Taminy (35 page)

No
one had heard the duan before—only the Meri knew it. It pulled at the bones and
tissue in Aine’s broken neck. It molded them as a sculptor molds clay, with
fingers of Blue Healing—Divine Fingers, unseen.

Taminy’s
fingers, poised over Aine’s throat, flexed, there was a sound like a stick
being pulled from mud and a breeze sprang up, cool, from the river. Within it,
the Stirring Thing moved and breathed over Aine-mac-Lorimer’s spirit, all but
drained away. In Taminy’s hand, a ball of light formed, blossoming like a
little flame rose, petals opening in her hand, glorious. She placed the full
flower on Aine’s breast and watched it explode into filaments of molten light
before sinking like ground mist into the girl’s flesh.

The
breeze gusted and Aine-mac-Lorimer gasped for air, throwing herself into a
ragged fit of coughing.

Taminy’s
Shieldweave shattered into a million motes. Spent, she sagged back against Wyth’s
legs. He lifted her out of the way of the pandemonium that engulfed the waking
Aine and helped her to the wall, letting her down against it. From there, she
watched Aine’s family, Torridon and Saxan all but crush the poor girl in their
concern.

“Thank
you, Wyth,” she murmured. “How did you know to come?”

“You
called me ... or She did.”

“Yes,
I suppose we did.” She smiled wanly and shifted to move a rock from under her
hip. But what her groping hand found was not a rock.

“How
did this happen?” Ealad-hach’s voice came from nearly atop her. “How did she
come to be here, in the thick of it?”

It
was a runebag. It was hard and damp and smelled sharply of camphor and
valerian. She looked up, puzzled, to see the old Osraed glaring down at her,
clutching Doireann with one hand and Phelan with the other.

Doireann’s
eyes, horror stricken, lit upon the runebag and would not let go. She pointed. “She
did it, Osraed. She had private words with Aine and then made her horse go
crazy and-and dash her into the wall. She was getting even for that happening
Cirke-dag. See, she’s got a runebag in her hand, now.”

Taminy
turned her eyes to Ealad-hach, ready to protest, however weakly. His smile
stopped the words in her throat.

“A
reckoning, cailin. Now we shall have a reckoning.”

She
was at the center of a whirlwind, then—a whirlwind made of torchlight and
darkness, of faces with harrowed eyes, of guiding hands and demanding voices.
It reminded her of another such whirlwind, long ago. A wind that was part of
her memory, if not her experience. Where that cyclone had blown itself out in
the throne room of a Cyne, this one spent itself in the courtyard at
Halig-liath, leaving Taminy surrounded by people who understood little more of
what was happening than she did.

Ealad-hach,
his face flushed and shining, was speaking loudly and authoritatively about her
use of the Wicke Craft to cause Aine’s horse to bolt. He spoke of revenge and
jealousy. Questions were asked and voices raised and over the rush and murmur
came Doireann Spenser’s trembling testimony that Taminy must have maddened Aine’s
mount with the runebag she was holding, must have made the horse throw her.

She
started to protest, but realized no one would hear her—no one but Bevol and
Wyth and Gwynet, who didn’t believe a word of Ealad-hach’s harangue anyway.
They were close to her; Bevol’s hand was on her arm. She was safe.

Ealad-hach
called for the Osraed Council to meet. Aine’s father added his voice to the
demand and Doireann’s mother, and Iseabal’s. Prentices scurried into the dark
and, in what seemed like only minutes, Taminy was led from the cool, starlit
courtyard into the confines of the Academy. Through the ancient stone hallways
she was brought, at last, to the large chamber in which the Council of the
Osraed met. There, Bevol left her side and took his seat at the long, crescent
table, prepared to act as Apex.

“One
moment, brother.” Ealad-hach raised his hand in protest. “Is it appropriate for
you to be part of the Council when you are so obviously prejudiced in favor of
this girl? You would not find against her if the world depended on it.”

“And
you would not find
for
her,” said
Bevol.

“This
is absurd, Ealad,” objected Osraed Calach. “And unprecedented. The Apex has
never been asked to step down for any reason.”

Bevol
raised his hand. “Stay, brothers, I will not be the center of needless
argument. I will step down. I accord the duties and privileges of Apex pro-tem
to Osraed Calach.” He retreated then, returning to Taminy’s side.

“Very
well.” Calach glanced at Ealad-hach. “You too will step down, Osraed
Ealad-hach. It isn’t appropriate for you to act as inquisitor and adjudicator
... I can only assume you are leveling some charge at the cailin.”

“A
very specific charge, Osraed. I charge that she is a very clever and powerful
Wicke.”

The
chamber erupted into chaos then, as if the spoken words had invoked a human
storm. The Osraed were forced to clear the room of all but their own number and
such people as they hastily agreed were to be called as witnesses. The curious
townsfolk settled for a long wait in the broad outer corridor, where Prentices
were posted to keep them from leaning too heavily on the doors.

Taminy
watched all from a high state of trembling detachment. Watched as Ealad-hach
called upon Iseabal and the other youth to relate what had happened earlier.
Watched as he advanced his pet theory—that she had struck out at
Aine-mac-Lorimer in revenge for the paltry effrontery of an amateurish runebag
and caused the girl’s death, then, realizing she had gone too far, been forced
to resuscitate her.

“The
girl was dead?” asked Calach.

Ealad-hach
was momentarily discomfited. “She was ... brought back by an Infusion Weave.”

Calach
turned his eyes to Taminy. “Your Weaving, child?”

Taminy
nodded. “My Weaving, sir. With the help of the Osraed Wyth and Bevol. Osraed
Ealad-hach tried to remove me ... it was very difficult.”

Calach
looked to Ealad-hach. “You tried to remove her? Whatever for?”

“I
was afraid she meant the girl further harm.”

“She
was dead, Osraed. What further harm could be done?”

Taminy
heard Bevol chuckle. The sound soothed her somewhat. It had a somewhat
different effect on Ealad-hach.

“She
had already caused the girl bodily harm. I was concerned for her spirit. And it
was Torridon’s province, not the girl’s, to remedy the situation.”

“Torridon?
Was the girl interrupting your ministrations?”

Torridon
shook his head. “The damage was too severe. It was beyond me. I had given up
... I am ashamed to say,” he added.

“Then
you are all in agreement that Taminy-a-Gled performed a successful Infusion,
saving Aine-mac-Lorimer’s life. Is that agreed?” Calach glanced around at the
witnesses. All nodded or murmured their accord. “Are you also in agreement that
Taminy caused the girl’s accident?”

This
question elicited no such positive response.

“If
I may,” said Osraed Saxan and was recognized. “Taminy didn’t even arrive on the
scene until I had gone out to see what had happened. I heard the children
screaming and shouting. Taminy wasn’t there.”

“Taminy
didn’t need to be there. Taminy did her work from afar.” Ealad-hach held up the
pungent little runebag Taminy had found by the wall. “She had this in her hand.
Camphor, valerian, peppermint. This concoction is known for the fear its smell
inspires in certain animals. According to Doireann Spenser, Aine sought Taminy
out to speak with her. Their relationship was strained, hostile. When the
Lorimer girl remounted her horse, Taminy produced this bag and used it to
madden the beast. It plunged down the hill and threw Aine-mac-Lorimer into the
wall by the Cirke.”

“That
concoction,” said Bevol quietly, “is also thought by some to ward off evil and
keep Wicke from working their Craft.”

“It
seems,” said Calach, “that we are more certain Taminy saved Aine’s life than we
are that she took it. I would like to hear from Taminy, now. Come forward, child,
and give us your Tell.”

She
did as bidden, finding that her legs would still carry her from here to there.
She stood in the center of the great room with all eyes on her and said, “Aine
rode out to see me as we were coming home over the hill. She told me she wasn’t
the one who brought the runebag into the Sanctuary last Cirke-dag.”

“Did
she tell you who did?”

“She
didn’t know. I accepted her at her word and she left me.”

“She
rode like demons hunted her,” objected Ealad-hach. “Do you claim not to know
why?”

Taminy
turned her head to look at him.
I could
blow on him and he would fold up and fly away
. It was a chilling thought.
She was further chilled by having had it.

“I
do know why, sir. When I held her hand to read the truth in her, I sensed that she
had a Gift. I knew she had been having troubling dreams and had seen portents,
but hid them from everyone. I told her what I felt. My words frightened her.
Then, too, she felt betrayed. If she hadn’t made that runebag and put it in her
pocket, then someone else did. Someone who wanted her to be blamed. Aine was
much troubled by that. Troubled and hurt.” She let her eyes wander toward
Doireann, whose olive complexion had taken on the look of fresh, pale cream.

“And
do you know who was responsible for the runebag last Cirke-dag?”

“The
same person who was responsible for the one I found tonight on the ground by
the Cirke wall. The one Ealad-hach saw in my hand.”

“And
who is this person—this secret maker of fetishes?”

Taminy
felt the dark eyes burring into the side of her head. “I cannot say, Osraed. I
believe they must come forward of their own will.”

“She’s
dissembling!” argued Ealad-hach. “She brought the runebag. She cast the inyx
that toppled Aine-mac-Lorimer from her horse.”

“Who
originated the idea,” Calach asked, “that Taminy was responsible for the fall?”

Ealad-hach
moved to catch Doireann’s shoulder and push her forward next to Taminy where
she quivered under a room full of eyes. “This girl—Doireann Spenser.”

“What
put this idea into your head, child?” asked Calach gently.

Doireann
cleared her throat. “They didn’t get on well. Aine was sweet on
Terris-mac-Webber and-and she saw them together in his shop one day. Heard him
... heard him plead his great fondness for Taminy.” She fairly spat the name,
then quailed again, her eyes darting about the floor.

Like a wild little mouse
, Taminy
thought.
Straining to keep just ahead of
the falcon.

“That
was when she thought about making the runebag,” Doireann continued, her teeth
near chattering. “I think that’s when, I mean—she certainly said naught of it
to me. She must’ve wanted to fight Taminy on her own ground. She must’ve
thought she could prove to Terris that Taminy really was a Wicke. Or-or perhaps
she meant to scare her into staying away from him. But they had words up on the
hill—harsh words, I think. Aine was angry and afraid.”

“Might
she have made that runebag herself, thinking it would protect her from Taminy?”
That was the Osraed Eadmund.

Taminy
looked at him. A pale young man, awash in uncertainty.

“It
was, after all, a wearding fetish similar to one she ... or someone else ...
brought to Cirke.”

“I-I
suppose so, Osraed.” Doireann glanced at Taminy, then aside, as their eyes
nearly collided.

“May
I speak?” asked Wyth.

Calach
acknowledged him and he came to stand between Taminy and Doireann.

“Last
Cirke-dag, Taminy is reported, by credible witnesses, to have poured more
Eibhilin Light through a crystal than most of us have ever seen. This evening
we experienced her handling of an Infusion Weave, which she performed while
shielding herself against the attempts of Ealad-hach and others to physically
remove her. Can you believe someone with that kind of ability would resort to a
pungent fetish to accomplish anything?”

The
men of the Council nodded their heads sagely.

“He’s
right, you know,” said Faer-wald. “Runebags have traditionally been the refuge
of people who have no inherent Gift, but who are trying to protect themselves
from those who do. The fetish that turned up on Cirke-dag had a recipe intended
to ward off Wicke; this second bag may have been created with the same
intention.”

Ealad-hach
all but exploded. “The damned runebag is irrelevant! What is relevant is this
young woman’s power.”

“Which
does not,” injected Bevol gently, “make her Wicke. Taminy is a young woman of
extraordinary ability. I am well aware of that. But she is not evil. She is not
a Wicke. You have built your accusations on sand, Ealad.”

“There
was enmity between the two girls-”

“No,”
said Taminy, “there was not. I like Aine, very much. I would never do anything
to harm her.”

Calach
looked around at the other members of the Council. They gazed back as if at a
loss to know what to say or do next. One by one, they shrugged, passing the
decision back to him.

“Has
she got you all so completely dazzled?” Ealad-hach cried.

Calach
leaned forward, his bony elbows propped upon the gleaming crescent table. “Osraed,
what is to be gained from this exercise? No one has been harmed. If there was
any mischief done, it does not seem to have been done by Taminy. Indeed, it
appears that Taminy has thwarted any such mischief. Unless you can offer some
more substantial proof-”

Ealad-hach
ground his teeth. “Would you accept an aislinn?”

Calach
sat up straight in his chair. “To prove that Taminy used the Craft to harm
Aine?”

“No.
To prove that she is not what she seems. To prove that she is not merely a
Wicke, but a Cwen Wicke, a supremely powerful Wicke, and that she is a chief
architect of this Cusp we are now in.”