The Thirteenth Scroll (50 page)

“Baron Giraldus of Kilgarriff,” Selia began, her voice carrying through the thick, expectant silence, “Lady Aurya Treasigh,
also of Kilgarriff, Sergeant Wylbeorn Maelik, I offer you a chance to speak before sentence is passed.”

She waited. For a moment the silence continued until, finally, Aurya took a single step forward. Her eyes burned with hatred
as she looked not only at Selia but, one by one, at each of her companions.

“Sentence?” she said at last, disdain heavy in the word. “From you? These—creatures—here might hold you in regard, but I do
not. You are
nothing
, and the words you say here
mean
nothing.”

“They may mean nothing,” Selia answered softly, “but by them you will live. Hear then the sentence that shall rule your life.
It shall be in this place and among these people that your lives shall be lived—not as rulers, as you thought to force upon
the land, but as servants. By your hands were many lives taken from the Cryf. Now your hands and your lives shall be given
to serve those whom
you have wronged. You shall never leave this Realm, never again see the sun or walk among the trees. And never again shall
you have the chance to do harm to those who looked to you for care. As you once sought to rule, now you shall be ruled; as
you sought to control, so shall your lives now be in the control of others—and in the mercy of their hearts shall your joys
or sorrows be found.”

Lysandra was impressed by Selia’s judgment. It was both wise and just. The Cryf were the only ones safe from Aurya’s magic,
and Lysandra found herself hoping that their other strengths and virtues might someday impress themselves upon the prisoners.
Then would judgment be turned to redemption and Wisdom’s mercy be revealed.

She hoped—but she did not believe.

A great cheer went up through the crowd of Cryf. Then, as the Cryf guards began to lead the prisoners away, Aurya shook off
her captor’s hands and turned to face Selia once more.

“They told me your name is Selia,” she said. “I shall remember it. Be warned, Selia-who-thinks-to-be-Queen. I will get free—and
then you shall pay for this moment and for every one hereafter. There shall be a blood feud between your House and mine. It
matters not how much time it takes. My House shall avenge this moment until your House or time comes to an end.”

With that, Aurya turned and walked regally from the cavern.

Lysandra’s heart felt a sudden chill as her
Sight
turned prophetic with its new power. She was certain someday they would all face Aurya again—and, like this one, the encounter
would be marked in blood.

Now that the sentencing was over, the moment of farewell was upon them. It was time to leave this strange and beautiful Realm
for the Up-world that was their home.
There was still a task ahead that would demand all they had to give and more, for they must still find the way to save Aghamore
and see Selia safely on the throne. For one moment longer, everyone on the dais stood in silence, none wanting to be the first
to say good-bye. Then Eiddig once more stepped forward. He gestured and a young Cryf of perhaps ten years old came to the
Guide, carrying a box of polished agate.

The old one lifted the hinged lid. From it he withdrew a necklace: a bright shard of amethyst, long as a man’s finger, blazed
on a silver chain, embedded with tiny rubies. This he gave to Selia, speaking so only she could hear. When he finished, she
bowed her head and stepped back, nor did she raise her head again while the old one continued.

From the box he withdrew a second necklace. A golden topaz, two inches long, hung suspended from a braided rope of gold. This
Eiddig put around Renan’s neck, once more speaking to him alone. Like Selia, Renan accepted the Guide’s words with thoughtful
solemnity.

Eiddig drew a final necklace from the box. This one had a heart of lapis lazuli wrapped in a net of thinnest gold. At the
top a fire opal caught the light with sparks of red and gold. The chain on which it hung was woven with threads of silver
and gold. Lysandra was stunned by the beauty of it.

Eiddig put it around her neck and brought his head close to her ear. “Blue is the Healer’s Stone,” he said, “and the opal
burneth with the fire of Prophecy. Use thy gifts well, Lysandra-Sant, for they are not of thy choosing, but of the Divine’s.
In thy time of need, these stones shall serve thee. For thine ears alone have these words been given. May they guide thee
well.

“In Sight is Blindness and in Blindness, Vision. Illusion
is often found within and beareth the face of longing. Therefore, be thou certain of what thou seekest. Beware the whispered
lie that ringeth of truth. Doubt thou the child and trust the woman, trust thou the child and doubt the woman—remember all
are One in the Heart of the Divine.”

Lysandra found nothing but confusion in Eiddig’s words and if the other messages were as cryptic as this, she could understand
why Renan and Selia stood with their heads bowed.

Eiddig stepped back. He touched his palm to Lysandra’s forehead. “Farewell, Lysandra-Sant,” he said, “and to thee, Cloud-Dancer,
whose heart is Loyalty. Remember thy home is now also among the Cryf and return to us.”

Eiddig was tiring visibly. Lysandra wanted to ask him what his words had meant but she knew, as they all did, the time had
come to go. And she suspected that even if they were to stay, Eiddig would offer no explanations. If the words were for her
ears alone, then she, alone, must find their meaning.

After Talog escorted Eiddig to the foot of the dais, he then lifted the belongings Lysandra and the others had left in their
sleeping chambers.

“Come,” he told them. “The Cryf shall escort you on your way.”

“Talog,” Lysandra said, “come with us, continue to help us. Our task is not completed yet.”

“My task be here,” he replied, “but when She-Who-Is-Wisdom cometh at last unto her throne, I shall come.”

There was nothing more to say. Talog saluted each in turn as they walked from the dais. They left the Great Cavern, taking
the passage that would lead them once
more to the hidden entrance between this Realm and the land above.

The passageway was lined with Cryf. All the way back through the caverns and tunnels, they were never alone. Finally, they
stood once more upon the stone ledge that was the way out. Renan was the first to leave, then Selia. But before Lysandra followed
them, she turned and looked back, letting her
Sight
embrace these beings whose strangeness had turned to beauty in her heart.

She raised her hand in a silent farewell. Then, to the sound of the Cryf’s shrill cry, she placed it once more on Cloud-Dancer’s
head and followed the others into the Up-world.

I
n Ummara, cathedral city of the province of Kilgarriff, Elon was celebrating a Solemn High Mass of Thanks-giving. It was the
first Sunday since his return from Ballinrigh and the mighty cathedral was filled to overflowing. Billows of incense flowed
from the huge thurible swinging from the transept crossbeam, swung on its chain by the two robed acolytes given that duty
today. Now, pulled up out of the way, it still rolled out billows of scented smoke that gathered like a bank of fog along
the vaulted and corbelled ceiling.

The smaller, handheld thurible had been handed to him at the appropriate moments throughout the Mass so that he could cense
the altar, paraments and vessels, the dean, deacons, and acolytes in symbolic purification at various times during the Mass.
Elon was grateful for the smell of the incense, masking the odor of so many human bodies jammed into the cathedral on a warm
and sunny day.

With so many concelebrants eager to take over the job, Elon rarely bothered himself with sermons anymore. Happily, the days
of that particular responsibility had passed, though many other duties had taken its place. Nor were the papers in his hand
a lapse into that old pattern. As in every other parish and cathedral throughout the kingdom
over the next weeks, he carried the proclamation sent out by the College of Bishops, the proclamation he had helped draft,
announcing the Church’s choice and support of Giraldus DeMarcoe, Baron of Kilgarriff, as the next High King of Aghamore.

Elon mounted the narrow stairs that led into the elevated pulpit. Raised on high this way, he could be seen and heard even
by those crowded into the back of the nave and overflowing into the narthex. As he looked out over the sea of upturned faces,
Elon could imagine all the faces in Aghamore turned and waiting for this statement of guidance from their spiritual leaders.
All except two—the two most important ones.

Aurya and Giraldus had still not returned. They could still lose everything he had gained.
The story of your pilgrimage will not hold forever. A few more weeks at most—and then the vultures will close in. They are
already circling. If you don’t have the child by now, then you’ve failed… and I must find another path to the Archbishop’s
throne
.

And he would, he thought with unwavering determination as he cleared his throat and prepared to speak. He could feel the anticipation
pouring from the people below—and he was now ready to give them what they had come to hear.

“It is a great day for all the people of Aghamore,” he began, “but especially so for us, the people of Kilgarrif….”

It took them nine days to reach the Great Forest and another two before they reached Lysandra’s cottage. She was weary beyond
measure with all this traveling, but what she felt as they walked beneath the canopy of branches now leafed out in the full
glory of new growth
and breathed the air that to Lysandra seemed sweeter than anywhere else in the kingdom transcended joy.

She was
home
.

They had bypassed Ballinrigh completely as they traveled south. Although they all knew that they would eventually have to
return to the capital, they first had to form a plan. Neither Renan nor Selia were ready to face what entering Ballinrigh
represented. Decisions must be made and changes take place once they began to walk the path ahead; these they would face soon
enough and for the rest of their lives. But first they needed to rest—and Lysandra just wanted to get back to her own cottage,
her own bed, her own
life
at least for a little while.

It was full dark when they arrived, but Lysandra needed neither her
Sight
nor Cloud-Dancer’s vision to know how it looked and where everything would be. Her mind—and her heart—saw all that was needed.

Lysandra let Renan set a fire to chase the chill from the cottage while she visited each room, as if to assure herself that
everything was as it should be. Cloud-Dancer followed her, his happy prancing telling its own tale of homecoming.

She walked around her cottage, grazing the walls and furniture with light, unrealized caresses. She had not known until she
walked through the door, how tightly held her heart had been or how heavily the longing to return had weighed upon her soul.
From the moment she entered the forest, the bands around her heart had begun to loosen, and now, finally, the weight had lifted
and she breathed free at last.

Despite the darkness, she felt compelled to walk one time through her garden, stopping briefly to sit upon the stone bench
that marked its center and listen to the sounds that were unlike any heard in all her travels. These, too,
were part of being home. She needed not
Sight
to recognize them all: the owl that lived in the hollowed spur of the larch that had fallen five years ago, the scurry of
badgers and foxes whose kits must be half-grown by now, the startled scamper of mice and other prey, and the sudden sharp
call of birds shaken from somnolence by the activity below. Nowhere else, in all of Aghamore, had the night sounded so sweet,
so full, so
right
.

Finally, with a sigh that breathed contentment into the night, Lysandra stood and turned again toward her home. Tomorrow she
would return to her garden and tend the plants that were no doubt in need of care after her absence. But it would be a labor
of joy and of love. Perhaps, too, she thought as she walked toward her door, she would begin teaching Renan about the herbs
that he wanted to learn.

She was not forgetting the task that lay ahead for all of them, but its planning could be accomplished as well in the garden
as in the cottage.

Once she was back indoors, they dined on the last of the food the Cryf had sent for their journey, washed down with mugs of
chamomile tea. Then, finally, came sleep, and it came quickly and deeply for them all.

The moon had fully risen and was shining on the garden, turning the green to silver with its touch. No noise drifted out from
the closed shutters of the cottage; even the sounds of the forest had grown silent once again.

But the garden was not empty. At its center, on the little stone bench that Lysandra had earlier occupied, sat the spectral
vision of a man. He was outlined in a gentle aura of green, and his clothes appeared the worn, much-mended habit of a monk.
On his lined and ancient, bearded face, was a knowing smile as he sat looking at the cottage.

Finally, he nodded as if satisfied with what he saw and what he knew to be inside. Then he stood and began to walk the garden
paths, stopping to touch the plants as if greeting old friends. When he reached the garden gate, he turned and looked back
at the cottage yet again. Once more the knowing smile; again the nod. Then he passed through the gate and out into the forest.

But the green did not immediately fade from the garden air. It rose gently from beneath the bench, as if something there responded
to his presence. Now that he was gone the light slowly faded, taking its secret with it.

Provinces and Houses
:

Founded by King Liam Roetah I, the Kingdom of Aghamore, which means “The Great Field,” is divided into The Nine Provinces.
These Provinces were ruled by Liam’s sons, now by their descendants, and the Houses each bear their founder’s name.