Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (28 page)

"Nay, child, you are not at fault. It is truly a terrible thing we witnessed here this night. May our Lady forgive us." He signed the blessing over the boy. "Come now, let us hurry onward and get to our beds before the others discover us here."

The hounds whined, responding to his urgent tone. Rage took Alain's hand into one of her powerful jaws and tugged on him, away, down the path and farther into the forest. Still weeping, Alain went with them.

He dreamed:

A
hand, clawed and scaly, dips into a fast-running stream. The water is so cold it stings, but he drinks.

Then, as an afterthought, he touches the wooden Circle that lies against his chest. It remains cold and silent. If there is a god inside, then that god cannot speak. Or at least, not in any language he understands.

He lifts his head, licks the air for a scent. Listens.

There! A fox pauses to sniff, then sidles away. Above! An owl glides overhead but sweeps on into the night.

Yet in the night air he scents the coming of morning. He searches for a copse in which to hide himself, to wait again for night, when it is safe to run. North, always north, toward the sea.

THE CITY OF MEMORY
ALTHOUGH
the last snow still lay in thin patches in the north lee of trees and along the shaded verge of fields in Heart's Rest, spring was well on its way when Holy Week arrived. Because Holy Week had to begin on Mansday
—moon's day—and end on Hefensday—the day the blessed Daisan was transported on the wings of angels up into heaven—the full moon by which the dates of Holy Week were reckoned usually fell
before
the first day of Penitire. But this year the full moon fell on the first day of Penitire, as it had in the year of the Translatus, making
this
year an auspicious one. So were these events recorded in the Holy Verses and the gospels of Matthias, Mark, Johanna, and Lucia.

When Liath rode out to visit outlying hamlets with
Hugh
—he on the bay gelding, she on the piebald mare-she saw green budding on the trees and delicate green shoots pressing up from the earth. The farmers had begun their tillage, and the sun was warm. She would
remain outside, like a groom, holding the horses while Hugh ministered to the country folk who lived too far from a church to attend regular services. These brief hours, alone and outside, were balm to her, although Hugh by this means kept her further isolated from most human contact.

Still, spring brought a kind of infection with it. Dorit, who had treated Liath with indifference bordering on coldness all winter, now attempted at odd moments to exchange pleasantries with her. Lars whistled.

But Hugh was restless. No peddlers had yet come north on the old road that led to the duchy of Saony, the central region of the realm of Wendar; only when the first peddler arrived would Hugh know the roads were clear across the lels Hills and that the ford at Hammel-left was passable.

On the morning of St. Perpetua's Day, the twelfth day of the month of Yanu, which this year fell two days after the Feast of the Translatus, he rose and dressed early. Often, now, he rode out on his rounds alone so that he might make as much haste as possible. That way, when the road opened, they could ride south at once.

"Liath," he said curtly, "I'm going now. You will inventory our belongings in preparation for our journey to Firsebarg. I will expect to see the list when I return."

"Where are you going today?" she asked, not because she cared but because she could then judge how much blessed solitude she might have that day: a brief morning's respite or a long, quiet, soothing day without him.

But he knew her too well; he knew the small ways she tried to hold herself free of him, and he cut away at them bit by bit. "I am going to minister to my flock," he said with his beautiful smile. He ran a hand from her right shoulder to her left, his fingers tracing the slave's necklace
—invisible, insubstantial, but as heavy as any iron collar—his ownership and her capitulation had forged around her neck. "I will return when I return."

So he left.

She decided not to write out the inventory. He might

hit her for refusing or he might be amused by such a trivia], passive act of defiance; she never knew which it would be. Out of habit, however, she did go to the schoolroom and with stylus and tablet practiced the curving Jinna script left to right and right to left and back again. Then, more slowly, she copied the Arethousan letters and composed them into the simple words Hugh had taught her. But eventually her mind wandered, unhindered by Hugh's stifling presence. Her thoughts strayed back to the mysteries of the heavens and the passing of days, for this above all else Da had taught to her
—the knowledge of the mathematici.

With the first day of the month of Yanu and the passing of Mariansmass, which together marked the spring equinox, they had moved into a new year. It was now the seven hundred and twenty-eighth year since the Proclamation of the Holy Word, the Divine Logos, by the blessed Daisan. She was seventeen years old.

"Da," she whispered, and wiped a tear from her cheek. Da was gone. And yet, was it not also true that everything that Da had taught her remained with her, so that in a way he remained with her, through her memory of him?

"By this ladder the mage ascends. "
She stiffened suddenly, horrified. What came next? She had forgotten! She did not exercise her memory as she ought, not with Hugh around, watching everything she did. "What do you think of when you sit so still?" he would ask. Better not to sit still. Better not to have him pry. She hated the way he seemed always to be trying to open her up, to get inside, to break the lock both of them knew held the inner door fast against him. She had the book. He did not. It was all that kept her free.

Soon, Hugh would return. But he was not here right now.

She sat back and closed her eyes. She found the city, standing fast in her memory. An avenue paved with white stones led away from the shore to the first gate, and she followed it. The first gate towered before her, admitting her to the first level: The Rose Gate. In her mind she saw each gate clearly, in their proper order: Rose, Sword, Cup, Ring, Throne, Scepter, Crown.

"Sorcery, like any other branch of knowledge, must be learned, used, and mastered. The young apprentice to the blacksmith does not begin by forging a fine sword for the prince. The young apprentice to the weaver does not with her first thread weave the queen's hearth rug. So the rhetor makes her first speech to her mirror, not to the marketplace, and the young man-at-arms fights his first battle against the tilt, not against his liege's mortal enemy. So did the blessed Daisan proclaim the Holy Word for twenty-one years before even He mastered the art of prayer well enough that He might by His own prayer and meditation ascend to the Chamber of Light. Learn these things, Liath. You cannot use them, for you are deaf to magic, but you may think on them, you may practice them as if you were a mage's apprentice, and in time you may have gained a sorcerer's knowledge. To master knowledge is to have power from it."

There, on the gate that rested only in her mind, stood a constellation of jewels like a cluster of stars, tracing the form of a rose. And on each farther gate, a new constellation, sword, cup, ring, and so on, as was appropriate. For these constellations also shone above in the heavens, together with the twelve constellations that made up the Houses of Night, the world dragon that bound the heavens, and the many other constellations arrayed as emblems on the sphere of the fixed stars, set there by the infinite wisdom of Our Lady and Lord.

Eyes still closed, she drew, in her mind, the form of the rose, but its shape and airy substance vanished like bird tracks in sand washed by the tide; she could not keep hold of it. But she could use the table as a kind of engraving surface. She set her hand lightly on the polished wood grain and carefully, precisely, traced out the dimensions of the Rose on the wood. Such a slight task

to make her sweat so; her face flushed with heat, and she felt warm all over.

Hand drawn to the end of the pattern, palm hanging half over the lip of the table, she paused.

A sudden noise jolted her out of her concentration.

"Liath? Is there a fire in here?"

Liath jumped up so fast she banged her thighs on the table's edge. Cursing under her breath, she spun around. "Hanna! You startled me!"

Hanna wrinkled up her nose, sniffing, and cast about, rather like a dog. "Your brazier must have overheated. It smells like burned wood. You'd better
—" But even as she spoke, the scent dissipated. Hanna sighed, heartfelt. "At least you have color in your cheeks." She walked forward and took Liath's hands in hers. "I hate to always see you so pale."

"Does Hugh know you came here?" Liath asked, darting to the door and looking, out. The passageway remained empty. She heard Lars chopping wood outside.

"Of course not. I saw him riding out
—

"He'll know you're here. He'll come back."

"Liath! Take hold of yourself." Hanna grasped Liath's hands and chafed them between her own. "How can he know if he's gone from the village? He didn't see me leave the inn."

"It doesn't matter. He'll
know."
Liath was shaken by a sudden swell of emotion. "You're all I have left, Hanna," she said in a hoarse voice, and then, abruptly, hugged her fiercely. "It's all that's kept me safe, knowing I can trust you."

"Of course. Of course you can trust me." But Hanna hesitated and slowly pushed back out of Liath's arms. "Listen. I've spoken to Ivar. He needs servants to go with him, to keep him in proper state at the monastery. He'.s taking
—
me."
Liath, stunned, heard the rest of Hanna's confession through a veil of numbness. "I'm sorry, Liath. But it was the only way I could get out of
marrying young Johan. Mother and Father have agreed to it."

With nothing left to hold her up, Liath sank down onto the chair.

"Oh, Liath. I knew
—I never meant—" Hanna dropped to her knees. "I don't want to leave you."

/
don't want you to leave me.
But Liath knew she could not speak so.

"No," she said instead, so softly the words barely took wing in the air. "You must go. You can't marry Johan. If you go with Ivar, then you can find a better marriage or a better position. Quedlinhame is a fine town. Both monastery and convent are ruled over by Mother Scholastica. She is the third child of the younger Arnulf and Queen Mathilda. She is a learned woman. That is why she has the name, Scholastica. She was baptized as Richardis." It was all there, in the city of memory, all the knowledge that Da had taught her neatly lined up in niches, along avenues, under portals and arches, but what good was it if she was utterly alone? She wanted to cry but dared not, for Hanna's sake. So she kept talking. "Queen Mathilda retired to Quedlinhame after King Arnulf the Younger died and their son Henry became king. All of Quedlinhame is under her grant, her special protection, so it is a very fine place, they say. I believe the king holds court at Quedlinhame every year at Holy Week, when he can, to honor his mother. There will be every opportunity for someone as clever as you to advance yourself in service. Perhaps you can even attach yourself to the king's progress, to his household. He has the two daughters, Sapientia and Theophanu, who are old enough now to have their own entourages, their own retainers."

Hanna laid her head on Liath's knees. The weight and warmth were comforting and yet soon to be gone from her forever. "I'm so sorry, Liath. I would never leave you, but Inga will be coming back from Freelas in the summer with her husband and child, so there isn't room for me. It must be marriage or service."

"I know. Of course I know." But hope leached out of Liath like water from a leaking pail. She shut her eyes, as if by being blind she could cause this all not to come to pass by not seeing it happen.

"Liath, you must promise me you won't lose hope. I won't desert you. I'll try every means to secure your release."

"Hugh will never release me."

"How can you be so sure?" Hanna lifted her head. "How can you be so sure?"

She sighed deeply, without opening her eyes. She left the city of memory behind, left the jeweled rose and Da's words. "Because he knows Da had secrets and he thinks I know them all. Because he knows I have the book. He'll never give me up. It doesn't matter, Hanna. Hugh is to be invested as abbot, as Father, at Firsebarg. We will leave as soon as it is possible to travel south." She opened her eyes and leaned down, whispering, although there was no one to hear them. "You must take the book. You must take it away from here. Because he'll get it from me if I have it.
Please,
Hanna. Then if I'm ever free of him, I'll find you."

"Liath
—"

But she would never be free of him. He knew. Of course he knew.

She let go of Hanna's hands and stood. Hanna scrambled to her feet and turned just as Hugh opened the door.

"Get out," he said coldly. Hanna glanced once at Liath. "Out!"

He held the door until Hanna left. Then he shut it firmly behind her. "I do not like you having visitors." He crossed to Liath and took her chin in his left hand; his fingers cupped her jaw. He stared down at her. The deep azure dye of his tunic brought out the penetrating blue of his eyes. "You will no longer entertain
any
visitors, Liath."