Meaning anything he did wouldn’t help the people in the village.
“Removing the access point removes Its shortcut to this place,” Glorianna said. “It could still return, but It would have to travel overland to reach the village.”
“It would know someone got rid of Its shortcut?”
She nodded. “It would know the Landscaper who held this village had reclaimed the landscape. That may make It reluctant to return—especially if It wants to avoid you.” She crouched beside him. “The core of your gift is the same as other Landscapers’, I think—to be the bedrock through which Ephemera interacts with human hearts—but how that gift manifested is different. I wonder if that’s true in other parts of the world.”
“Like a story, you mean?” She didn’t understand him, but she was listening, learning the language of how he saw the world. “Stories change from place to place. The bones of them stay the same, but they’re clothed a little differently, and that reflects how the people dress them up to fit themselves.”
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes. Guardians. Guides. All the survivors went into hiding in one way or another after Ephemera shattered and the Eater was caged. They called themselves by other names, and those names took on different meanings. But the core of what they were meant to be and meant to do didn’t change.”
“The perception of the people around them did,” Michael said.
“Yes.” She gave him a look that made him nervous. “It’s time to change that perception again, Magician, for your sake and the sake of the people who need you and the others like you to keep the currents of Light and Dark balanced in the landscapes that resonate with your heart.”
Michael took a deep breath, then puffed out his cheeks as he blew the air out. “All right, then. Let’s start with this. How do we get rid of it?”
Glorianna pursed her lips. “The stream was already here and is part of this land, so we can’t tell Ephemera the stream doesn’t belong here, because it does. So it would be easier to change where the access point leads to.”
No point telling her she had switched to that way of speaking where the words had no meaning. At least, for him. “What happens when we move it?”
She made a circle out of her arms, fingertips touching fingertips. “You’ll have a piece of stream about this big plopped into a different landscape.”
“Into the sea?” he asked, thinking of that mist-filled, haunted piece of water.
“Stone is stone. It won’t float. So this access point would settle at the bottom of the sea. It would still be a circle of fresh water running over those stones just as it is now.”
“Well, that would be a bite in the ass, now wouldn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Her dry tone had him grinning. Then he held out a hand. “Show me how to mend the world.”
Her hand slipped into his. “Ephemera, hear me.”
He felt the currents of power, felt the world changing around him. Not as music this time, which he found interesting. No, this was more like a tuning fork being struck, and he was using himself to tune the world to match that resonance. He knew the moment it was done, the moment that resonance was tuned just the right way so that it no longer belonged in a piece of the world that could hear his music.
“Now what?” He felt his knees pop as he stood up—a reminder that a dozen years on the road could make parts of a man feel older than his years. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tend a garden like Caitlin did, but he wondered if there wasn’t a compromise that would let him look after his places without being on the road so much. Because, truth to tell, he’d lost the taste for traveling. Wouldn’t have lost it if he hadn’t been thrown beyond the world he knew. He couldn’t see himself settling down in any of his “ports of call,” as Kenneday put it, but he could see himself making a life and a home in Aurora—or on the Island in the Mist. Could see himself spending time with Jeb and Lee and, Lady of Light have mercy on him, even Sebastian.
He wondered if any of them would have anything to do with him when all was said and done.
“What would you usually do when a village was out of tune?” Glorianna asked.
“Play some music to help folks get back in tune. But we can’t go down into the village. I’m not ashamed to say I snuck out the back way last time I was here, and I don’t fancy going down there now.” Especially if it might put you in danger.
“Where does the landscape begin for you?”
“Here. The land always has a slightly different feel as soon as I cross the bridge.”
“Then we don’t need to go into the village. You’re playing for the wild child now, to help balance the currents. If you help the Light shine a little, a heart will warm and shine a little in response.”
“Like candles. Light one and more can be lit from it.”
She smiled at him. “Yes. Like candles.” She shrugged out of her pack and sat by the side of the road.
He shrugged out of his pack and opened the flap just enough to pull out the whistle. He stood for a moment, with his feet planted for balance and the sun warm on his face, aware of the woman as much as the land.
He wouldn’t be playing just for the wild child.
The notes flowed through the air, bright threads of sound. Hope. Happiness. The contented fatigue of a good day’s work. Laughter. Romance. The pleasure of a satisfying meal. The warmth of friends.
He didn’t know how long he had played, with the music flowing through him, before he became aware of the sound of hand against leg, of her setting a rhythm using her body as a drum.
Did she play an instrument? She hadn’t mentioned it; he hadn’t asked. Or was she simply responding the way folks in a pub would, beating out the rhythm of a tune? Would she like the sound of an Elandar drum?
His mind wasn’t on the land or the music anymore, so he finished up the tune, letting the last note linger.
“That’s it, then,” he said, tucking the whistle back in the pack and unhooking the canteen for a long drink.
“We’ve got company,” Glorianna said quietly, getting to her feet.
“I see it. If need be, you take that step back to your own ground.”
She gave him a long look that didn’t tell him anything, so he concentrated on the horse and cart coming toward them—and the man driving.
He opened the canteen and took a drink, all the while watching the man, whose hands tightened on the reins when he realized who was standing by the road.
“Whoa.” The man glanced at Glorianna, then looked away. “Good day to you, Michael.”
“And to you, Torry,” Grief-dulled eyes. Troubled heart. “What brings you out this way?”
“Needed to get away for a few days. Just…away. Borrowed the rig, figured I’d go up to Kendall.”
A man who looked that broken and empty, walking down the wrong streets, could find himself beaten and robbed, if not dead.
Which is why he’s going.
“You didn’t kill her,” Glorianna said quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Anger darkened Torry’s face as he twisted in the seat. “And what would you be knowing about it?” He twisted around back to Michael. “Have you started bringing your whore with you, Magician?”
“That’s enough!” Michael roared.
“You didn’t kill her,” Glorianna said again, her voice still quiet. “That voice whispering to your heart is a liar. That whisper belongs to a thing that devours Light and heart and hope. It killed her, Torry. Not you.”
The anger faded from Torry’s face, leaving a wasteland of despair. “She wouldn’t have been in that alley if not for me.”
“Was she waiting to meet you?” Glorianna asked.
“No! She wasn’t that kind of girl to be meeting me—or anyone—in an alley.”
“Were you supposed to walk her home? Were you late?”
“No. She was at her friend Kaelie’s house. Went over to talk about wedding things. Our wedding. I went to the pub with a few of the lads. Just to have a drink or two, play some darts. Nothing more.”