The Thirteenth Scroll (25 page)

“Describe it to me. I cannot
See
, Renan—or even share Cloud-Dancer’s vision.”

Now Renan heard the fear, bravely covered, in her voice. He tried to think of something to comfort her.

“You are tired, Lysandra,” he said, “perhaps more tired than you realize. Give yourself a chance to rest and regain some strength.
You’re a healer for everyone else, try thinking like a healer for yourself. I’m sure everything will be all right soon enough.”

When she did not answer, Renan wondered if everything he had said came across as empty platitudes. It sounded so to his own
ears, even though he meant every word.

“You’re right, of course,” Lysandra said suddenly, sitting up. “Rest is all I need, and then it will all come right again.
Silly of me to make such a fuss. I’m sorry.”

Once more, Renan thought how remarkable and how strong she was. He still heard a hint of fear in her voice, but Lysandra was
choosing to deny that fear any power over her. Renan would honor that choice… and he would do so with admiration.

He, too, sat up, glancing around their quarters. “I see they’ve brought us some food,” he said. “I’ll get it. You stay quiet
a while longer.”

“No,” Lysandra said, “I’ve been in bed long enough. I need to find out what this place is like. Do you know what happened
to my walking stick?”

“It’s here—I brought it. Let me get it for you.”

Lysandra let Renan do that much for her, but after he helped her from the sleeping shelf, describing as he did its size and
height from the floor, she insisted on walking.

She used her stick and her hands to navigate to the front of the cave, where a table and benches made of creamy white and
silver-veined marble were situated. She paused each time her fingers touched something new. After
she had felt it for herself, she had Renan describe it, as if verifying the knowledge gained through her fingertips.

Reaching the table, Renan looked over the platters of food. He started to tell Lysandra what they were—or at least what he
recognized—but again she stopped him. In this, too, she wanted to find her own way.

There were three large platters and a bowl, all beautifully carved from a pale green stone that was almost translucent. Tiny
flecks of color deep within the green sparked each time the dishes were moved. The containers granted an almost ethereal beauty
to the plain fare they contained.

One platter held rounds of bread, another strips of meat, or perhaps dried fish, Renan thought. The bowl contained a thick
liquid; it was dark green and very fragrant. The final platter was piled high with what Renan guessed to be fruits, though
he recognized few of them.

There were also smaller platters, plates for personal use. These appeared to be made of thin slices of white stone.

He watched Lysandra’s fingers lightly touch the different fruits. She paused over some of them, examining by feel their unfamiliarity.
She then took some of the bread and the dried meat. Calling Cloud-Dancer, she fed him what was in her hands.

Once he was fed, she turned her attention to the bowl. Finding the large spoon that rested in it, she ladled some onto her
plate and lifted that closer to her nose.

“Rosemary,” she said aloud, “watercress, sorrel, chaste-berry, parsnip, and… I’m not sure what else yet. It should be very
nutritious.”

There were no small spoons. Lysandra immediately used some bread to mop up the liquid and, seeing her, Renan followed suit.
The bread was soft, slightly sweetened,
with a crunchy outer crust. The liquid was savory at first, then released a spicy bite. The dried meat was fish, as he had
guessed, but it, too, was unlike any he had tasted before. It was wafer thin and flaky, and had a slightly salty flavor that
somehow seemed to complete the other tastes that lingered in his mouth.

Renan knew himself to be a poor cook, and his inadequacies had made him usually indifferent toward food as long as it satisfied
most of his hunger. But it was impossible to be indifferent toward
this
meal. He crumbled some of the dried fish into the liquid on his plate, scooped up a mouthful with the wonderful bread—and
the resulting bite made him smile as he chewed.

He looked over at Lysandra, expecting to see her enjoyment of the meal as obvious as his own. He found a little frown on her
face instead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, no, it’s wonderful,” she said. “It’s just that there are so many flavors here, I can’t identify them all.”

Renan laughed. “I don’t need to know what’s in it to enjoy it,” he said. “Maybe there’s an advantage to being neither a cook
nor a gardener.”

Lysandra did not share in his laughter. “There’s more to this food then the way it tastes,” she said. “I don’t know exactly
what, but in the same way I can
see
an illness or an injury, with this food I can
taste
the health and the strength it gives. How old do you think the Elder, Eiddig, is?”

Her question, asked so suddenly and seemingly out of context, surprised Renan. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice slightly
hesitant. “Seventy, maybe seventy-five.”

Lysandra shook her head. “I don’t think so. My
Sight
showed me that he was
old
. How old, I don’t know—but
it’s far older than seventy-five. Well over a century, I would guess.”

Now Renan was truly startled. “Your
Sight
could be wrong,” he said.

“It could be,” Lysandra agreed, “but it never has been before, and I’ve learned to trust it. There’s so much about the Cryf
we don’t know. Even if they do live here, in this place no one has ever heard about, these people are part of Aghamore, too.”

“Perhaps that’s why the scroll directed us here,” Renan said softly, as much to himself as to her. “We’re here to find a way
to bridge the differences and the fears that keep us separate.”

As he spoke, Eiddig entered. “Hast thou found the food to thy liking?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed,” Renan replied, coming to his feet. “The food is wonderful. Thank you.”

“And thee, Healer?” Eiddig continued. “Hast thou recovered thy strength?”

“Some,” Lysandra answered. “Enough.”

“Good,” the old one said. “Then ye both must come with me. And thy beast. He, too, hath a part in what now awaits. It is time.”

Aurya did not
order
Giraldus, but using a few well-placed suggestions given with coaxing smiles, she let him think he had changed his own mind
about marching on Ballinrigh. Instead of sending for his army, he sent word to a few specially chosen men to meet them as
they continued north into Rathreagh.

Whatever she was supposed to find or do in Yembo had eluded Aurya, but she was determined to continue following the scroll.
The child was still the key to everything—and
Aurya would get the child no matter whom she had to use or what she had to do along the way.

Giraldus would be furious when he discovered that he, too, had been an unwitting victim of her magic. It would not be the
magic that infuriated him; her powers were a tool he did not hesitate to use when he could profit by them. His anger would
be that she used magic
on
him rather than
for
him.

But, as they rode away from Yembo, Aurya had every confidence in her ability to appease his anger—and with no more magic than
every woman possessed.

They were the only ones riding away from Yembo; the Festival would continue for a week. But Aurya was becoming anxious to
get back to Kilgarriff, where she was recognized—and obeyed. She’d had enough of places she did not know and people she could
not control.

Soon
, she told herself as she lifted her head in the bright May sunlight. She glanced at Giraldus riding beside her, their horses
keeping time in an easy lope. A surge of confidence filled her like an internal breath from the warming day.

Do you see, Kizzie?
she thought to the spirit of her former teacher.
Do you see how well I use all that you taught me? I am everything you once said I could be—and more. And do you see, Mother?
As I vowed when I left you, I am
nothing
like you. I am ashamed of
nothing,
afraid of
nothing.
I
will
have it all
.

L
ysandra held Renan’s hand as they were led from the cave where they had rested. Without her
Sight
, or even the ability to share Cloud-Dancer’s vision, she walked in true blindness, trying to ignore the fear that whispered
in each breath.

Renan kept up a softly spoken stream of descriptions. It helped; she did not feel the darkness quite so heavily while he talked.
Cloud-Dancer, too, was beside her. As always she was comforted by his closeness.

Despite his age, Eiddig set a quick pace, going as easily through these tunnels of stone as if he walked down a long corridor
of a house. He did not take them back to the Great Cavern. Instead, Lysandra could hear the sound of running water. Soon,
she began to feel the finest of sprays upon her cheeks, and the rock of the passageway became slick with moisture.

Then the passageway opened onto another cavern. Renan began to describe the sight to Lysandra. “This is truly amazing, Lysandra,”
he whispered to her. “I could never have imagined such a sight. It’s not as big as the cavern where we were first taken, not
even half as big, but there’s no ceiling. When I look up I see only darkness—as if it goes on forever. But the most amazing
thing
is the water… it falls straight down, out of the darkness, straight from the world above into a pool that is deep and shines
like green crystal. Then the pool flows out from here—a river cutting through the stone.

“And the stone itself,” he continued, awe ringing in his voice. “Lysandra, I don’t know if my words can begin to convey the
beauty here. The ledge on which we’re standing seems to be a slab of white crystal, somehow opaque and translucent at the
same time. The walls have veins of gold and silver, pockets of crystals, both clear and colored—and oh, the colors in the
stone itself. Luminous whites and deepest, shining black too dark for the eye to penetrate… greens, some almost as pale as
a pearl and others as deep as a forest… blues that the sky and the ocean would envy… reds, purples and… oh, I wish you could
see it. No garden above ever had colors more rich or beautiful than these.”

“Perhaps, sometime I shall
see
it,” Lysandra said, hoping her voice contained the confidence she did not feel. Her mind’s eye tried to form a picture from
his words—but even her imagination remained in darkness.

Eiddig had waited silently while Renan described their surroundings. Now he turned toward them.

“Before ye is the heart of the Realm of the Cryf,” he said. “This is the birthplace of the Great River, which is the life’s
blood of our world. Though the water falleth from the Up-world, no hand of your kind hath touched nor tainted it. Above this
place in your world, stand the frozen peaks where no man walks. But the great Hand of the Divine hath opened the frozen places
and turned the water aside, that it might come unto the Cryf and we could live. We honor both the Great River and the Hand
that hath sent it unto us.”

Eiddig turned and bowed deeply toward the falling
water. “Come,” he said to them. “We go now unto the Holy Place, where the words ye must hear have been safely kept from age
unto age.”

The old one started walking across the crystal ledge, following the circle of the pool formed by the waterfall. Renan put
his arm around Lysandra’s waist and his cross-hand held hers firmly.

“The water has made the footing slick,” he told her. “I won’t let you fall.”

His arm fell right, comforting and comfortable. The warmth of his body against her side made Lysandra want to lean into him—not
to walk, but just to stand here being held. The feeling frightened her; she had not felt it since the last time Ultan had
held her—ten years ago. She had never thought—or wanted—to experience it again.

And Renan…
Father
Renan, she reminded herself… was a priest. He would not, he
could
not, be feeling the same way.

You’re just tired
, she told herself as they started to walk.
These feelings aren’t real. They’re just born out of the situation and because you feel helpless again. They’ll go away when
the
Sight
returns
.

Spray doused her face as they neared the waterfall. The sound of falling water became too loud for her to hear anything else…
except her own thoughts, and those she would not allow.

Finally, their clothing becoming soaked from the thickening spray, they followed Eiddig
behind
the waterfall. There, another cave welcomed them. It was filled with warmth, and Lysandra was glad to get out of the chilling
shower.

Renan began to describe their new path. The ceiling here was scarcely a handbreadth above his head, and the entryway was both
long and narrow. The stones, providing
illumination, were laid out as a single row on either side. The whole effect sounded claustrophobic, and Lysandra was grateful
for once that she could not see it.

Finally, the long entrance opened into a larger room. It was from there the heat emanated. Hot air rose from fissures in the
rock, filling the place with a welcome warmth.

“The other Elders are here,” Renan whispered to her. “They’re all seated at the back. I don’t think they look pleased.”

Lysandra gave a little nod to let him know that she heard, but she concentrated on trying to feel the emotions of the Elders.
But, like her
Sight
, that, too, was denied her. For all that her inner senses were telling her, she could have been standing alone.

In this cave, where the walls were closer and the air warmer, she noticed for the first time the scent given off by the Cryf.
It was not unpleasant but it was distinctive—warm and earthy. It was also sweet, reminding Lysandra of her garden in the sunshine.