Strands of Starlight (17 page)

“If you can't find a teacher for me, I'll find one myself.”

Varden shook his head. “One of my folk, Terrill, has offered to help you. He has some . . .painful memories of his own.” Her face must have indicated her question, for he added, “Did you think our lives are always blissful? We have our own sorrows from before your histories began.”

“Varden,” Miriam said as gently as she could. “I'm grateful. This is something I have to do. I'm sorry it has to be like this.” Her new voice was liquid, capable of inflections she had thought impossible.

Varden passed a hand across his face as if to banish painful thoughts, then took something from the bundle by the slab. “Here is a gown that will fit you. You should go home now and sleep.”

She donned the garment reluctantly. “I won't be able to fight in clothes like this.”

“You will have what you need. Elves are known for being ingenious.” She wondered if she heard humor in his voice. He gestured toward the trees. “Come.”

As he guided her through the forest once more, Miriam saw the previously invisible branches and paths clearly, as if by cloudy daylight. She halted, staring at Varden. Colors had shifted into blues and lavenders, and the Elf shone with a radiance more pronounced than she had ever noticed.

“Miriam?”

“I can see you.” When she closed her eyes to rub them—as if that might make her newfound vision more familiar—she noticed that the darkness behind her closed lids was still full of stars. She might have been gazing at a night sky. “What . . . what's happened to me?”

“I told you that the change would be unpredictable.”

Unnerved, she opened her eyes. “What's wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you. You can see in the dark.”

The stars flashed within her. She held up her hands. About them was a faint light, as of an aura, flickering in soft hues of violet and indigo. “That's all?”

He took her hand comfortingly. “Miriam—”

“Give me a moment.” Swallowing her fear, she closed her eyes again and confronted her inner sky. She did not recognize any of the constellations, but the points of light were clear, steady, and surprisingly comforting. “I'll be all right.”

Varden spoke slowly. “What are you . . . looking at?”

“Stars.”

“
Elthia.
”

“I said I'll be all right.” Feeling better, she opened her eyes.

Varden's face was set. Lifting his hand slowly, he touched her head, her face, ran his fingers back through her hair, brushed past her left ear. He stopped, breathed, removed his hand.

“You are well, Miriam,” he said softly. “Blessings upon you.”

“Thank you, Varden.” She shook her hair back into place. “I'll just have to get used to this.”

It was still some hours before dawn when Kay jerked open the door in response to Varden's knock. The good soul had obviously been waiting up. His eyes were red with fatigue and tears, but they widened when Miriam stepped into the room.

“Miriam?” His voice was a whisper.

“Yes, Kay.”

His shoulder sagged, and he wiped at his eyes. “By Our Lady,” he said. “A tall, lovely woman walks into my house and tells me she is the child I blessed a few hours ago.”

Lovely?
She touched her smooth face, wondering.

Varden spoke. “Do you have anything to eat, Kay?”

“There is something hot ready for you both.”

Miriam still held her hand to her face. “Could I . . . could I go to my room for a minute? I want to look in a mirror.” Lovely. The word made her uncomfortable.

“I'll dish up while you do,” said Kay. He was staring unabashedly.

Miriam went down the short corridor and entered her room. As calmly as she could, she faced the mirror. Kay had used the right word. The stranger in the glass was exquisite: a finely featured oval face, immaculately complexioned; eyes that flashed like clear emeralds; hair the color of red gold. She looked nobly born. Beautiful. Lovely.

She turned away quickly, trembling. She had not thought of this. She had known that she would be changed, and she had prepared herself for a different face. But not this. Not beautiful.

She held up her hands. They were as well formed as the rest of her, and she did not doubt that should she remove her robe and examine her naked body with a critical eye, she would find the same masterful sculpting.

Varden entered quietly and stood behind her. “The meal is ready. You should eat something.”

Dropping her hands, she turned around. “What did you do to me?”

He looked puzzled. “I do not understand.”

“
Look at me!
” Her fists were clenched.

He looked her up and down. “I still do not understand.”

“I'm beautiful!”

“That is so.” The Elf looked bewildered.

She collapsed into a chair, covering her face. “I don't know how to . . . I . . . I can't understand it.” She choked out the words. “Did you plan this?”

“I did not,” he said. “I was most concerned with keeping your appearance as normal as possible. As I said, results are unpredictable. For that reason, many of my people do not like to use magic for any purpose.”

She tore her hands from her face and shook them in frustration. “How am I supposed to live like this? I'm used to being plain.”

“Miriam,” he said gently, “you are also used to being small, weak, and at the mercy of those about you. I will tell you this: when I wielded the energies that reshaped your body, I felt another Will influencing them. Take that as you wish.”

“I'm afraid I'm no friend to religion.”

“I am sorry.”

Sighing, she rubbed her face. “All right. I'll live.” She rose and went once again to the glass, plucked bemusedly at her waist-length hair. “Terrill will teach me, you say?”

“He has so promised.”

“Good.” There was something familiar about her new face, something she could not exactly define. With a shrug, she gave up and turned back to the Elf. “Let's not let the food get cold.” She tried to sound offhand, but her voice was tense.

They ate in silence. Kay sat at the table along with them and nursed a cup of peppermint tea while he watched Miriam. She was too preoccupied with herself to notice. She would stop in midbite to stare at her hand, or pause to examine the way she held a cup or broke off a piece of bread.

Varden insisted that she go to bed after the meal, but though she protested that she was not tired, she allowed herself at last to be escorted to her room. Kay wished her a good night and extinguished the candles, but the latter action made little difference to Miriam's new eyes. For a time she lay awake, wondering how she was to sleep when darkness was no longer dark to her.

She touched her face again. Like Charity, she had been reborn. Unlike Charity, she had retained her memory. The thought crossed her mind that she would now be even more attractive to her rapist, and her hands clenched on the sheets.

She would have her vengeance. She would have his life. She would.

When she closed her eyes, she was confronted by the night sky, stars gleaming serenely in the velvet dark. The vision calmed her, and she slept.

The woman sat on a stool in the middle of the small, hot room, staring at her hands. Or maybe at the floor. Flies buzzed near the ceiling. Hoyle scratched at his tonsure and examined the tablet on the table before him. “This is her?”

“Yes, brother,” said the guard at the door. “We brought her in this morning. One of the fish sellers in the market took the money to the Jew's house to see if it was good. We got a description—”

“And tracked her down. Yes, I see.” The woman had not looked up. Her gown had too many colors in it, so more than likely she was violating one sumptuary law or another, but Hoyle was not concerned about that. He picked up the gold florin that lay by the tablet. The ensign of Saint Blaise winked at him.

“She's well-known,” said the guard.

“By you and all your fellows, I'd guess,” said Hoyle. He could not see why. Doubtless she had talents. He felt a stirring in his groin, ignored it.

“What's your name?” he demanded.

The woman did not reply for a moment. “Denise,” she said sullenly.

“You're a whore.”

Again a pause. Again a sullen answer. “Yes.”

Hoyle was irritated. He decided to prod her into some respect. “And a witch, too.”

He got his reaction. Denise's head snapped up. “Oh, no, my lord. I—”

“Silence.” He tossed the coin onto the floor before her. “You used that to buy fish for your household. Free Town money. Everyone knows about the Free Towns. How long have you been having dealings with Saint Blaise?”

She stared at the florin. “I han't anything to do with Saint Blaise. That's a florin. Like any other.”

“Ha.” He picked up the tablet and pretended to study it. “It's nothing like any other.” He dropped the tablet on the tabletop. “It's witch money.”

“My lord—”

“You've had intercourse with demons.”

“No! No, never!”

“Then why do you pay for fish with infernal currency?”

“How was I to know what currency it was?” The woman was panicking, her hands clenched white-knuckled against her belly. “I din't get it from the devil. Holy Mother! I'm a good Christian!”

Hoyle snorted. “A good Christian who fornicates for a living. How amusing. Very well, where did you get it?”

“A soldier gave it to me.” She was telling the truth, Hoyle knew. She was too frightened to do otherwise.

“Where?”

“Right here in Belroi. He got his money's worth, too. But he wan't any devil.”

“I have only your word for that. The word of a witch . . . pah!”

“I'm na a witch!”

Hoyle sat down slowly, took a stylus and a fresh tablet. “Describe the man,” he said. “Who was this so-called soldier who gave you the money?”

She did not know his name, but she described him, the words tumbling out of her mouth. Hoyle jotted notes. The guard in the room started. “But that's Roderick!”

“Roderick?” said Hoyle.

“He has the ferry watch every three days. Quite a hell-raiser. It's said the priests shudder when he comes to confess.”

Hoyle stifled a chuckle, turned it into a frown. “Well, I have only this whore's word for it. She might be trying to implicate an honest man. Go and tell Roderick I want to see him this evening. I will attend to this woman.”

The guard left. Hoyle eyed the prisoner. She was not at all attractive, so she had to have some talents. He felt the stirring in his groin again. “I find myself wondering if your story is true,” he said. “There might be something you can do to convince me that you're not lying.”

The woman looked up at him, frightened, eyes pleading.

***

A falcon tipped and sidled among the high airs above Adria, her plumage red gold in the sunlight, her green eyes bright and searching. Below her, the land unfurled like a long, intricate tapestry patched with farmland and forest, worked with the silver tracery of rivers and streams.

And beyond this Adria that lay from horizon to horizon there were others—many others—unfolding one out of another like the petals of a rose; and strands of starlight joined them all. And even the passage of a gold florin from the hand of a soldier to the hand of a prostitute shifted and tipped the pattern of the many Adrias just as the falcon slid and banked among the currents of air that bore her ever higher.

The universe revolved. Worlds shifted.

Miriam dreamed, floating in a soft womb of oblivion. She heard faint voices, but she flew higher without answering. There was only one voice she would answer right now.

“She's been in coma for two days, Varden.”

“I believe it is necessary, Kay.”

“Do you . . . do you see that . . . around her?”

“I do.”

“What does it mean?”

“I do not know, my friend.”

“Varden, what did you do to her?”

The voices faded as the stars surrounded her. The falcon's wings cut the starlight as they had the wind, their feathers shining silver white. There was a star calling to her, and for a moment, she hung above it, poised, spreading her wings to stall every so slightly, her eyes flashing with anticipation . . .

. . . and she stooped, a bright bolt of feather and bone and blood that hurtled into the stellar flame. It roared about her for a moment; then she settled softly onto the arm of the Lady who stood on a grassy plain beneath a glittering sky.

“Have you come so soon, child?” she said, stroking the sleek feathers. “But then, you have a great heart, and your soul has wings, so perhaps this is not unexpected.”

The falcon blinked at Her, knowing only that she was home, that she wanted to stay, that the eyes that met hers, that flashed starlight and moonlight both, that held the many universes in their depth, were eyes that would never turn from her.

“Be at peace, child,” said the Lady. 'But return to your friends, lest they grieve.”

The falcon preened nervously.

“Fear not. You will be back, and you will have full knowledge then. Go now.”

With infinite strength and gentleness both, the Lady lofted the bird into the sky. Again the falcon's wings bit starlight, again she soared aloft. But there was horror where she had to go, and the memories came back.

Miriam stirred. “Varden . . .”

He was beside her instantly. “I am here, beloved.”

“Varden, they want to hurt me . . . they want to kill me . . . please help me.”

He took her hand quietly, stroked it, clasped it. The shimmer about her body flickered. The Elf touched it as though it were a mist, then brought his hand to her face, felt the soft, cool skin.

“Varden . . .”

“Sleep, my lady,” he said. “All will be well. Morning rolls toward us, and the Dawn Star waits at the edge of the world.”

He sang to her for a minute, the elven language flowing like water, the melody as even and strong as the tides of the sea. She quieted then, and Varden tucked her arm under the sheet and stood up.

“Will she be all right?” said Kay.

“She will.”

“Varden, this is the third night.”