Taminy (31 page)

He
laughed outright at that, and she heard, somewhere out of sight, Skeet’s boyish
bray. Raw emotion flared in her heart—anger, self-pity, hilarity, sorrow, all
rode the crest of an ill-defined wave that swelled, tumbled and broke in
tearful laughter. And when it broke, every lightglobe in the house flared full
on, dazzling the occupants. She heard Skeet yawp squeakishly and Gwynet’s
footsteps, rabbit-rapid on the stairs, her high voice piping, “What is it? What
is it?”

She
wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t funny; she wanted to weep, but the situation
provoked her to laughter. In the end, she let Bevol take her in his arms while
she laughed and wept in turns.

oOo

“Let
me see,” said Osraed Faer-wald, “if I understand you.” He was seated in a low
sack chair in Ealad-hach’s chambers in the company of the Osraed Parthelan,
Eadmund, Ladman and Ealad-hach himself. Just now he gazed at the ceiling of the
room as if collecting his thoughts from it, his fingers steepled on the grand
curve of his stomach like a little pink Cirke on a massive hill. “You tested
the girl-”

“As
I said,” interjected Ealad-hach testily. He did not like Faer-wald when he was
in a mood to be interrogatory—setting himself up as grand inquisitor. It fairly
curled Ealad-hach’s eyelashes to be so carefully grilled.

“As
you said last Cirke-dag. You gave her the Gwyr crystal, supposing her to be a
Wicke and expecting that it would go dull or burn her or some such, I assume.”

Ealad-hach
felt angry heat blaze up his neck to scorch his ears. “You know very well what
I expected. We’ve been through this. I told you what I expected.”

“So
you did, but the plan failed, correct?”

“My
original plan failed—to catch her teaching dark runes at that glen. If it hadn’t
been for that idiot Lorimer girl, I might have done that. I had a mirror. I
could have caught her in it without her knowledge.”

“Pardon,”
said Ladman, “but according to your young spies, catching her unawares at that
pool has yet to be done.”

“Not
so!” Ealad-hach raised his hand, a dull fire lighting behind his eyes. “Aelder Prentice
Brys and his cronies caught her unawares the Cirke-dag previous and brought my
attention to her doings.”

“They
beheld her weaving dark runes?”

“They
beheld her doing things they did not understand.”

“Well,”
said Ladman, in that word summing up what he thought of Ealad-hach’s Aelder
Prentices.

Parthelan
raised white brows. “She can’t sense men, is that your thought?”

“Or
can sense only those who carry darkness in their souls.”

“Irrelevant,”
said Faer-wald, “since the plan never came to fruition. You did not catch her
weaving dark runes. You improvised a test and she ... well, failed to meet your
expectations.” He tilted his head and gave Ealad-hach a long look. “When you
reported this, I took it to mean that she failed to prove to be Wicke.”

Ealad-hach
shook his head emphatically. “No! No! You miss the point!” He sat forward in
his chair. “She did not prove pure. She proved
powerful
. My misjudgment was in applying so simple a test to her.”

“Simple?”
asked Osraed Eadmund. “What more telling a test could you have given? Outside
of the Osmaer, the Gwyr crystal has no equal in purity.”

“Gartain’s
Giddian,” murmured Parthelan.

“Well,
yes. With the exception of Gartain’s crystal, Giddian. Are you suggesting we’ve
encountered a Wicke whose power approaches the Meri’s?”

“Nonsense!”
exclaimed Parthelan, and Ladman clutched his prayer chain.

Ealad-hach
was shaking his head. “No. I’d never suggest that. What I ...What I see
happening is what Eadmund suggested to us some time ago. A test. A test of such
importance that the Meri has allowed—
allowed
,
mind you—Her laws to be bent and Her truths to be circumvented.”

“By
this cailin, Taminy-a-Gled,” said Faer-wald.

“By
this Wicke-” Ealad-hach hesitated. He could not say what his dreams had led him
to suspect, perhaps because he could not bring himself to believe what those
dreams implied. As he turned the name in his mind—Taminy-a-Cuinn—he rejected
the absurdity of it. Wicke she must be—hundred year old Wicke, she could not
be. Bevol simply wanted him to believe that to heighten his fear. He pursed his
lips. “She is simply more powerful than I expected.”

“But
the crystal,” objected Eadmund. “The runebag ...”

Ealad-hach
dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Ah, that runebag was Wickery in and of
itself. I used it merely because I thought she might believe in its power. She
didn’t. She’s no fool.”

There
was a moment of thoughtful silence. Faer-wald broke it. “And no Wicke, either,
it would seem.”

“I
told you-” Ealad-hach began, cold fury raising his voice.

“She
failed your test.”

“Damn
you, Faer-wald! Why will you not see? We are in a Cusp. A dangerous Cusp. We’ve
all sensed that much. New Osraed bring us insupportable doctrinal changes and
impossible accounts of that girl Meredydd’s so-called transformation, the Cyne
tugs at the reins of our governing power, and this girl appears to-to juggle
the Art before our faces as if it was a carnival toy.”

“So
she has a Gift. Enroll her in Halig-liath and discipline it.”

“She
has no intention of attending Halig-liath. Her education, according to Bevol,
is complete.”

“We
oughtn’t sanction that,” interjected Parthelan. “No one should make careless
with the Art outside Halig-liath.”

“Only
within, eh?” asked Faer-wald, winking.

“You
joke,” accused Ealad-hach, “about what is not a joking matter. She does her
little miracles every day now. People afflicted with odd ailments go to Taminy
for a confection and when next Osraed Torridon sees them, they are cured. Have
you seen Marnie-o-Loom’s hands? She was severely arthritic. Torridon could do
nothing for her but ease the pain. I say
was
arthritic, Osraed, because Taminy gave her a salve and a bit of wood. Do you
care to guess at the results?”

Faer-wald
sat forward, sending the pink Cirke crashing to his lap. “Look,” he said, “what
do you want from us? Why are you bringing this up again? What is your
intention?”

“I
want you to join me in recommending that Taminy be called before the Osraed
Body. I will devise a more thorough test and publicly try her. I want to trap
her, Osraed. And destroy her.”

Four
pairs of eyes met in the center of the chamber, leaving Ealad-hach entirely out
of their deliberations.

Eadmund
cleared his throat. “We are in a Cusp.”

Parthelan
shook his head. Faer-wald and Ladman echoed the movement.

“We
cannot recommend that, Osraed,” Faer-wald told Ealad-hach. “There is too little
evidence to support you.”

“Too
little evidence? What of my dreams? My aislinn?”

Again,
glances were traded at the center of the room. “You said you couldn’t see the
face of the woman who came out of the Sea.”

“I
have seen it. Late the night before last. It was her face. The face of
Taminy-a-Gled.” He glared at the silent ring of faces. “Do you doubt my vision?”

“Perhaps
‘doubt’ is too strong a word.” Faer-wald now attempted to soothe him. “If you
would take us to your aislinn chamber, show us this woman-”

“I
cannot.” Ealad-hach curled back into his seat, wrapping his arms about himself.
“My ability to draw on aislinn vision has been severely impaired by my health.
I haven’t slept well since I made the discovery—the stress ... I have been
unable to bring the aislinn back.”

“Well,
what can we do, then?” Faer-wald glanced about at his cronies and shrugged his
bovine shoulders. “If you could show us, perhaps we would be convinced to back
your recommendation, but without that evidence ...” He shrugged again. “You
have tested her and failed to prove her to be anything but a young woman with a
strong Gift, which Bevol has no doubt nurtured. I agree with Parthelan about
the questionable wisdom of allowing the Art to be taught outside the Academy.
But even at that, she is under the tutelage of one of the greatest masters
Halig-liath has produced—come, Ealad, you must agree with that, regardless of
what you think of his theology.”

Ealad-hach
was silent.

Osraed
Parthelan rose and shook out his long tunic. “I agree. Understand, Ealad, I am
with you in your desire to keep cailin out of Halig-liath. I cannot believe
this change will be beneficial to the Brotherhood. But calling this child a
Wicke, blaming her for our troubles-”

Ealad-hach
pounced on the admission implicit in that. “Then you don’t believe Wyth Arundel’s
Tell?”

Parthelan’s
eyes widened. “Not believe? Have I a choice? He wears the Kiss—gaudily. I
suppose I must believe. He is the Meri’s Chosen, Her emissary. That doesn’t
mean I agree with what he says or must like it.”

“But
if you will go that far-”

“I
will go no further.” Parthelan excused himself and left, taking Ladman with
him.

Faer-wald
took that opportunity to make his own excuses. “As I said, Ealad, if you could
show us this aislinn, if we could see this woman’s face and be convinced
...Perhaps when your health improves, your concentration will improve with it.”

“I
will show you,” murmured Ealad-hach. “By the Kiss, I will show you.” If
Faer-wald heard him, he did not show it, and Ealad-hach found himself alone
with Eadmund and a black mood. He vented the darkness at the younger Osraed. “Well,
what about you? Are you going to mock an old man?”

Brow
furrowed, Eadmund shook his head. “No, Osraed. I would never mock you. I ... I
understand your respect of this Cusp, of the unique danger it poses, the unique
challenges it brings.”

“Then
you do believe me—about the girl?”

Eadmund’s
eyes traced the pattern in the thick carpet. “It’s hard to ... to accept that
such a young, seemingly innocent cailin should be the repository of such
wickedness, such power.”

Ealad-hach
allowed himself a grim smile. “And that, Eadmund, is her advantage. Her youth,
her sweet appearance. But she Weaves. She weaves darkness, constantly. She
weaves disagreement and dissension and if we are not astute, if we are not
prepared, she will weave our destruction ...Yes, yes, I know,” he added, seeing
the expression on the younger man’s face.

“Hard
to accept. But we have seen much lately that is hard to accept, have we not?”

“You
mean Osraed Wyth’s Tell?”

“Aye.
That’s hard to accept, yet it seems we are bound to its acceptance.”

“You
strive to connect the two—the girl’s Gift and Wyth’s Tell. That, I think, is
what I cannot accept.”

“She
sought him out at Tell Fest. They conversed privately for some time. They, who
supposedly didn’t know each other.”

Eadmund
ghosted a smile. “Well, he is a young man and she is a lovely cailin.”

“Loveliness,”
said Ealad-hach, “is like the crust on a snow. It glitters brilliantly and
seems temptingly solid, but a man would be a fool to set foot upon it and trust
it with his weight.”

Eadmund
nodded. “But the snow isn’t evil, Osraed. It is cold by nature—a nature decreed
by the First Being.”

“Your
point?”

Eadmund
gazed at him a moment, then shrugged. “None that is worth elucidating. Pardon,
Osraed, but I must go over the Academy accounts with Aelder Marschal.”

He
was gone, then, and Ealad-hach had only his black mood for company.

oOo

The
sky did not fall. The Cyne did not send soldiers after him, did not censure
him, did not stop the newly-established flow of goods to the Care House in the
shadow of Mertuile. Leal had feared that, in the dark hours, staring at the
ceiling of his new room at Care House. Had been terrified that, for his brash
acts, Fhada would suffer—worse yet, that those who depended on the Care House
for subsistence and healing would suffer.

But
that didn’t happen. The goods—fresh goods, now—arrived from the Cyne’s Market
by the cartful and Leal relaxed a little, thinking perhaps the Cyne had taken
the Meri’s words to heart and would cease to imagine himself Her spokesman. By
the second day after the incident, he was convinced nothing would come of it
and allowed himself to be pleased with the results of his brief tenure in
Creiddylad. That was the day the Abbod of Ochanshrine visited Care House and
called Leal aside in the presence of Osraed Fhada.

The
Osraed Ladhar was an imposing man despite his advanced age. He was not as tall
as the conifer-like Fhada, but what he lacked in height, he made up in girth
and presence. Balding at the crown, he had a froth of silver hair that lay
densely upon his collar and framed heavy jaws. In his broad, ruddy face, his
eyes stood out like diamonds pressed into red clay. They were that colorless,
that chill, that piercing.

Indestructible,
Leal thought. Cynes had come and gone but Osraed Ladhar was still here and the
Kiss on his forehead was still here, though Leal had to face him head on to see
it—a stellate mark the color of peridot.

“Well,
young Lealbhallain!” The Abbod’s smile was a fatherly embrace and his voice
exuded joviality. “You’ve made yourself a bit of a celebrity in Creiddylad.”

The
eyes didn’t change and Lealbhallain knew that either they lied or the voice
did. “I’m sorry, Abbod. I didn’t mean to do that.”

The
old man chuckled, warm tones rolling deep in his barrel chest. “No? What did
you mean to do?”

Splinters
of glass could not have cut more sharply than those eyes. Leal struggled to
believe he had done nothing wrong and groped for an answer. “I wasn’t trying to
do anything, Abbod. Except, of course, the Meri’s will.”

“The
Meri’s will? Why, I believe we all strive to do that. It’s not always easy to
divine.” Ladhar flicked a glance at Fhada, who stood in his office’s one window
embrasure, watchful. “How did you become convinced it was the Meri’s will that
moved you?”