A Tapestry of Spells (29 page)

“Perhaps you shouldn’t. She thinks I have no magic.”

“I gathered that,” Sgath said dryly, “but I didn’t imagine that included me.”

Ruith pursed his lips. “I did tell her that my parents had magic, so I suppose she might assume you have a bit, but that doesn’t fit in with your persona as a simple fisherman, does it?”

“I could be a modest mage,” Sgath said with a bit of a shrug. “One of those lads too humble to make a fuss.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand why your Sarah hasn’t healed you.”

Ruith caught his breath as he stepped wrong, then had to concentrate on simply walking for a bit. He paused at the doorway to one of the bedchambers and looked at his grandfather.

“She cannot. She’s the witchwoman Seleg’s daughter, but she apparently has no magic.”

Sgath looked at him in surprise. “Why not? Seleg is—”

“Was—”

“Very well, she
was
very powerful. Her daughter should have inherited some of that.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Ruith said, clutching the doorframe to keep himself upright. “Could we discuss this later? I think I might be ill soon.”

“You don’t look good,” Sgath agreed, “which begs the question about where
your
magic is and why you didn’t have it to use to protect yourself.” He frowned. “I sense only an echo of it.”

“Didn’t I tell you about it last night?” Ruith asked sourly.

“I thought I was having a nightmare. Now, come over here and lie down, lad, before you fall there.”

He shook his head. “I’ll ruin the bedding. Just let me sit and bleed on that chair over there.” He was appalled by how hard he was leaning on Sgath, but there was nothing to be done about it. He sank down onto a hard wooden chair and leaned back with a ginger sigh. “I didn’t expect this.”

“I have the feeling, son, that you could say that about many things,” Sgath said. He sat down on the bed and smiled faintly. “So, first things first. What am I to do with this hole in your side?”

Ruith winced. “Admit to a little power, if you must.”

“I don’t see that you have a choice,” Sgath said, “or you won’t last until morning. I would like one answer, however, just to set my mind at rest. What did you do with your heritage?”

Ruith met his eyes steadily. “I took it all, every last drop of the magic I possessed, shoved it into a well inside myself, and shut it all in with a spell of concealment I stole from Uachdaran of Léige.”

Sgath closed his eyes briefly. “I suppose I understand why.”

“Just so you know, I had help with the appropriation of that bit of magic.”

“Let me guess,” Sgath said, pursing his lips. “Miach of Neroche convinced you it was something you both needed to round out your ever-growing collection of things you shouldn’t have memorized.”

Ruith managed a smile. “I convinced him, for a change. I imagine I shouldn’t admit how often that was the case, lest my lily-white reputation find itself sullied.” He looked up at the sound of a footstep. “Here is Sarah.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Ruith closed his eyes and surrendered gratefully to events he wasn’t responsible for controlling. He listened to his grandfather and Sarah discuss herbs and healing and the fact that she had never in her life imagined such a beautiful place as what she could see from Sgath’s front porch. Ruith suspected he might have slept for a bit because he woke to the feel of cold air on his side, followed by cold fingers on his skin.

“See?” she said quietly. “There is something there. Some thread of something ... wrong.”

“I can’t see anything.”

Ruith opened his eyes to find them both kneeling in front of him, peering intently at his side. Sarah looked at Sgath.

“That black thread of something there,” she said, touching Ruith’s skin near the wound. “ ’Tis barbed and covered with drops of something I don’t know how to name.” She looked at Sgath. “Poison, perhaps?”

Sgath shook his head. “I have no idea, my dear, for I can’t see it at all. But my sight isn’t as clear as yours.”

Sarah studied Ruith’s flesh for a moment, then drew forth one of her knives.

“Are you going to finish the job?” Ruith asked, feeling faintly alarmed.

She met his eyes. Her face was full of what another might have called determination, and that no doubt in spite of the fact that her other hand resting on his knee was trembling. Determination, apprehension, and no small bit of plain fear.

“I’m thinking on how that creature screamed when it encountered my knife in his eye,” she ventured. “I wonder what this knife would do to that thread if I were to try to pull it from your flesh?”

“Leave me shrieking in pain?”

“We’ll try just the same,” she said, looking closely at his side. She reached out and touched what looked to be nothing.

Ruith felt a white-hot strand of pain flare, then disappear. Sarah cut off her sleeve and stanched a new flow of blood.

“Interesting,” Sgath said, sounding more interested than he should have been. “And what, Sarah my dear, is that horrible business on your arm?”

“Nothing,” she said dismissively. “It was much worse before Ruith made me a poultice. I need to find a mage to tend it properly, I think.”

“Hmmm,” Sgath said, “well, perhaps you’ll find one in your travels—and rather sooner than later, if you want my suggestion. I might have something in a cabinet that might serve you until that happy day. Now, shall I be about healing this lad so he can have a nap? I’ll take you for a walk and show you all the best spots for catching lake trout, if you’re interested.”

“Only if I can try my hand at it using one of the lures you have poked into your hat.”

Sgath reached up and felt his head, then laughed. “I left in such haste, I’d forgotten what I was wearing. Of course, my girl. You’ll have your choice. But let’s see to my grandson here. What sort of thing shall we use?”

“I only know things of my mother’s,” Sarah admitted, “though they have never worked for me. Have you nothing of your own to use?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you do it,” Sarah said without hesitation. “I’ll keep him from running away.”

Sgath laughed softly. “As you will, my dear.”

Ruith closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He was quite happy to listen to his grandfather use a modest though quite efficacious spell of Camanaë. His grandfather had no bloodright to it, being of Ainneamh himself, but he certainly had the power to use whatever suited him.

Ruith felt the wound heal as if it had never been there. He opened his eyes and looked blearily at the pair kneeling in front of him.

“Better,” he managed.

“Sleep,” Sgath suggested.

“I just might.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Sgath said, rising and offering a hand to Sarah.

Ruith felt Sarah’s hand briefly on his head, smiled reflexively, then waited until he heard the chamber door close before he stripped off his clothes and crawled happily into bed, feeling as lighthearted and secure as a ten-year-old. He closed his eyes and listened without compunction to the conversation going on briefly on the other side of the door.

“He never sleeps,” Sarah said. “I think he has nightmares.”

“Then we’ll watch over him today and see if he can’t manage a decent bit of napping. He’ll be safe enough in the house, I daresay, whilst we go see what the lake will surrender.”

“Aye, please,” Sarah said, sounding as if nothing could have delighted her more. “You’re fortunate to call such beauty yours.”

“I am merely its steward for a few years,” Sgath said modestly, “but aye, I am fortunate.”

A few years.
Aye, Ruith thought to himself, twelve centuries full of them at last count, and that didn’t add to the tally the years he’d lived in the land of Ainneamh where flowers never ceased to bloom.

He heard the front door shut. Sarah would be perfectly safe with his grandfather to protect her and he himself would be the happy beneficiary of the spells that guarded his grandfather’s land, even a little house that lay a league around the top of the lake from Sgath’s true home.

He sighed deeply, then turned over and fell into the first peaceful sleep he’d had in years.

 

H
e woke to the smell of supper. He could tell from the light in the window that the sun would be setting soon, which meant he had slept most of the day away. He had to admit he’d needed it. Perhaps he could convince Sarah to take her turn and actually have a full night’s rest.

He had a wash, donned clean clothing that had doubtless been conjured for him by his grandfather, then walked out and followed the glorious scent of something he hadn’t cooked himself.

He almost tripped over the equally glorious Sarah of Doìre, freshly washed and dressed as well, sitting in front of the fire and drying her hair by its heat. He’d never in his life seen hair like hers. A riot of curls that straightened into fatter, less numerous but no less lovely curls after a day or two in a braid. He was tempted to offer to braid her hair for her, but that would have meant taming it and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see that happen quite yet.

He sat down on a stool behind her, within easy reach on the off chance she needed her hair brushed for her. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“You look better.”

“I feel better, thank you,” he said with a smile. He rested his elbows on his knees. “How was the fishing?”

“Your grandfather’s lure made all the difference,” she said. “And you’ll be pleased to know he did the cooking.”

“I never said you couldn’t cook.”

She pursed her lips at him, then turned to Sgath. “I won’t tell you what he
has
said about my turns at the cooking fire. We’ll just say he prefers what Master Franciscus combines in the pot.”

“Appalling,” Sgath said, with mock horror. “I worry about his manners.”

“I wouldn’t admit it to him, but his manners are quite lovely. After all, he did buy me a horse and a pair of daggers.”

“Rather he should have bought you flowers, or something made from silk.”

“Oh, he did buy me a silk blouse,” Sarah said without hesitation. “But I made him cut it from me before I took a knife to it myself. Too many ruffles.”

Ruith met his grandfather’s startled eyes, then smiled as Sgath burst into hearty laughter.

“Then perhaps daggers are more appropriate.” He put his hands on his knees and rose. “Let’s go eat, children; then Sarah should have a rest, given that she provided us with supper.”

An hour later, Ruith was lingering at a well-worn table with his grandfather and his ... er,
friend
, and he found himself marveling at the complete improbability of being where he was. He was sitting with a grandfather he’d never thought to see again and it was as if no time at all had passed. He was nursing wine he was certain his grandfather
hadn’t
distilled in the shed behind the house, and he was looking at a woman who made the room sparkle with her smiles, her laughter, and her obvious enjoyment of one of Ruith’s favorite people.

Which she was also fast becoming.

He felt pressure on his toes and focused on her. “What?” he asked with a smile.

“I think you need to sleep again,” she said. “You’re daydreaming.”

He shook his head slowly. “Just enjoying.”

She set her glass away from her and hid a yawn behind her hand. “I fear if I enjoy any more, I’ll fall asleep with my face in my plate and wake not remembering why I’m wearing what I couldn’t finish eating.”

Sgath pushed his chair back immediately and rose. Ruith rose without being asked, because his mother had taught him decent manners in spite of himself.

“I’ll show you to another bedchamber,” Sgath began.

“Nay,” Sarah said quickly. She took a deep breath and put on a smile. “I appreciate the offer, my—” She looked at Sgath and laughed a little. “I keep wanting to call you
my Lord,
but I can’t fathom why”

“My wife says exactly the same thing,” Sgath said without hesitation. “But you needn’t, Sarah dear. You might call me anything you liked and I wouldn’t take offense. Now, about your sleeping—”

“The fire will be more than enough,” she said. “I would actually prefer it, if you don’t mind. Doors make me feel trapped. There’s no reason for it, of course.” She shrugged. “I just prefer the fire nearby.”

Ruith decided it was best not to even look at his grandfather, first because he couldn’t bear to think of Sarah living with that hellishly unpleasant witch in Doìre, and second, in the language of Camanaë, his father’s first language, Ruithneadh meant
fire.

Not that Sarah would have known that.

He was tempted to poach the rest of that bottle of wine, shut himself behind a sturdy door, and drink himself into oblivion. But before he could truly examine the merits of that plan, he found himself standing with Sarah in front of a pallet and blankets his grandfather was currently making up for her. Sgath had centuries of practice, having done the same countless times for other guests. Even the high ones of Camanaë and Ainneamh hadn’t been above a night or two in Sgath’s Folly, as they called it.

“This has been very nice,” Sarah said quietly. She looked up at him. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Thank you for making it so I was able to eat supper,” he said with a faint smile.

“I don’t think I did very much,” she said. She paused. “Your grandfather’s power is ... immense.”

“He has been a good steward of it,” Ruith said, wanting nothing more than to avoid discussing that, or how she knew, or what else she knew. He put his hand on the small of her back. “Shall I stay with you—”

She smiled a quick smile. “I think you can guard me just as easily from outside, if that fire your grandfather built in his pit is where you’re headed.”

“Do you mind?”

“Don’t be daft.” She pointed to the door. “He made do quite politely with me, but I know he’s anxious to have you to himself a bit more.”