“Thank you,” Melisande said, struggling to keep from crying. She set her teeth and nodded her thanks as the priest brought her a cup of warm spiced cider and a plate of dense dark bread and hard cheese, then spoke softly to a man in a brown robe without a cowl, who stared at her for a moment, then left the building. Elara motioned her to sit again. “How did you come to be here?”
“A man found me in the forest,” the little girl said between sips of the warm cider. “He didn’t say much, but when I told him I needed to see Gavin, he knew where the tree was and brought me here.”
“Probably one of the escort foresters,” Elara said. “They do tend to be rather taciturn and quiet; it’s their job to walk the forest and give aid as needed. So why do you need to see Gavin, Melisande?” A sensation began in the girl’s abdomen not unlike the feeling she occasionally got when ill, before her stomach rushed into her mouth. She tried to keep the tears back, but they cascaded past her defenses and began pouring from her eyes. “We were attacked. The coachmen are dead, the soldiers too, maybe,” the little girl said, hiccoughing. “And maybe—Ger— Gerald. I was sent—to see—Gavin—and—”
The nature priest’s face took on a look of alarm. She put her arm around Melisande again. “Sent by whom, Melisande? Who would send a child to the Invoker of the Filids? Do you understand what it is you are asking? Gavin is the leader of an entire faith of more than three million adherents. It would be like presenting yourself at the basilica in Sepulvarta and asking to see the Patriarch, or going up to the palace and demanding to speak with the Lord and Lady Cymrian.” The little girl put her head down on her arms. “Well, the Lord and Lady Cymrian sent me to him in the first place,” she said miserably. “So I didn’t think it would be this difficult.”
“The—what?” Elara lapsed into speechlessness. She pushed the cider and bread closer, and watched in silence as Melisande ate and drank. The carved door to the building opened again, and the man in the brown robe returned, his eyes wide. He nodded to Elara. The Filidic priest looked down at the little girl and smiled. “Well, your request is about to be fulfilled. Come; I’ll take you to Gavin.”
18
The two Filidic priests waited until Melisande had finished the cheese and cider. She stuffed the bread in the pocket of her cape, gaming smiles from both of them, and then was led back out to the winter garden, past many more people in robes tending the sleeping beds and hardy shrubs, all the way to the circle of trees surrounding the Great White Tree. The sun had gone beyond the horizon, leaving nothing but inky black clouds in a remnant of blue at the edge of the world. The moon was just rising, hanging low in the sky and spilling cold light across the meadow. A pathway from the building to the circle of trees was lit with lanterns hanging from wooden posts, all the way to the other side of the meadow. The closer they got to the gigantic tree, the warmer Melisande felt. There was something entrancing about it that reached down into her heart. Rhapsody had told her of her time in this odd place of natural magic, of the foresters like the man who led her to the Circle, who plied the woodland trails, escorting pilgrims to sites sacred to those who followed the faith practices of the Filids, of the vast herbal gardens where medicines and herbs used in rituals were carefully tended; of the healers who could cure the wounds and illnesses of both men and animals, and especially of the Tree, which she said sang an ancient song that was indescribable in its beauty. Melisande did not hear the song, but still could feel its power. She tried to remember what the Lady Cymrian had said about Gavin himself. Rhapsody had studied with him, had wandered a good deal of the forest in his presence, and seemed fond of him, but had said little more about him, mostly because it seemed that no one knew him very well, even the foresters who he trained. He had been the Chief Forester when Rhapsody met him, and was chosen to take over as Invoker when Ashe’s father, Llauron, had given up his human body to take on dragon form. All of this was very jumbled in Melisande’s mind; she had been very small when it all took place, and so it seemed like little more than a fairy tale to her—a fairy tale in which she knew the players.