The Burning Stone

Page 24

When twilight came, they all escorted bride and bridegroom to the best bed in the hall and entertained them with songs and lengthy toasts. Oaths were sworn—Martin would be given a place in the family in exchange for his labor—and pledges of consent exchanged. In a month or a year, a frater would probably walk out along the road into the forest, and then he could sing a blessing over the couple. It was always good to get the blessing of the church in such matters, when one could.
“Come now!” said Old Uta finally, taking pity on the newlyweds, who sat bolt upright in the bed enduring the jests and singing. “It’s time to leave these young folk alone to get on with it!” With much laughter, the rest of them left the hall and went to sleep outdoors.
But Liath was too restless to sleep. Wolfhere built a small fire, and by this they sat as stars bloomed in the darkening sky. Lying on her back, she pretended to sleep but instead studied the heavens. Summer was known as “the Queen’s sky.” The Queen, her Bow, her Staff, and her Sword all shone in splendor above. The Queen’s Cup stood at the zenith, the bright star known as the Sapphire almost directly overhead. Her faithful Eagle rose from the east behind her, flying eternally toward the River of Heaven, which spanned the night sky much as the forest road cut a swath through the dense woodland. The zodiac was obscured by trees and by a misty haze that had spread along the southern horizon, but she caught a glimpse of the Dragon, sixth House, between gaps among the tops of trees. Stately Mok gleamed in the hindquarters of the Lion, a brilliant wink between leaves.
“I never thought to look for him,” said Wolfhere suddenly into the silence.
“For whom?” she asked, then knew the next instant whom he meant. “Didn’t you ever try looking for my mother through fire?”
“We can only see the living, and then only ones we know and have touched, have a link to.”
“But I saw the Aoi through fire, after Gent fell.” She rolled to one side. He sat on the other side of the fire, his face in shadow. “I’d never met any such creatures.” She hesitated, then said nothing more about her encounter with the Aoi sorcerer.
“That is indeed a mystery. I have but small skill in these matters, though I am adept at seeing. Had I ever suspected Prince Sanglant was alive, I would have looked for him, but I did not. We both saw him take a killing blow—” Here he broke off.
“You are no more surprised than I was when I recognized him in the cathedral,” she admitted. But she could not make herself describe to Wolfhere how like a wild beast Sanglant had looked—and acted. Instead she changed the subject. “Da said—”
Da’s words on the last night of his life remained caught forever in her city of memory. “If you touch anything their hands have touched, they have a further link to you…. They have the power of seeking and finding, but I have sealed you away from them.” If Da had only known her mother wasn’t dead, what then? Could she have saved him?
“How could Da have thought she was dead if she wasn’t?”
“How could we have thought Prince Sanglant dead, when he wasn’t?”
“But if she was alive, then why didn’t she try to find us? She could see through fire. She knew we weren’t dead!”
“She looked for you! But you are not alone in being hunted. Despite our small magics, distances are great and not easily traversed even for an Eagle who has a horse and the promise of lodging and food wherever she stops.”
“But if she had to go into hiding, why couldn’t she take us? How could Da have thought she was dead? I remember—” Like fire taking to pitch, the memory of that night ten years past flared into life.
“What do you remember?” he asked softly.
She could barely find her voice. “Everything burst into flame, the cottage, all the plants in the courtyard, the stables and the weaving house, all the other buildings …” She shut her eyes, and there in the forest clearing with the whispering of the night woodland pressing in on her she dredged into the depths of that old painful memory. “And the benches. The stone benches. Even the stone burned. That’s when we ran. Da grabbed the book and we ran. And he said, “‘They’ve killed Anne and taken her gift to use as their own.’”
She had to stop because her throat was thick with grief, and with more questions than she knew how to ask. Opening her eyes, she stared up at a sky now so brilliant with stars that it seemed a thousand burning jewels had been casually strewn across the heavens. A streak of light blazed and vanished: a falling star. Was it an angel cast to earth by God’s hand, sent to aid the prayers of the faithful, as the church mothers wrote? Or was it the track of one of those aetherical creatures born out of pure fire who, diving like a falcon, plunged from the Sun’s sphere to those nesting below?