“Partly, but also in her was another, nonhuman heritage. But she loved all of us children as though we were her own.”
“Children?”
“Joisan and Kerovan had—have—two children. Hyana, their daughter, is nigh unto a year my elder. She is a quiet, deep-eyed girl, possessed of such innate Power that I doubt many of the witches in your Citadel could equal her, even when she was naught but a girl-child. But she makes no show of such strength, only uses it to help others. She can farsee, and her foretellings are such that no one can afford to ignore them.” Eydryth’s face darkened, and she lapsed into a brooding silence.
“And the other child?” the young witch prompted, when the songsmith showed no signs of continuing.
“Firdun is five years younger than I. He also has Power, but there is nothing quiet about Firdun! He was one of those children whose life one constantly fears for—you may know the kind. If there was but one apple tree in the entire orchard with a rotten limb, that is the tree Firdun must climb, and that would be the limb he chose to rest upon.”
Avris chuckled. “I know very well. I have a cousin who has such a daughter. Have you brothers or sisters, Eydryth?”
The songsmith shook her head. “I know not,” she whispered. “My mother vanished nine years ago, when I was but ten years old.”
The witch was puzzled. “ ‘Vanished’? You mean, she left you and your father? Does she still live?”
“I know not,” Eydryth repeated. “She did not leave us willingly, she was taken. Some Power from the Left-Hand Path swept her from our very midst, even as she lay resting in her chamber one afternoon.”
“How did it happen?” the witch asked, her grey eyes intent on Eydryth’s. The songsmith could feel her compassion, as tangible as a warm hand laid upon her shoulder.
“It was my fault,” the bard said, past the tightness in her throat. “My fault. You see, when my mother discovered she was again with child, Hyana, who was eleven, did a foreseeing for her, because she sensed a troubling in the land.
“During her foreseeing, she saw that the child—she told us it would be a boy—would be a final link in a chain that would unite those of the Right-Hand Path in Arvon against the forces of the Dark. The outcome of that conflict, Hyana told us, was not clear, but she knew that my unborn little brother was to be a crucial piece in a very deadly game whose first move had not yet been made.”
Avris nodded, wide-eyed.
“So we took all care that my mother would be protected. She stopped walking outside the citadel without escort, and never descended the ramp leading to the valley alone. She even gave up her rides on her smoke-colored mare. Unless she was in her chamber, Jervon, my father, or Lord Kerovan always accompanied her, armed and ready.
“And for those times when she needed to rest alone, Sylvya and the Lady Joisan devised a protective spell to surround her chamber. They braided a rope, using twigs from the rowan tree, lacing it with scarlet yarn, the color of protection. They rolled it in valerian, pennyroyal and mullein, chanting as they did so. Finally, they placed the rope around the ceiling inside the chamber, then bound the two ends together with a strip of scarlet silk, above the outside of the door. Within that room, no spell would work, no Power could enter.”
“But something did enter,” Avris guessed. “How?”
“Because I have no Power,” Eydryth said, “and I was too proud to admit that I could not manage without it. With his mother and father so worried about my mother, I was set to watch over little Firdun. Born of a father and mother who both have Power, the gift was strong in him almost from babyhood. He played tricks on me, the kind of tricks such a child would play. He could cloud my mind, so that I could look full at him sometimes, and not see him. Once I went to wake him from his nap, only to find an adder coiled on his pillow, fangs dripping venom—but even as I gasped, it vanished, and he sat up, giggling…” She shook her head, remembering.
“If only I had admitted that the boy was too much for me! But I was five years his elder, and I was ashamed to say that I could not control him. One day, as I sat there, telling him the tale of the Hungry Well—which he loved, as it was a true one, and his father was the hero—I turned, only to find that he had left my side.”
Eydryth pounded a fist against her knee. “If I had gone for his parents, or Hyana, or even my father, somebody he would have listened to—! But, instead, I searched for him myself, only to find him before the door to my mother’s chamber. He was staring up at the rowan.”
“ ‘Don’t touch it, Firdun!’ I shouted. He gave me an impish grin, then his little hands clenched, and his chubby face grew taut with effort. Even as I watched in horror, the ribbon came untied, the rowan rope fell apart. The protective spell was broken.”
“And your mother?”
“I screamed, because I knew how vital that rowan rope was. In moments my father was there, and Lady Joisan. They burst into the room, only to find my mother gone… She had disappeared without a trace.” She took a deep breath, controlling her voice with an effort. “There was only a stench left behind. The scent of evil. Have you ever smelled it?”
Avris shook her head.
“It is an odor of such foulness, I cannot even describe it. No one who ever once whiffs such a stench can mistake it for anything else…”
“You searched for her?”
“Of course. My father nearly went mad with grief—he rode for weeks, barely stopping to rest his horse, sleeping in the saddle, forgetting to eat for days at a time. Lord Kerovan and Lady Joisan rode with him, leaving Sylvya to watch over me and Firdun. Hyana retired into her room and spent much of her time in trance, searching, emerging gaunt-eyed and thin… but there was nothing. Nothing. For more than a year we searched, and found nothing.”
“But what happened was not your fault!”
“So my father told me,” Eydryth said, bitterly, “but if not my fault, whose? You cannot blame a mischievous child of five for such a happening. And even Firdun, young as he was, understood that he had done something terrible. From that day he changed, becoming much quieter, more biddable. He never gave me another moment’s trouble…” Her mouth twisted in an ironic grimace. “But the damage had already been done. And it was my fault.”
“I do not agree,” Avris said. “You were naught but a child yourself.”
“A proud child, who was so ashamed to have none of the gift the others had, that I did not admit my fault, did not summon aid,” Eydryth maintained, stubbornly.
“But that cannot be the end of your tale,” Avris said, crumbling a rotted acorn shell in her fingers. “You said that your father was hurt.”
“That happened when I was thirteen,” Eydryth said, nodding wearily. “We would go out and search in good weather, riding to villages, asking, looking for any Wise Man or Woman, or any Summoner, who might have heard rumors, felt a troubling… any who might scry for a vision of my mother.” She caught Avris’s questioning glance and explained, “Scrying is a means of seeing the past, the future, or things far away.”
“I have heard of such,” Avris said. “How is it done in your land?”
“By gazing into a bowl filled with liquid… water, ink, wine…”
“Did scrying work?” Avris asked.
“No more than anything else,” Eydryth said wearily, resting her forearms on her upraised knees. “ Arvon is a wide land, but we searched for a week’s ride and more in each direction. Once we even dared the Grey Towers, and asked the Pack Leader of the Weres, Hyron, if he had heard aught of Elys.”
The songsmith shivered at the memory. “And, let me assure you, there are few in Arvon who would even venture to ride within the shadow of that grim fortress’s walls, let alone pass through its front gate. Especially to ask the whereabouts of a witch. The Weres hate women of Power, and have for time out of mind.”