Fires of Aggar (44 page)

“It’s the lifestone….” The murmur was a faint one, uncertainty rising. “I know you wanted children, but — please believe me! — if I’d known this could happen I would have warned…”

“Warned me? No, no….” She cradled her lover’s face with both hands, burying the fears beneath gentle kisses. Murmuring again, “No, my darling. There’s nothing to warn me about, ti’Mau… Soroi, know you never have need of warning me.”

“The stone’s taken your life patterns and woven them into mine.”

“That’s what it’s always done, hasn’t it?” Her gentle eyes told only of marvel and joy at this miracle.

“I think….”

The indecision caused concern in that dark gaze finally. She asked quietly, “What are you afraid of, Elana?”

“My Sight,” came the faint answer. She shrugged awkwardly. “I’m so sensitive to your amarin through it… it caused the lifestone to intervene again.”

“Again?” A puzzled crease marred her forehead.

“As strongly as when we first bonded.”

“Ahh….” Her frown cleared, and reassurance glowed again in a smile. “This daughter is ours because our hearts have wanted her so much. Are you trying to tell me it may happen again sometime, without warning? Or are you trying to tell me that since the Blue Sight helped create her, she will be as Sighted as her birth mother?”

“Both.”

A deep throaty chuckle almost melted the last of the insecurities as a strong hug rocked them close. “Goddess blest, I love you! And I will love this Blue Gifted little shea as dearly as any child I could imagine — as dearly as any children you could ever give us!”

“And n’Sappho? This was not what they had in mind when they granted me a visa with Special Provisions, was it?”

“Ah! The heart’s true fear at last! And no, I’m sure they hadn’t had this in mind. But dey Sorormin — oh Love, they will welcome our daughters! Because they are our Daughters — as truly as Helen the First Born of this world once was. Ours will simply be the first born of the Sight.”

The child in the bushes balked at the concept of such complete acceptance; her balance slipped. Leaves rustled as amarin shimmered, and the young women beyond the fire sat forward in alarm!

Gwyn started.

The world dropped back into place around her. The crashing fall of the waters, the misty humidity of the air, the windy shuffle of the haymoss tendrils — all reappeared.

Llinolae stood, shivering a few paces away. Her hands briskly rubbed against the chill of her dark-skinned arms. She heard Gwyn shift to sit up and paused, almost turning. Then she decided against it. She shrugged, rubbing her arms again. “Forgive me.”

Forgive her — for what precisely? Gwyn closed her eyes and privately took inventory of herself; she felt perfectly fine. She was confused, certainly. But she had known she was in this little canyon all along. Although, the place beside her had been… elsewhere?

Gwyn blinked and realized it’d felt similar to the sword’s visions when the lifestone and Llinolae’s Blue Sight had touched her earlier. This time, however, there had been no sense of ‘being’ someone else. Her awareness had been hers alone. It was almost as if she’d been remembering something — skimming through a memory rather than reliving it. Which was actually what had happened, she grasped suddenly. She looked at Llinolae pensively standing there with her back turned. She asked gently, “Do you remember my mother, Bryana?”

Llinolae hesitated, then nodded faintly. She made no move to face Gwyn yet.

“She projects images like yours, when she works with the Blue Sight of our home world.”

“When she brings the Rings of Valley Bay and home together?”

“Yes.”

Llinolae accepted that quietly; it seemed neither to excuse nor rebuke her carelessness. She cracked a brittle smile — to think she’d just been telling her Mistress how much better she could control her concentration these days! She sighed. “Forgive me, Gwyn. I’ve not subjected anyone to that sort of thing, since my tutors tried to teach me to read.”

“Tried to?”

Her head tipped in measured agreement. Those old regrets were no longer as strong as they’d once been until, bleakly, Llinolae remembered the young scribe who’d ridden out from Khirla with her. If she’d been more literate, the girl wouldn’t have had to come — the Dracoon would have had no need of another’s help to tend the journals and messengers. She folded her arms and dropped the tension from her shoulders with an effort, explaining, “It’s difficult to learn, if one has to filter out the Sight constantly from the very ink and paper. When I followed Father about, he’d tell me stories and teach me of strategies, plots… the laws as we did other things. ‘Always listen with one ear,’ he’d say. ‘Keep the other open for surprises and inspiration.’ I found learning that way and learning by doing — especially for horse or sword skills — worked well for me. But to sit quietly and try to work sense into letters… sounds into words with meanings? I quit trying the day I set the school room on fire.”

Gwyn’s mouth twitched a moment. Then she rose to her feet as she asked quietly, “How did you explain that one away?”

“I didn’t.” Amusement made Llinolae glance back to Gwyn. Then a mischievous grin crept free as she Saw Gwyn shared her humor. She turned about slowly, elaborating, “My tutor’s back was to me when the book caught on fire. So I dumped the candlestick onto the parchments quickly and ran!”

She had promised herself she wouldn’t, but Gwyn couldn’t help it — the laughter snuck out anyway. Llinolae chuckled, then suddenly they were both laughing together again — feeling better. And when Gwyn took Llinolae into her arms, there was only a sense of welcome relief between them.

“Suddenly the mysterious but fiery accidents the night of your escape aren’t so mysterious. Were you intending to be quite so dramatic?”

Llinolae sighed, shaking her head. “Things did get a little out of hand, didn’t they?”

Gwyn nodded then wrapped her close, hugging her protectively as their humor faded. Wearily, Llinolae sagged into her.

“It’s so hard sometimes….”

“I know.”

“To have fires start merely because I learned the spelling for flame — do you know how frightening that is for a child?”

“Some of it I know,” Gwyn murmured, soothing the tension from Llinolae’s back and shoulders with warm, stroking hands. “Some of it I can imagine, but I’ll never be completely overwhelmed by any of it. I promise you.”

In a mixture of surprise and disbelief, Llinolae broke away to stare at her. Gwyn simply smiled and shrugged. “Not only is M’Sormee Sighted, but my younger sib, Kimarie, is too. I grew up beside her, going through some of those fears with her. I do have an idea of what I’m in for around you, my Love.”

Then suddenly what they’d actually been Seeing registered, and Gwyn demanded, “Those two women? They became your mentors n’Athena and n’Shea?”

Llinolae nodded hesitantly, not quite grasping what struck Gwyn as so amazing.

“Did I understand them to say, their daughter was going to be the first Blue Sight born among dey Sorormin? ”

“That’s right. She was.” Llinolae grinned at her then, realizing Gwyn was actually awe-struck at the notion. She gave Gwyn a slight nudge with her hip. “The child was also the first of the Sisterhood to be conceived solely through the spontaneous interaction of lifestone and Blue Sight. There was no planning, nor involvement by the Crones n’Shea.”

“And you know them… these two… personally?”

Laughing, Llinolae could only begin to shake her head.

“But do you know how much those two simple incidents have…”

“…Influenced the development of dey Sorormin since? Ann, ti Mau — I do. How you bear children, the randomness restored to your genetic selections, the ecological balances the Sighted help you maintain the ties that bind Valley Bay and your home world — and more.”

“The trusts that developed between Aggar and dey Sorormin alone were…!” Gwyn waved a hand, thoroughly overwhelmed, and her voice dropped to a murmur again. “Valley Bay wouldn’t even exist if—”

“But n’Shea and n’Athena are just women — like you and me, Gwyn. They love. They fight. They cry — just like us. They tried to live their lives, doing their best to handle whatever was sent to them by Fates or Mother.”

“But—”

“No,” Llinolae halted her protests softly with a kiss. Gwyn grew calmer, and this time as Llinolae smiled, it was returned. “Soroi, few of us ever know how important or insignificant a life will be. Do you think Brit and Sparrow constantly worry how this daughter of theirs might again be changing so many things for Aggar and the Sisterhood?”

“Because their shadowmate lifestone has let Sparrow conceive?”

“Yes! Because it acted on the sheer strength of their mutual desires. Because it may eventually eliminate all need for any healer’s intervention for Sisters to conceive.

“But to Brit and Sparrow those possibilities are secondary, Soroi, and they probably always will stay secondary! They’re concerned for their baby. Their concerns are to bring her healthy and safely into this world, and their hopes are for her to grow strongly and be happy.”

“Aye, and she will be — happy, I mean.” Gwyn’s eyes softened, thinking of Brit around youngsters. “As irate as Brit is with so many adults, she’s accepting with children. Whether she’s living with them for a season or visiting for a day, she is so very patient.”

“Sparrow is equally as caring, I’ve Seen.” Llinolae sighed and let Gwyn draw her close again. “They’ll both make good parents.”

“I don’t know…,” Gwyn sighed.

But there was no alarm in her wistful amarin, and Llinolae prodded softly, “Know what, Soroi?”

Those coppery eyes gleamed. “Is Aggar ready for such a child? With Brit’s insatiable passion for crusades and Sparrow’s boundless energy, there’s no telling what may become of dey Sorormin or Aggar!”

Mists swirled. The dreamspun vision wavered behind that growing fog and then dissolved into fragments of nothing. Llinolae shook her head abruptly. Breaking the trance-like stillness that held her body, she uncrossed her legs and got up off her pallet with impatience. Her booted feet fell into a steadying rhythm of tap-clack as steps turned to pacing, and the scowl deepened displeasure as she chewed her lower lip. Unlike past attempts to decipher more from her Sight’s dreams, this particular meditation had been alarmingly clear.

The woman ill in her dream, she discovered, had been her own mother. And the assassin who poisoned the water had been none other than her uncle — her father’s younger brother.

Still the murder made no sense to her. The amarin about his skinny frame had been clearly focused on gaining title and rule. Yet if her uncle had been so ambitious for power, then why had he targeted her mother? An outsider to court, her mother had been well enough liked, but she’d been kept apart from many of the Dracoons’ more official dealings because of her Clan blood. It had been an arrangement made with her father before their marriage, and her mother had never felt particularly inclined to change it. She much preferred addressing the healers’ concerns or the farmers’ complaints than juggling trade taxes and district disputes. The result was the people of Khirlan had come to trust her. But her death had not affected the economic or political structure of the district in any serious way.

Perhaps her uncle had expected it to undermine her father’s emotional strength? She paused in her circular walking, remembering how Mha’del had turned to her as a child. He had clung to her existence as proof of his wife’s presence — as tangible proof of their love, Llinolae now realized. Had that somehow kept her father alive?

No — she discarded the idea completely. Her uncle had never lost her father’s trust. That meant Mha’del had never suspected him of treachery, let alone of murder. There had been no hint of his ambitions for the Dracoon’s seat during the two seasons following her mother’s death. And she couldn’t believe his age and uncertain health in those last monarcs would have completely swayed the sort of power-craven lust she’d Seen in him as he killed her mother. He must have been working on a much grander scale, and he had always valued patience before a strike — whether in board games, Clan raids or street riots. Her uncle had always been a shrewd man. If the flu pox hadn’t struck him down that winter, she had to believe he would have moved against Mha’del eventually.

She sighed. It was possible he had anyway, through his own scribes and contacts. Only he had died before the fruition of his plans.

Lips pursed, Llinolae wondered about that suddenly. The Clan raids had begun to escalate just slightly that season, focusing more heavily on healers’ supplies and food stocks. Still limited largely to trading caravans, they had extended their attacks further west than before. It had seemed obvious, at the time, that they too must be struggling with the outbreak of flu pox. No one had seen the raiding as odd.

But the shipment of medicines used to treat her uncle had… yes! It had been scattered and only half of the medicine recovered from a Clan raid on that caravan.

The chill she felt had nothing to do with the damp, cool air outside. It was the coldness of unpleasant truth as affirmed by Aggar’s own Life Cycles. It was the realization of Clan involvement in her uncle’s seemingly natural death. The medicine had been tampered with, somehow. And for some reason or another, the Clan had decided that her uncle was much more of a threat than Mha’del.

She dismissed the suspicion that they’d hoped to kill Mha’del as well. Her father had survived a lighter bout of the flu pox earlier that season. For that matter, so had she and Taysa. It had been common enough knowledge throughout the district. The assassins would have known it too.

Which brought her back to why her uncle?

“No… it brings me back to Taysa!” Llinolae muttered with a sudden fierce conviction that commanded the Sight to restore the time and folk of the deception’s beginning.

The laughing images rose as Taysa’s seductive flirting came through her Sight to spin quickly out before her. Taysa teasing both husband and brother — distracting Mha’del as an intruder slipped away… Taysa murmuring with her husband as Mha’del left to greet another… Taysa in wedding gown and…?