Crucible (10 page)

“Oh, it is,” Maia said fervently, leaning back and rubbing her head. “Stupid fish.”

“I'm not ready to go back to them just yet,” Lena said, “but are we making
any
progress?”

Maia just shrugged.

“Speaking of crows,” Sven-August said, “is that the Healer you sent for?”

A young woman in green robes followed a pair of crows into the garden. “Hello, Sara,” Lena said looking up with a faint smile. Her head still ached.

“Hello, Lena. I figured Maia was here when crows started flying circles around me, but I wasn't expecting both of you. What happened to you, Maia?” She knelt next to Maia, running her hands about an inch away from the young woman's head. “How did you get a headache that bad? You're verging on burnout!”

“We're not the patients,” Lena explained, “the bird is.”

Sara looked at the bird. “I'll get to him in a minute,” she said, “but Maia definitely needs help.”

“Then Lena probably does as well,” Maia said faintly. “We're taking turns on the same project.”

“What project is leaving you in
this
shape?”

“We're trying to get the different colored fish to swim together in pleasing patterns,” Lena explained.

“
What
? And in Thenoth's name,
why
?”

“Because Mistress Efanya is paying enough to feed every animal in the Temple until spring.”

“My mother likes fish,” Sven-August said. “Well, at least she doesn't dislike them. She hates birds, and having live animals in the garden is fashionable, so . . .”

“I see,” said Sara, and Lena suspected that she really did. “Maia and Lena, no work on this until midday tomorrow at the earliest, and you are both going to drink every drop of the potion I'm going to make for you.” She added very softly, “And I'm going to have a few words with your Prior as well.”

She turned to look at the bird. “Another bullfinch,”
she remarked and asked Sven-August, “Where did you find him?”

“He flew into the garden about a week ago,” Sven-August said, “and . . .” his voice trailed off miserably.

“. . . your mother doesn't like birds,” Sara finished. “We can heal him, but it will take time, and I think he'll be safer at Thenoth's Temple than here.”

“Won't he be lonely?” Sven-August asked in a voice that suggested that
he
would be very lonely.

“No, there's a female bullfinch already at the Temple, so he'll have company of his own species,” Sara said. “And there's no rule that says you can't visit him there. Maybe the girls can bring you tomorrow morning, since they can't work on your mother's project then anyway.”

The next half-hour was spent finding a suitable box and packing material for the injured bird while Sara brewed a truly vile-tasting potion and watched both girls drink it. She also gave instructions—and two more doses of the potion—to the housekeeper before ordering Lena and Maia to bed for the rest of the day. Lena's head ached so much that she didn't even protest.

• • •

After another dose of Sara's potion and a good night's sleep, Lena and Maia were both feeling much better in the morning, although not better enough to disregard her instructions to stay away from the fish.

After breakfast, therefore, they asked the butler if he thought Mistress Efanya would object to Sven-August's accompanying them to the Temple. The butler promptly assured them that the Mistress would have no objection and that he would inform her of their whereabouts if they had not returned by the time she awakened.

• • •

Sven-August appeared to fall in love with the Temple of Thenoth as soon as he walked through its gates.

“I've never seen the Peace of the God settle on someone so fast,” Maia whispered.

“Consider what he's used to at home,” Lena whispered back. “This must be like being able to breathe freely for the first time in his life. That's what it was like for me, at least.”

They took Sven-August to the infirmary, where “his” bullfinch was recuperating next to the female Sara had mentioned the day before. “It's odd,” he remarked, “that he's so much more brightly colored than she is. In humans it's usually the other way round.” Since the female's breast feathers were light tan, while the male's were an orange color almost as bright as the dress his mother had worn for her “impromptu” dinner party, he certainly had a point.

Sven-August really did have a deft hand with birds, and Brother Thomas in the mews was considered enough of a chaperone for Lena, so Maia split off to her other charges, leaving Sven-August to work with Lena. They were both enjoying themselves so much that the bell for the midday meal came as a surprise.

“You go and wash up,” Brother Thomas told Lena. “I'll take the lad with me, and he can meet you in the refectory.”

After the meal, the Prior joined Lena, Maia, and Sven-August and announced his intention of walking back to Mistress Efanya's house with them. As they walked, Sven-August pelted the Prior with so many questions the girls couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if they had tried.

“It's nice to see him happy,” Lena murmured to Maia.

“Rethinking your stance on marrying him?” Maia teased.

“No,” Lena said promptly, and then added, “but I wouldn't mind having him as a friend.”

• • •

They were shown into the drawing room that looked out on the garden—
probably as close as Mistress Efanya
really
wants to get to nature
, Lena thought. Mistress Efanya lay
on a sofa, leafing desultorily through a book, but she set it aside and rose to greet the Prior.

“It was so kind of you to escort my son home,” she said, smiling at him.

“I enjoy his company,” the Prior replied, “but I have a few things to discuss with you as well.”

“Certainly,” Mistress Efanya said. “Sven-August, why don't you join the girls in the garden?”

The three of them left the room at a decorous pace and then dashed quickly to the garden. Maia must have Mindspoken to Dexter, because he was already there and had cracked open a window hidden from the inside of the room by the draperies. They clustered around the window to listen to the conversation inside.

“Perhaps we could start with Sven-August's pet bullfinch,” the Prior said. “It is currently in our infirmary recovering from a broken wing, but it is doing well and should be able to return to your garden soon. It has also found a mate,” he added cheerfully, “so by next spring you will have your very own bellowing of bullfinches.”

“Bellowing of bullfinches?” Mistress Efanya said faintly.

“It's the name for a group of bullfinches,” the Prior explained, “like a ‘school' of fish. I suspect the name comes from the sound the birds make.”

“More birds. More horrible, noisy birds.” Mistress Efanya's voice was so faint the group in the garden could scarcely hear her, but they didn't have to catch every syllable to know her thoughts on the matter.

“Speaking of the fish,” the Prior continued, ignoring her comment about the birds, “I'm afraid that there appears to be a miscommunication as to exactly what is to be done with them. The girls seem to think that you want the fish to sort themselves by color and then swim in specific patterns.”

“Don't you think that would be pretty?” Mistress Efanya asked. She actually sounded anxious.

“I'm certain it would be a charming effect,” the Prior
replied soothingly. “Unfortunately, it can't be done. Fish do see color to some extent, but they tend to be nearsighted and rely more on their hearing and sense of smell. Also colors look different in water than they do in air, so what you see when you look at a fish is not what it sees. The girls tried very hard to overcome these problems, but they ran aground, so to speak, on the third problem: for Animal Mindspeech to work, the animal needs to have enough mind for the human to communicate with. I'm not certain that either Lena or Maia knows the meaning of the term ‘give up,' so they kept trying. And I'm afraid it's typical of both of them that they didn't hesitate to summon one of the Healers who works with us to help the bullfinch while ignoring the fact that they both had headaches—something that would have told our more-experienced novices that something was wrong.”

“Are they all right?” Mistress Efanya asked quickly, doubtless considering the consequences of lasting damage to the King's ward. “The housekeeper told me that a Healer had been here and ordered both of them to bed, and I told her they were to sleep in as long as they wished.”

“They are expected to make a full recovery,” the Prior said gravely, “as long as they don't try to do what they thought you wanted them to do with the fish. They tell me that you have a very nice mix of colors, and that the natural movement of the fish is quite pleasing to the eye. Sven-August agrees with them, but I will be happy to look at the fish to assure myself that their esthetic judgment is not at fault.”

“That is most kind of you.” Mistress Efanya was doubtless planning to brag to future guests that the Prior of the Temple of Thenoth
himself
had approved her fishpond. “Um, about the bellowing of bullfinches . . .”

“That was the other thing I wished to ask you. Brother Thomas, who supervised your son's work with Lena this
morning, was quite impressed. He tells me that Sven-August has a deft touch with birds and that he and Lena work well together. If Sven-August wishes to study and work at the Temple, we would be pleased to have him. Be assured that we
do
cover academics as well as the care of animals; in fact our novices study the same subjects that are taught to non-Heralds at the Collegium, including healing and music if they show any abilities in those areas.”

“Would he have to join your Order?”

“No, of course not.” The Prior chuckled. “We have many volunteers and students who will never become Brothers. Certainly Lena won't, however long she chooses to stay with us, although I suspect that she will still want to work with us even after she marries. But both she and Sven-August are still young; that's not something they'll need to consider now.”

“I will speak to my son,” Mistress Efanya said. “It sounds like an excellent opportunity for him.”

“I hope he will think so. Although if he does come to us, I'm afraid that the bullfinches will stay at the Temple. The male seems quite attached to him.”

• • •

Maia and Lena returned to the Temple the next day. Despite a severe lecture from the Prior about the undesirability of attempting Animal Mindspeech with an animal with no mind to speak of, not to mention more nasty potions from the Temple's Healers, they were glad to be home.

Sven-August joined them a week later. As the Prior had predicted, the male bullfinch chose to stay with him—as did the female bullfinch. By the following spring, the Temple had a much larger bellowing of bullfinches.

Though full summer had come to the northern lands of Valdemar, Sparrow still felt cold in the shade of Herald Zama's garden, behind his station at Errold's Grove. The scent of heal-all, juniper flowers, heart's ease, and mint soothed her jangled nerves, and golden light filtered through the green canopy of evergreens and flowering mountain laurel trees above their heads.

Despite the serene surroundings, her heart raced with worry. The fact that she traveled with Brock, her dearest friend and a Herald Trainee too, should have assuaged her fears. They had been sent north on Collegium business, in the middle of their training, direct from Haven.
To be chosen for such a journey is an honor,
Sparrow told herself. But she still was worried for both of them.

“Are you sure?” she asked the Herald past the lump in her throat. “Don't you think we will just make matters worse?”

“You must go to Longfall,” Herald Zama said again.

Inwardly, Sparrow groaned. She loved her home village, loved it desperately, and had missed it in the three years since she'd left. But the thought of returning now, under the current circumstances . . .

Brock reached for her hand, and she found his fingers
with her own. He squeezed it gently, saying more than even Mindspeech could have in that moment.

Sparrow glanced at him, took in the slight smile passing over his thin lips, his sealed-shut eyes, his fine silver-white hair. To an unknowing, ignorant eye, Brock was blind and helpless and Sparrow was his physical and emotional support, she the strong one of the dyad.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Brock meant everything to her, more than she wanted to admit.

His gentle touch calmed Sparrow, and she concentrated on that steady current of strength as the Herald spoke. A low breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and its soothing coolness brushed Sparrow's cheek.

“It's like this,” Herald Zama said. His homely, freckled face was open and unlined, and his kindly expression made his words easier to accept. “Errold's Grove is thriving now, and it's gone from being a dangerous posting to one of the more predictable and peaceful ones. But we are still a border town, and things can change in an instant up here.”

Sparrow breathed deeply and nodded for him to go on. His words made sense. Longfall was a tiny village even closer to the border than Errold's Grove, and she well remembered the undercurrent of fear that used to pass through her home when strangers from the north appeared, no matter how friendly.

“We don't want to scare people, and we don't want to conduct a formal investigation . . . not yet anyway, not until we get more information about what's going on. And that's where you two come in.”

Brock squeezed her fingers again, but Sparrow couldn't keep the tightness out of her voice. “Forgive me, but I still don't understand,” she said. “Brock and I are still in training. We haven't even gone out for our internship Circuit yet.”

Zama's left eyebrow went up when Sparrow said “we.” Her fear kindled into a familiar frustration.

“No, I am not a Herald, not Chosen,” she said, reciting an all-too-familiar explanation she had made dozens of times in the last few years. “Brock Cloud-Brother is Chosen, but he needs support to rise to his Herald duties. He can't see . . . I am here to assist him where his Gift cannot help him to maneuver. He often cannot break through the clouds to communicate . . . I am here to help facilitate and act as a bridge between the worlds Brock travels and the ground level where we walk.”

“Oh, you are a helper. I see. That explains the Healer's greens you're wearing, then.”

Sparrow stifled another wave of irritation. She wasn't a full Healer and never would be, but that was too complicated a situation to try to explain now. Right now, she had to understand why the Collegium and this brave and wise Herald had decided to send two Trainees into the middle of what looked like a conspiracy to cause unrest in the northern reaches of Valdemar.

Brock squeezed her fingers one last time and let her go. “I cannot serve as Herald without her,” he said, in his husky, whispery voice.

Zama looked from one face to the other, sizing them up. Sparrow was well used to that hesitation, a concern that together Brock and Sparrow could not add up to a single, able Herald. That didn't bother her at all . . . she had grown used to it, and they had overcome such qualms again and again as Brock's training had progressed.

What scared her silly was the idea of riding into an ambush without protection. Of course, Abilard, Brock's Companion, was an immense shield all by himself. Abilard must have sensed her fears, for he whispered quietly into Sparrow's mind,
:Courage
.
:
And she tried her best. But if it was too dangerous for Zama to come to Longfall openly . . .

“I don't think you are in serious danger, not really,” Zama finally said. “You are both native to Longfall, you can visit there without arousing suspicion. It is on the
way to K'Valdemar Vale in any case, so you have every reason in the world to stop by.”

Truth be told, Sparrow would gladly have stopped at Longfall of her own accord. But this was something very different. Given what Zama had told them, she was afraid to see the changes that had come to her old home.

Zama leaned back on his oak garden bench and sighed. “Look, it's up to you. You are still Trainees, it's true. If you are too afraid, we will come up with another way.”

Challenge flowed in the undercurrent of Zama's words. Sparrow heard it clearly:
This is the life of a Herald. If you cannot handle this kind of mission . . .

“We are not afraid,” Brock said, quiet determination in his voice. “We simply want to make sure we can do what you ask of us.”

Zama spoke to Sparrow, not to Brock. “Afraid or not isn't the nub of it, is it? Sometimes you have to be afraid and do the right thing anyway.”

The understanding and kindness in Zama's eyes helped a lot. Maybe Brock felt no fear, but Sparrow sure did. She sighed and nodded. “If only the right thing didn't have to be so hard sometimes.”

Zama shrugged and laughed. “
That
is the life of a Herald, right there. And once you accept the basic fact, it's a glorious life.”

• • •

Longfall was less than a day's easy journey away, and Abilard, Brock, and Sparrow opted to leave soon after their meeting with Herald Zama. The Owl Inn at Errold's Grove handsomely replenished their supplies, and Sparrow's spirits lifted as they departed the town and headed into the backcountry on the way to her home village.

The sun was low in the western sky by the time they set off. They left Errold's Grove and soon turned off the main northern road for the dirt path connecting some of the smaller villages to the north and west. Almost
immediately, they descended into the deep shadows of the leafy forest, Abilard's silver hooves leaving hardly any trace as they traveled.

As always, Sparrow rode behind Brock, sitting astride now, since she rode in simple Healer's green trousers instead of the embroidered skirts she used to wear. “I hope I didn't sound too scared before,” she said, her voice hushed in the immense green silence of the wood.

“No,” Brock replied. “You were the voice of reason.”

:Indea, Zama's Companion, and I also spoke, and we believe in the both of you,:
Abilard said to them both in Mindspeech. As always, Sparrow thrilled to his words, spoken deeply in her mind, sending emotion along with bare meaning. A sustaining warmth radiated from her heart out to her fingers, and she could feel as well as hear Abilard's trust in their ability to rise to whatever occasion they would meet in Longfall.

:Thank you, dear Companion,:
Brock replied. The connection was between Abilard and his Chosen, but from the beginning Sparrow had been able to receive Mindspeech from both Companion and her beloved childhood friend. She could not respond in kind, but she could always hear. And this second mode of communication had been a great comfort to her from the day she and Brock had left Longfall.

“So, what do we do?” Sparrow asked. “Just ride into town?”

“I think so,” Brock replied. “Explain that we came to visit your father. See what has changed.”

Sparrow laughed. “Oh, my goodness, what hasn't changed!”

It had been three years since they'd left for the Collegium, but it might as well have been a thousand. Sparrow could hardly remember what it was like to be a fifteen-year-old girl who had just lost her mother to snow fever and lived with her father in a small cottage on the village's edge.

Errold's Grove had seemed like a grand town back then, but now it looked to Sparrow like a quaint backwater compared to the spires and winding, intricate back streets leading to the Collegium in Haven. But Zama's description of the dangers in her little village opened up a deep foreboding that the home she remembered was gone forever.

A crow alighted on a dead branch on a blue fir tree just ahead. As Abilard rounded the bend, the bird tilted its head to study them. Its feathers were jet black, shot through with iridescent purples and blues.

Shrewd eyes regarded them as they passed, and the bird seemed calculating to Sparrow. As she watched, it cawed twice, looked up into the branches above its head, and then stretched its wings and shot into the sky.

Sparrow's foreboding grew even deeper. “Did you see that, Abilard?”

“I heard it,” Brock said.

:That was no ordinary crow.:

“It was almost like he was . . . waiting for us. And flew off to let somebody know we're coming.”

Neither Brock nor Abilard replied, but Brock's back muscles tensed up, and his Companion broke into a canter. Whatever was going on in Longfall, clearly neither believed they had much time to waste.

• • •

They made camp at nightfall, planning to ride into Longfall the following morning. The night passed uneventfully, yet Sparrow could not find her rest. Her dreams, all tumbled and jumbled, were troubled by visitations of swooping crows, their cries echoing among unforgiving stone canyons and dry riverbeds filled with bones. Her home, transformed by nightmare into an unfamiliar, forbidding wasteland.

When they arose the next morning, Sparrow did not speak of her dreams. But as she rolled up her blanket and replaced it in her pack, a murder of crows flew past
their camp, swooping overhead and coming to rest in a circle among the surrounding trees. They called and cawed to each other, a deafening cacophony, a great debate that Sparrow could not understand.

“Looks like we have company,” Sparrow said. “Crows. A lot of crows, Brock. They've got us surrounded.”

She kept her voice light. Crows were native to these forests after all. Nothing unnatural about seeing crows so near to where she grew up . . . Sparrow used to see them all the time as a girl.

The villagers believed that crows portended death. But Sparrow had never understood how a bird could be fully evil just by its very existence . . . crows lived as they were made by the Mother. The great Mother loved the crows surely, just as she loved all the creatures of the earth.

Abilard did not respond with his customary words of reassurance. He stood tall in the clearing, his magnificent haunches tensed and his curling mane blowing in the clean morning breeze. The scent of blue fir sap added a tang to the air, a sense that the forest was alive and considering their presence as well.

Sparrow looked into Abilard's brilliant sapphire eyes, saw the growing wariness there.
:Beloved ones,:
he said,
:Come with me and let us travel swiftly to Longfall. I fear we may be too late.:

• • •

Abilard's long strides ate up the distance to their destination. They reached Longfall one candlemark before breakfast time. The first thing Sparrow noticed was an absence.

No children on the hillsides bringing the sheep out to pasture; no mothers feeding hungry chickens. No cats sleeping in the morning sun, no menfolk going out to their fields, their tanneries, or their forges. It was a glorious, bright morning, and yet Longfall was still asleep, as if it had fallen under a powerful and insidious spell.

The shutters and front doors of the homes and businesses remained tightly shut against the sunshine and fresh air. Not even the chickens were outside.

Sparrow hugged Brock tighter. “It looks like a deserted ruin.” She could not keep the creeping horror out of her voice.

“So silent,” he whispered.

Abilard said nothing, just kept walking resolutely toward the mayor's house at the center of town. The
thud
of hooves against the bone-dry dirt track echoed down the silent lane.

Before the three reached the little village green, they passed the cottage where Sparrow had lived with her father. She strained to see any signs of life inside her home, but she found nothing there either. Not even the goats made a sound. They were either still inside their pens or . . . gone.

“Abilard, please stop,” she said. “I need to see if my father is okay. I don't believe they sent word from Haven that I was coming, I'd hoped someone from Errold's Grove might have told him, but no. Because if he knew . . .”

Her father, Hari, would have been standing outside looking for her. Looking every day until she arrived. And if she had been later than he expected, he would have asked the mayor to send a runner to Errold's Grove to find out what had happened to her.

Abilard halted at the entrance to the little place she had once loved as home. “Father?” she called. She hugged Brock even tighter and tried not to panic.

“Call him again,” Brock said, his voice low, urgent.

“Papa!”

She dismounted, tried the door. It was shut tight. She willed the front door to swing open, and her father to appear in the doorway, rounded shoulders, slow, broad smile and all.