, even when I'd first arrived almost two years before. Because Taso Raym had brought me, and had been my teacher, some of the Ladygate women were jealous and others, especially the young ones, were fearful. Raym's power of guile was legendary, and he had the reputation of being strange, so it stood to reason that his student would be powerful and strange, too. I'd tried to make friends at first. When that didn't work I shrugged it off and went my own way. I was stronger in guile than anyone there, or so I thought, and I didn't try to hide my strength. In fact, I found ways to show it, to shine it on.
Of course, that only proved to them that they'd been right in the first place. I knew they called me "prickly" and probably worse, and I tried to pretend I didn't care. After a while I didn't care. All in all, it had been a miserable two years, and I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself.
But I was sorry for Charras, too. She was homesick and afraid of almost everyone at Ladygate, not just me. Still, she refused to tell tales or be taken in by any of the cliques who would have used her to spy on each other.
And I knew what she wanted now. Harken, our "mother superior" as she liked to call herself, had sent her to bring me in for the great-grandmother of all scoldings. Harken had been anticipating this since the afternoon before, when she'd come back from a visit to Heart Hall. This I did know by guile, because Harken hadn't bothered to shield her feelings from me. I couldn't tell what she wanted, specifically, but I felt she wanted me to be worried. And she knew where I was this morning. I hadn't shielded my own glimmer and she was strong enough to pick up my location with no trouble. She could've s
ummoned me herself without sending Charras, but Harken liked to give orders and keep everyone scurrying to obey.
If it had been me in her place, I'd never have taken Charras into the community, nervous and shy as she was. Yes, Charras had guile, but if she'd stayed home and fallen in love with some nice young man she'd soon have lost it, which would have been best for her. But Harken liked them nervous and shy, the better to push around. More to the point, Charras' father was a rich man and he'd paid plenty to get her accepted at Ladygate. If we sent her back to him before her first year was over, we'd have to send her dowry back with her, and never in life had Harken let go of a penny once she had it in her grasp.
"Here I am, Charras," I shouted. "Stay there--I'll be right with you." I certainly didn't want her to encounter that glimmer, should another wave of it come floating down the stream.
Charras is little and dark--smaller and darker even than I am--and pretty in a delicate, understated way. She was standing in the path, and when she saw me coming she ran a few steps to meet me, clutched my arm for a second, and then pulled away in dismay at having done it. "Oh, Lady Vivia! I heard something back there. Something big, coming through the forest." Her eyes were huge.
I sent her a small wave of calming influence, hoping she could feel it. "Look, Charras, I'm just Vivia, not Lady anything. And it's not a forest, just a little patch of woods. There's nothing any bigger than a rabbit out there, especially with the guardsmen from Heart Hall tromping back and forth all the time. Probably it was one of them you heard. You should have stopped and waited to see. Maybe he'd have been worth stopping for."
Her eyes got even wider. "Lady Vivia!"
"Well, most of them are pretty nice," I said, "once you get to know them."
I was hoping to interest Charras in a man, despite the fact there were so few of them around Ladygate, but so far it hadn't worked. Harken liked to promote a fear of the guards who protected us, actually a fear of men in general. She never lost an opportunity to remind us all, especially the younger women, that "congress with the other sex" was extremely dangerous. This of course was true--in almost every case, if you lost your virginity you lost your guile. Probably why the world isn't up to its eyeballs in witches, which in my opinion isn't a bad thing.
But Harken didn't bother to distinguish between saying a pleasant "Good morning" to a man and going to bed with him. The result was that, when the younger girls at Ladygate spotted one of our guards, they often ran in the opposite direction. The guards for their part were mostly just as afraid of us, as ignorant people usually are. It didn't make for friendly relationships.
"Don't joke, Vivia," said Charras, relaxing a little. "Mother Harken sent me to find you. Right away, she said."
"I know. I've been expecting it." It occurred to me that Harken had sent Charras because she knew I wouldn't make the girl go back alone. Whereas, if she'd summoned me herself, I could have resisted the summons. Strong as her guile was, mine was probably stronger. The thought made me feel better.
I had been expecting it. My first year had been over for a long time, and anyway I'd brought no dowry to speak of and wouldn't have been accepted in the first place if Raym hadn't been the one to bring me. Harken had never liked me, and the feeling was definitely mutual. If I'd had any idea where I might go next, I'd have saved her the trouble of sending for me, not to mention spoiled her pleasure in picturing me begging and weeping when she told me to leave Ladygate. Which was what this was all about, or so I thought.
There wouldn't be any begging or weeping. I was ready for this phase of my life to be over. When I came here, I thought it would be different. I thought I'd be joining a sisterhood, and I suppose I had some kind of idealized notion of what that meant: trust, fellowship, respect, sisterly love even. Not peace and harmony all the time, certainly. We're witches, after all, so there's bound to be some clashes of vanity here and there. But I thought we'd learn from each other, help each other.
What I'd found was something else: gossip, suspicion, backstabbing. There were factions and favorites, and you had to be on the lookout all the time because the rules were always changing and someone was always waiting for a chance to do herself a favor by telling Harken you'd broken one of them. Mother Harken indeed. I'd had a mother--not the one I was born to, but a mother just the same--and I knew the difference. There was nothing wrong with Ladygate, I'd often thought, that the timely demise of Mother Harken wouldn't go a long way toward fixing.
We were getting close to the edge of the trees, and we could hear some of the women's voices. Two new girls were laughing in the kitchen, poor old deaf Keln was in the garden yelling at the lettuce. I felt, too, the combined glimmers of Ladygate, a bittersweet sort of taste, emphasis on the bitter, and always with an overtone of uncomfortable tension.
"Thanks, Charras," I said. "You don't need to come with me. I'll tell Harken you found me." I hoped she believed me, though she may only have feared that I'd put a spell on her if she insisted on seeing me to the door. A lot of people without guile are afraid of those who have it, which I guess is natural enough. But most witches know what's possible and what isn't.
I myself had been lucky enough in my teachers to learn that guile is something natural: a psychic power of insight or influence or illusion, or often all three. Few people have it, and very few have it to a high degree. For those who do, it can be honed to a fine edge, but even then another guilish person can combat it. Still, Charras was as scared of the rest of us as if she had no idea what guile was, or how it worked, or that she could use her own guile against it.
She went away, creeping along the hallway almost as timidly as she'd come through the woods, and I made my way without undue hurry to Harken's suite. When I got there I automatically lifted my hand to knock, but then stopped and pulled it back. Harken would've walked into my room without knocking. We were sisters in guile, she'd have said, with no secrets from each other. So I gave the door a push and walked right in.
Harken was sitting at her desk. She glared at me and I smiled back. She was eating a honey cake and there were crumbs on her chin, which she hastily brushed away with her right hand while she made the remains of the cake disappear into a drawer with the other. Then, not offering me a chair and not rising from hers, she gazed at me over her aristocratic nose. She'd been a handsome woman in her time, not so long ago, but too many honey cakes had taken their toll. I knew one reason she didn't get up was that it would require some effort.
"Vivia." She announced me to herself in her silken voice.
I nodded encouragingly. "Charras said you wanted to see me, Harken." She hated it that I wouldn't call her "Mother." I let my eyes drift around her comfortable parlor, taking in the rich rugs and tapestries, the well-polished stove with its steaming kettle, and smiled agreeably. I had all the time in the world. Annoying Harken was, I'm sorry to say, one of my few amusements.
"I've sent for you," she said at last, "on a matter of some importance. But first, in fairness, I think you ought to know that I've had some troubling reports about your behavior. You're well past your novitiate, my dear, and I'd have hoped that certain things were beneath you by now."
I raised my eyebrows, a polite show of interest.
She pursed her lips and went on. "I understand you've encouraged friendships between some of your sisters and members of the High King's guard?"
The High King in the West was Horok of Heart Hall, our community's sponsor and protector. His guards were the ones who took turns watching the doors at Ladygate, patrolling the path between us and the road and making stealthy signs against the evil eye when one of us came into view.
Most of the so-called princes in Monsara were in fact only clan chieftains, who paid due respect and tribute to the High King, our country's one real ruler if it could be said to have one. Horok seldom called upon any of us to act on his behalf, except of course as healers to the members of his court and their guests. But having a number of witches at his disposal added to his perceived power a
nd helped keep challenges to a minimum.
I shrugged. "A cordial acquaintance can't hurt. The guards fear us, as you know, and there seems no reason why we should give them grounds for that. Civility is all I've suggested." Which wasn't strictly true in Charras's case, but if Harken cared a whit for Charras she'd suggest marriage herself, maybe arrange an introduction to a likely man.
Harken shot me a level stare. "Another thing. You've burned the barley broth at noon meal twice this week."
I had to laugh. Obviously nothing was beneath her. "I'm not a cook, Harken. No sense of timing. But I fear I'm wasting your time now. Obviously you're not going to discharge me for scorching the soup. So if you'll say what you've brought me here to tell me, we can be done with this and I can go get my things packed."
"Discharge you?" She gave a girlish laugh. "Oh, heavens, no, Vivia. You've misunderstood. I have no intention of releasing you. I've had you brought here to give you a special assignment, in fact. And yes, you will need to pack a few things, but only enough for a day or two. After that, you'll be traveling in disguise. One of us must go to Maal--Maltuk's kingdom, you know--and I'm afraid it will be an arduous journey. Too exhausting for me to undertake, I think, at my age. And since this will probably require the Great Shift, you'll understand I have no one else to turn to, despite my concerns about your character, my dear."
I was speechless. Harken looked pleased; she'd finally managed to faze me. "Someone has kidnapped King Horok's son, Tedor." She sounded smug. "This I was told yesterday when Horok asked me to visit him at Heart Hall. The boy's been missing for several days. I am assigning you to find and return him."
Me? There were women at Ladygate for whom Harken did favors, and I wasn't one of them. So that was not what this was.
Could it be the opposite? A punishment, or a way to get rid of me without actually dismissing me? It was Taso Raym who'd brought me, after all, and Raym was someone Harken wouldn't want to offend. But Maltuk's kingdom did not have a reputation as a pleasant place. I decided to find out all I could.
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