The Seekers of Fire (8 page)

"The healers cannot possibly climb this." Linden frowned in the direction of the slope. "Not all of them, at least. Mistress Cadence is ninety years old and walks with a crutch."

"They might never come here, it is far below their Passage—" Rianor looked at her. "Or, do they?" Again there was something in his eyes, like what had been there when her dad had first told them about the
samodiva.
It was not pleasant, and it made her cold.

"I don't know. I told you. I know nothing about them. But
you
seem to do."

He stepped closer to her, and his manner was abrupt, almost threatening. Then he sighed, reached out, and wrapped his coat around her over her cloak.

"You are shivering too much, Linde," he snapped, "even though it is warm. Don't get too sick; I would rather not see, and especially not need, a Commander ever again in my life."

* * *

Linden was distressed, Rianor could tell. She said nothing, staring at the darkness, thin and pale underneath his coat, her fingers white from squeezing his handkerchief. He had been too harsh. After all, the damn father she seemed to love so much was a Commander, and Rianor had just effectively told her she would never see him again.

He did not truly mean it. She was just a daughter, an ignorant child; Commanders and anything they had ever done or not done was not her fault. Her ignorance was a pity, in a way, for he had hoped to learn about Commanders from her, but Commanders were not the reason he had taken her. Rianor had not known who her father was when he had first seen her at the well. And he did not even blame Commanders too much any more.

Rianor shook his head. This was wrong. His current actions were wrong. The hatred he was feeling right now was not his; it was the wild, thoughtless hatred of the thirteen-year-old he had once been. This place was getting to him, doing something to his mind. It should not.
Could
not. Rianor had long ago learned to deal with places like this.

Linden blinked fast, but her eyes remained dry, and her voice was level when she crumpled the handkerchief in her hand and looked at him again.

"I don't know Commanders or this Passage, Rianor. I don't know why I am seeing the light of the pillar and why you are not. I don't know the way out. But I know I am not staying trapped. Let us climb, shall we?"

"Wait," Rianor replied softly, staring at the indistinguishable spot of darkness where she seemed to be locating the pillar. "Not yet. Sit here and try to rest that leg a little, and I will have a small chat with our friend."

He handed her the light, drawing his dagger.

"Can you see it now?" Linden whispered, not motioning to sit. "Do you think it will tell us the way? I don't know if we should—"

Rianor sighed, the darkness as uniform around him as ever.

"I would think that I was quite clear, my apprentice. I never said '
we.
' You sit down and wait for me here."

"Do you really think I would allow you to go alone after something that you can't see or sense?"

"Allow me to?" He had made a step away from her, but now turned, once again half-irritated, half-amused. Even Bers, Mierenthia's ultimate authority, did not officially allow or forbid High Rulers.

Linden collided with him. She must have walked after him, despite her leg. This leg now gave away, and she lurched to the side, gasping with pain. She tried to get the leg out of the way, but it hung unnaturally stiff from her body and caught Rianor in the shin, just as he gripped her shoulders and tried to steady her. Rianor staggered, his ribs and head exploding with pain at the effort to hold both of them up, then he settled heavily on the stones.

"Are you all right?" he breathed just as Linden murmured the same question at his throat.

"I suppose so," they both said, and his voice was steadier now, but he would not yet lift his head from hers. He had succeeded in not lying down, and it was probably safe to move now, but for a moment he wanted to sit still and inhale the lavender scent at least as much as he wanted her sharp elbow away from his ribs. She sighed again, dragging her twisted leg straight, and Rianor jerked his head up.

"Damn it, Linde, can't you for once do what you are told?"

He bent over her shoulder to assist her, but did not hear her reply at all as he saw his handkerchief sprawled on her thigh. One of Audric the Insane's embroidered ramblings was clearly readable on it. Suddenly Rianor's recognition of lavender made sense, and for the second time in his life so did the words of his infamous ancestor.

Behold, you stinker who fears,
Fear, you rake who beholds,
Nothing is as it appears,
But I'll kick you and you shall see all.

A nine-year-old Rianor had first perceived these words one night in lady Selene's room, although he had been seeing them for many years, ever since he had learned to read the embroideries on the Qynnsent handkerchiefs. Lady Selene had been downstairs at the ball with his parents. His little cousin, Inni, had cried and begged him to sneak into the lady's room and smell her lavender perfume from the bottle for so long that at last he had grudgingly agreed. He had gazed at the lovely picture of a telescope on the lady's desk, while Inni fluttered around her mirror. Then, just as he thought it was high time to leave, Inni brought the bottle to him—as if he cared about women's smells, really—and managed to pour purple liquid all over the telescope.

Rianor remembered the smell as if it were yesterday, not fourteen years ago. It had been stronger, sharper, and sweeter, but unmistakably similar to Linden's delicate scent. It had made his eyes water and his head ache, as he had desperately tried to wipe it away with his handkerchief, succeeding only in making a purple mess out of lady Selene's picture and his handkerchief's embroidery. It was then that he had noticed the text. Instead of the usual wise thought of some great ancestor, the silk letters had spelled the unorthodox utterances of Qynnsent's most notorious lord. The frightened small boy had built a whole theory around them while waiting for his teacher with a sinking heart.

The old madman had surely talked about people who could not see things but feared them, little Rianor had thought, and people who saw things and had no fear. Rianor could see the lavender, and he was going to see lady Selene, too, so he should try to not fear her. And lady Selene would certainly fear losing her picture and her perfume, and if Rianor did not fear what she would do, perhaps she would not see what had happened at all?

But not fearing lady Selene had not worked at all, so the boy had turned his attention to the more understandable kicking part of the verse. He would have loved to kick stupid Inni, especially if that would make the lady see who had actually spilled her perfume; but of course it had been out of the question for the future Lord of Qynnsent to not take the blame himself, let alone do that. And who would the grown-ups suspect, anyway—the sweet and obedient girl, or the boy who had almost killed himself jumping from the roof with what he had called an enhanced version of his mother's umbrella?

Kicking Inni would have probably worked, the grown-up lord Rianor thought, right according to Audric's drivel. That would have scared her enough to confess and make the adults see things as they were. Whatever else Audric had said, there certainly was logic behind the kicking aspect. Strangely enough, his logic concerned Rianor's current situation in some way. It had to. The current Lord of Qynnsent was not prone to indulging in nonsensical thoughts and childhood memories. Not with a wounded woman to take care of and an enemy of unknown essence in proximity.

"Rianor—"

Linden had managed to drag her leg in a more natural position at Rianor's side. She had turned her face towards him, the light and handkerchief in one of her hands, her other arm on his shoulders. She was trying to push him up and seemed to have been calling to him for some time.

"Rianor, please say something!"

"If you ask me so nicely, my lady." He could not resist teasing her as he gently freed himself from her arm with the intention to bend and examine her leg, but did not receive the angry or witty reply he was coming to expect from her. Instead, a silent tear crept down a cheek that was way too pallid.

"This was not a funny thing to do, Rianor. It was not funny at all."

Cursing silently, Rianor gathered her in his arms. She felt so soft and vulnerable, this girl who battled Bers and invisible monsters.

"This verse on the handkerchief," she whispered, "you saw it and your face went blank. I thought that you were going to faint. And I thought that the verse was not real when I saw it earlier tonight. I thought that the
samodiva
was doing something to my eyes."

"She is doing something to your eyes, yes," Rianor said softly, "that we know, but the verse has nothing to do with it. It is just something a past and weird Qynnsent lord created. Look as it may, this verse is nothing. You can read books about old Audric the Insane and his attitudes. He made his dog a First Counselor of Qynnsent once."

Linden smiled faintly. "Really?"

"Really." Rianor was interested in what her reaction would be. Audric had admittedly gone to an excess, but it was not unusual for nobles to have close relationships with their dogs or cats. Rianor had such a relationship himself. Some nobles, Rianor included, also had affection for their horses, despite horses being beasts of servitude who were only forced into tractability by Ber harnesses and Magic. Somehow, Rianor could not believe the Bers' words that Star and Beauty and the others were treacherous creatures who would have otherwise taken every chance to kill or maim him.

All animals but dogs and cats were treacherous, the Bers said. Besides, wheeled motion, or indeed any non-human and non-Magical motion, was treacherous and perilous itself. So, the combination of wheeled motion and animals, such as a running carriage, was even more treacherous and perilous. Only strong Magic made carriages and carts and such at all possible, and people should still try to stay away from them when possible.

Still, the Bers did look the other way concerning nobles' attitudes towards horses. They even allowed some commoners, at least Master Waggoners, Stablers, Riders, and some of their apprentices and workers, to exhibit kind feelings towards horses, oxen, and similar. Even Master Growers and their workers, those of them who dealt not with the growing of plants but with the raising and care of pigs, cows, chickens, and other animals to be eaten, were allowed some kind feelings towards those. Even Balkaene peasant shepherds, cowherds, pig keepers, carters and such had allowances made for them.

Of course, nobles were allowed more aberration than others in everything, while the commoners who dealt with animals as a part of their profession had their animal rites and Mentors' blessings to protect them and the world. Of course, this was what the Bers would say. What the truth was, Rianor did not know.

He did not believe all this. He did not, despite what had happened ten years ago. He did not blame the horses or the carriage for what had happened then, but blamed the Commanders and the Bers.

Think of dogs. Think of Linden.
Now was not the time to be angry or sad yet again.

For reasons of their own, the Bers taught everyone rites for controlling dogs and cats, and let people keep dogs and cats in their homes. Yet, would commoners distrust those animals more than nobles distrusted them? Would she?

"I would like to read about Audric," Linden said. "And I wish I had a dog, too."

"Well, the books are in my library, so you will have no problem with them." Rianor returned her smile. " As for the dog, we will see what you think about mine, and what he thinks about you."

He was glad to see some color return to her cheeks as the thoughts concerning Audric and kicking occupied his attention again. He would not be thinking of this, and even of motion and horses, if it did not matter here and now, but he just could not find a connection between Linden, kicking, and the whole situation. Still, an idea nibbled his mind, in the way it happened sometimes when he was about to discover something interesting but did not have all the details yet.

He had felt the same years ago when he had watched that big bird swoop; later, not yet knowing why, he had changed the size and shape of his mother's umbrella according to both his own body and the idea of the bird. Probably that was the only reason the fall had not been lethal. He had felt the same with his spring-device, too, before he had even drawn the diagram and confirmed the principle. But kicking and Linden?

She shifted, pulling away from him, and dragged herself up, breaking the sequence of his thoughts.

"Rianor, are you all right? We cannot just sit here."

Rianor sighed, not quite feeling like kicking her, but close. She had interfered with his concentration for the second time tonight. He needed to be alone at times like this—to walk around and think, to draw a diagram, create an experimental environment. He did not want anyone around to distract him, did not want to be aware of their existence at all ...

But, of course!

Rianor jumped up and seized Linden's waist just before her leg gave away, very much aware of her.

That was it. The awareness of a person's or a thing's existence must be at least somewhat relative. To some extent, it must depend on whether he actually wanted to be aware, and to some extent it must be determined by accidental or intentional contact with the person or thing. Contact or, perhaps more accurately, physical contact was all there was in the kicking and "
making you see all
" verse, too, whatever the old cranker had really meant, if he had meant anything at all. Rianor would need a diagram and a better explanation of the whole concept later, but for now he knew one thing. He had to somehow make physical contact with the
samodiva
or her well, and there should be a way for Linden to help him, see as she could the damn abominations.