Quatrain (43 page)

“The longer I am with you, the more I am beginning to appreciate magic,” Albert said. “I had no idea mystics could be so useful.”

She made him a little bow. “In me you see an ambassador for all things sorcerous,” she said. “Just think how other kinds of power could enhance your life.”

“I don’t believe I know that much about the kinds of magic that exist,” Albert said slowly.

“Nor do I,” said Degarde, who had drawn close enough to listen. “I didn’t even know there
were
different kinds.”

So for the next hour of the journey, Senneth described the varieties of magic she had encountered in her travels. “There are plenty of shape-shifters, some with greater ability than others,” she said. “I’ve seen shiftlings who can change so fast they can transmogrify in midair—from a hawk to a butterfly, say. Others take so long to make the metamorphosis that you can actually see them growing feathers on their arms and turning their fingers into claws.”

“I might find that a little disconcerting,” Degarde admitted. “I apologize for my weakness of spirit.”

“It
is
a little disconcerting,” Senneth told him. “But I have seen it often enough that I am used to it now. Other mystics can move objects through the air—lift them and throw them. Some can make water do their bidding, cause rivers to slow or underground streams to rise to the surface. I’ve met one or two who were so sensitive to moods and emotions that they could practically tell what you were thinking—and they could usually tell if you were speaking the truth.”

“Another handy skill,” Albert said. “Think how valuable such a person would be if you were negotiating with a man you did not trust.”

“But consider what a disadvantage you would be at if you were the one with something to conceal!” Degarde exclaimed.

Senneth laughed. “Then I suppose magic would force everyone to be honest,” she said.

Degarde gave her a sideways smile. “But aren’t there times all of us want to conceal what we are thinking?” he murmured. “Even if we are not precisely interested in lying?”

“Well, take heart,” she replied. “I have met very few readers and most of them had only the most rudimentary skills. They might be able to tell in a general way if your bent was for good or ill without being able to pick thoughts out of your head.”

“Are there many mystics with magic like yours?” Albert inquired.

I have met no one whose magic was the equal of mine in terms of sheer power,
she thought. No need to alarm them with such a boast. “Oh, fire mystics can be found everywhere,” she said. “I’ve often wondered if blacksmiths and cooks—people who work alongside fire every day—might have a little magic in their blood. If that’s what draws them to such a profession and makes them particularly good at it.”

“How does someone become a mystic?” Albert asked.

She laughed. “One is born that way,” she assured him. “It’s not a skill you can acquire, like reading, or a disease that you can catch from someone else.”

“So babies emerge from the womb breathing fire and splashing water about?” Degarde demanded.

“Some do! Those with particularly strong talents. But some don’t display any evidence of magic until they’re in their teens.”

“And you?” Degarde asked. “When did you know?”

“I can’t remember a time I couldn’t call fire. It was a gift that came into the world right alongside me, I suppose.”

“And your parents? Were they mystics?” Degarde asked.

“No,” she said in a tone of such finality that even the curious Degarde realized he had better not pursue the topic.

“This is really quite fascinating,” Albert said, and seemed to mean it. “I’ve never talked with a mystic before.”

“You probably have,” Senneth said gently. “But many mystics conceal their power, or at least they are careful not to flaunt it. There are too many people in the world who loathe and fear us. It is not safe to show off our gifts.”

“Have you ever been persecuted for your ability?” Degarde asked. He was the one who kept asking the most personal questions, Senneth noticed. Albert seemed interested in the general outlines of magic, but Degarde wanted to know how magic had affected Senneth.

“Yes.”

Degarde surveyed her. “And yet you seem unharmed. I cannot imagine you were stoned in the streets—and it would seem pointless to try to burn you at the stake—”

“Plenty of things can harm me,” she said quietly. “Not the least of them being hatred. I have suffered for my magic more times than I can relate. But it is still the gift I cherish most of all the gifts that have been lavished upon me.”

They asked a few more questions, but she was tired of the topic; she managed to turn the conversation to farming and trade, subjects very dear to their hearts. They stopped twice more to take care of personal needs and eat quick meals. There had been some talk of breaking for lunch at a tavern in a small town they passed through, but instead everyone voted to simply pause at the side of the road and bask in Senneth’s manufactured summer.

The early dusk of winter was upon them as they came in sight of Benneld. It was a charming town of narrow cobblestoned roads, well-maintained shop fronts, tidy houses, and an open central square where the residents could gather for important events. Degarde pulled his horse up next to Senneth’s to point out the major sights—two taverns, a posting house, and a freighting company in which he owned an interest.

“And if you continue up that road about a mile, you will come to my place,” he said, gesturing toward a narrow route that ran north up a wooded incline. “It is a very easy ride. I hope you will make it often while you are staying with Albert and Betony.”

“We’ll be leaving for the Lireth mountains in a day or so,” she replied.
And immediately after that I will be returning to Ghosenhall.
“But I’m sure I will have time to visit you and Julia before I go.”

It turned out that the carriage belonged to the Cordwains; Julia and Halie disembarked outside the stables, where their own little gig had been kept during their absence. Everyone parted with fond farewells, and then Senneth, Albert, and Betony turned south on a rutted road and traveled for another fifteen minutes before arriving at the Cordwain house.

It was bigger than Evelyn’s and more formal, though still nothing to compare with a Twelfth House mansion. Senneth was shown to a bedroom that was small but filled with light. It was furnished with delicate whitewashed furniture and prominently featured pink accents in the curtains, coverlet, and wallpaper. Her travel-stained trousers and leather vests made a bad match with the frilly decor, she thought, feeling a little oppressed as she hung her clothing in the painted armoire.

She really didn’t belong there. Why had she agreed to come?

To do a kind service for a friend of Evelyn’s,
she reminded herself.
And perhaps to win the hearts of a few people who heretofore looked askance at mystics. It is just a few days out of your life but may have far-reaching consequences for people you do not even know. Do your part with good grace, and then move on.

The two days that needed to pass before Senneth and Albert set out for the mountains promised to be slow and tedious, but in fact turned out to hold more excitement than Senneth could have hoped. The very next morning, Betony took her back to the town proper so they could shop. Since there was a high probability of encountering people who were friends of Betony’s, Senneth had donned her green-and-blue-striped dress and tried not to feel resentful.

“I’ll have another dress made for you while you and Albert travel, and then you can wear it at the dinner party,” Betony said as they stepped into a dressmaker’s cozy store.

“What dinner party?” Senneth said.

“The one I shall plan for when you get back. Now, please don’t refuse! I look for any excuse to entertain. I won’t tell anyone your secret, of course, but I would still like the chance to show you off.”

Senneth could only nod dumbly and pretend to show an interest in fabric.

They’d been in the dressmaker’s shop about fifteen minutes when a swirl of music and a wave of laughter drew their attention to the window. “Oh, look, a juggler’s troupe,” Betony exclaimed. All of them, including the dressmaker and her two young assistants, hurried out into the crisp air to watch the performers. They were quite entertaining, tossing balls and clubs and burning torches back and forth with such rapidity that the crowd quickly expanded and often sent up choruses of approval.

There was one juggler Senneth was convinced had mystic blood. He collected toys and dolls from some of the assembled children and flung them in the air, where they hovered so long that it began to look as if they would float above Benneld for the rest of the day. In fact, only when one of the little girls began crying did the juggler let the items fall.

The show continued for about an hour, and then some of the locals invited the performers to one of the taverns for a meal. The crowd began to disperse, but Senneth saw familiar faces in those who were left behind—and they saw her. Degarde waved and carried Halie over to say hello.

“Wasn’t that marvelous?” he enthused. “Such coordination! I cannot believe they haven’t all been struck on the head or caught their hands on fire trying to grab those burning brands!”

“No doubt they have had such mishaps during their initial practices,” Senneth said. “But they certainly presented a fine show this afternoon!”

“We were just passing through town on our way to look for you,” Degarde said. “Are you free? Can you come back to the house? I brought Halie with me so Julia could have a couple hours of peace, but I am completely exhausted now and must go home to refresh myself.”

“I have more errands to run. But, Senneth, why don’t you go with them?” Betony said. “Degarde, you will bring her back before dinner?”

“Most certainly I will. I will even get out the gig! We walked down here from the house,” he explained to Senneth. “It seemed the easiest way to expend a little of Halie’s limitless energy.”

“I’m happy to walk,” she said, and they set out on the northern road.

The hill turned out to be steeper than it looked, so conversation was a little breathless and Halie refused to make the climb on her own small feet. Degarde swung her up to his shoulder, then held on to her ankles to prevent her from kicking him in the chest. The little girl liked the extra height; she laughed and squealed as she grabbed at tree branches that overhung their pathway. Senneth heard the dry limbs rub and rustle together as Halie caught at them and then let them go.

Degarde’s house was picturesquely situated in a slight valley, surrounded by closely planted trees just now denuded by winter. It was built of honey-colored stone so old that some of the edges had darkened with moss or smoke or simple age. But the black roof had the look of something newly installed and the shutters were all painted a matching color, and smoke curling out of half a dozen chimneys gave it an inviting look of warmth. What small portion of the setting was not given over to forest looked to be well-tended lawn, and Senneth spotted at least two gardens as they approached—one surely dedicated to vegetables, but the one in front no doubt riotous with color once the spring flowers bloomed.

“Very pretty,” she said.

“It’s not fancy, but we find it comfortable,” he replied.

“That’s a trade I’d make any day,” she said.

A servant took charge of Halie once they were through the front door, and Degarde showed Senneth around the main floor. She made suitable comments on the books in the library and the art in the sitting room, but she kept silent about the pieces of decor that really caught her attention. In one window of every room, dangling from ribbons chosen to match the furnishings, hung glowing moonstones as big as walnuts.

Someone in this household was a devotee of the Pale Mother. And the doctrine of that particular goddess held that mystics were abominations.

Senneth felt her skin prickle just from the knowledge that the poisonous gems were so close to her body. She found it difficult to concentrate on Degarde’s words as he related which ancestor had added on the north wing of the house, which matriarch had insisted on installing modern ovens.

“My father married late, not having expected to inherit the property,” Degarde was saying, “and having made no attempt to ingratiate himself with the local girls! He took a bride from Gisseltess, but my mother was never very happy here. Too cold this far north, she always said. The winter before she died, she spent every spare minute huddled in front of a fire. I sometimes think it was pure frost that stopped her heart.”

A Gisseltess girl. No doubt she was the one who had brought the moonstones here, since the Pale Mother was greatly revered in the southern Houses. It was possible Degarde and Julia didn’t even realize what the jewels were—just considered them pretty baubles to hang in the window and remind them of their frail mother, dead too young.