Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 57
Affection and respect! She wanted more than that from her husband. What a dull and lifeless marriage it would be, otherwise. She wanted a passionate love that would last for the rest of her life. And that's a foolish wish, she fretted. As if a passionate love would ever come her way!
"Once you gain the throne, madam, there will be ample opportunities to meet noblemen from other countries. You will not lack for suitors,” he said with an encouraging smile, but a look of sorrow crossed his face, too, or did she only imagine his expression?
"If I loved a man, it wouldn't matter what station in life he held." She drew her robe ever closer against the evening's biting chill. "I won't marry a man I don't love and who doesn't love me." She glanced across the fire and caught his gaze on her, his look clear and direct. And full of promise? Now she was dreaming a foolish dream. She worked her hands under her robe, wrapping her arms around her waist.
She squared her jaw. "But first we must overthrow Balor. After that, I shall gain the throne."
Roric nodded. "To do that, we need the army behind us." He stood, easing his cloak around his shoulders. “Forgive me, madam, but best I seek my own cave now. These past two ninedays have been tiring, not to mention upsetting. I fear I am not good company now.”
“Good night, Roric.” And you are good company anytime. I could never tire of seeing you, talking to you. If only I could kiss you...
As much as she hated Balor, as much as she wanted to gain the throne, Roric was all she could think of, his presence still alive in her memory. Long after he’d departed into the rain, she wished she could draw him back and hold him, keep him with her throughout the cold night. But her wish would forever remain out of reach.
* * *
Kneeling down on the cold limestone floor beside the girl, Keriam raised her eyes to the chief, a strong-muscled, stocky man of middle age who stood next to his wife. Both of them looked heartsick, their faces haggard with worry and fatigue. She must cure their daughter, for the child’s sake and theirs, but also to gain the chief’s trust. She must have him on her side in any future confrontation with Balor.
"What is your daughter's name?" she asked in their language.
"Lina," the wife replied. "Ah, if you can help her! We have tried. Our healer can't do anything." She shook her head, staring down at the floor.
The girl lay silent and still, staring off to a place only she could see. Keriam reached for her hand and found it ice cold. Beyond her, the cave stretched in fathomless darkness, the sound of rushing water in the distance.
"What can you tell me about her sickness?"
The chief tapped his head. "The sickness is here. Why, we don't know. We must feed her, give her water. She is like a baby." His voice broke and he turned away.
"I'll try to help if I can," Keriam said. If only she could! If she could resurrect her powers, those she had suppressed--
"How can you help, woman? What can you do that we can't?" A look of belligerence crossed the chief's face.
Keriam chose her words carefully. "I have . . . special powers. Often I can tell what a person is thinking just by touching him. Sometimes I can tell what has happened or will happen to that person."
Dorn's eyes widened. "Magic!"
"Magic!" his wife echoed.
Keriam smiled. "Some may call it that. I think of it as an extraordinary talent." She drew her legs behind her and settled her gaze on Lina again. "Is she your only child?"
The mother tore at her hair and scratched her face. "Ah! We had a son, but he died before you came." She pointed to the girl. "Now this!"
"Talmora!" Keriam's eyes misted. "Let me see what I can do. I'll touch her head, see what images I can pick up."
"Yes, if only you-"
"Quiet!" the chief admonished his wife. Chastened, she nodded and covered her face.
Closing her eyes, Keriam leaned over and placed her hands lightly on either side of Lina's head. Only darkness emerged, no visions, no thoughts. Keriam remained that way for countless minutes, stifling all other concerns, all her energy and power focused on the girl.
Long moments passed and pictures gradually emerged. She saw a young boy of eight or nine lying in the cave, his face shiny with sweat, a high fever causing delirium. She saw the girl bathing his brow with cold water, her face troubled, her hands shaking.
The scene shifted. She saw the boy reposed in a deep grave as the villagers threw flowers on his body. Pottery jars and deerskin pouches lay by his side, food and prized possessions to take with him on his spirit journey. The chief and his wife wept beside the grave. The daughter stood motionless, a stunned expression on her face.
Back in the here and now, Keriam sat in silent absorption, concentrating on every impression, every vision she received. The girl's thoughts gradually penetrated, and Keriam surmised her mental illness had been building inside her for a while.
"Ah!" Keriam sank back on the floor.
"Woman! What is it?" The chief's wife wrung her hands. "Tell us!"
Keriam pushed herself to her feet, searching for the right words. "She blames herself for her brother's death."
"But why?" the mother asked, her forehead wrinkled in bafflement. "It wasn't her fault. Our son . . ." She struggled for composure. "Our son died of a sickness. He had a high fever."
"But Lina was alone with him when he died?" Keriam looked from one to the other, full of sympathy for the grief they shared, but also, needing more information to help heal their daughter.
"It couldn't be helped!" Tears streamed down the chief's face. "If only we had known how sick . . ." He swiped his hand across his eyes. His wife sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Many of our people had this same illness, and they all recovered. We didn't know . . ." He took a deep breath. "I had to go hunting with the men, and my wife--"
"I had to deliver a baby, and--"
"Please." Keriam raised her hand. "The circumstances don't matter. What is important is that she blames herself. What we must do--what I must do--is stay with her for a long time every day and try to make her understand your son's death was not her fault." Could she do it? She had never performed this feat before, had never projected her thoughts into someone else's mind. But she had to try.
Day after day, Keriam sat for long moments with the comatose girl. She caressed Lina's face and spoke soothing words meant to comfort. She repeated again and again, Your brother's death is not your fault. After one nineday, the girl remained catatonic. Keriam despaired that she would ever cure her.
She must rid her own mind of problems, of her hatred for Balor and anxiety for the kingdom, for such distractions would prevent her from healing Lina. But she couldn't drive Balor from her mind. She wondered what evil he was devising now.
* * *
"I fear a revolt, sire."
"What?" Balor sat back in his chair, giving his Minister of War a long look across the desk. Recently finished with sword practice, Balor wiped a silk handkerchief across his sweaty brow. A human head, embalmed in cedar oil and mounted on an ivory stand, gazed out from his oaken desk. "What makes you think this?"
Duncan Cuillaigh squirmed in his chair. "Perhaps I should say 'possible revolt'. I've heard of much discontent among the soldiers and officers. Sire, I fear they are close to a mutiny. They haven't been permitted leave since--"
"A leave, pah! Are we training soldiers, or supervising a nursery? They must learn the virtue of abstinence. Round up the ringleaders, make an example of them. One-hundred lashes for each. That should prevent further trouble."
Cullaigh shook his head. "Too many, sire. The discontent is concentrated in the fifteenth and sixteenth battalions, over eighteen-hundred men."
"I see." Balor pondered long and hard. "So, two battalions." He scratched his scar, still searching for a solution. "Here's what I want you to do. Send them to the northern border. I want them to build winter quarters there, practice maneuvers. Tell them we must counter Elegia's aggressive moves."
"Aggressive moves, sire?"
Balor slammed his fist on the desk. "Use your imagination, man! Tell the men Elegia is preparing for war. Let them think we're in danger from that country. We'll have the disgruntled men out of the way."
"An excellent plan, sire." Cullaigh sat forward. "I suggest we send them north under cover of darkness, when the stores are closed and few people crowd the streets. No doubt some will hear them, but the fewer, the better. No point in arousing the populace now. Later--"
"Later, I'll tell the people Elegia is making warlike moves against us." Balor reached over and caressed the human head on his desk. “And I tell you, Cuillaigh, come spring, we will march against that country. If--when--we conquer Elegia, we will acquire their seaports and sources of wealth. Emerald mines!" His eyes gleamed. "And after Elegia, we will move on the other countries. Soon the whole continent will be ours!"
* * *
These visits are getting to be a habit, Keriam mused as Roric joined her one evening, visits she anticipated, never needing to question the reason why.
“We were speaking of magic not long ago,” she reminded him, wanting to lead into the subject again. Heavy rains had soaked the ground for days, and now winter approached with a cold, northerly wind. The first light snow dusted the ground outside her cave. She blew on her hands to warm them, mindful that she must make mittens for herself soon.
“Ah, magic!” He smiled. “Perhaps we can use it for good.”
“My feeling, too. There is good magic and bad, don’t you agree?” At his answering nod, she went on. “I’ve had much time to think on so many things during these past few ninedays. I see nothing wrong and everything beneficial if I permit the practice of good magic in the kingdom. And,” she said with a question in her voice, “something tells me you feel the same.”
Frowning, he ran his finger along the frozen ground, then looked her way. “Once, not so long ago, I feared magic, kept my distance from Radegunda. But you are right, madam. Such enchantment can do much good. However, as Avador’s ruler, you must ensure that bad magic never takes hold again.”
“Of course. Here’s what I plan to do. I intend to employ several druids to rule on what is good magic and what is evil, then codify their finds, have them recorded in a volume. I’ll encourage the good to flourish, but anyone caught practicing black magic will be punished, not,” she said, holding up a hand, “as severely as Balor has decreed for any transgression. But harshly enough to show those who employ the craft to apply only the good.
“I’m sure my plan will work. Something else–even though I don’t practice witchcraft, I’ve found within the past year that I can use my special abilities to advantage. I will continue to do so, and if I can learn the craft, so much the better.”
“You said something about special abilities?”
She nodded. “Often I can tell what a person is thinking just by touching him.”
He smiled, a teasing tone in his voice. “Touch me and tell me what I’m thinking.”
She hesitated, wanting to do more than just touch him, wanting to be held in his arms, feel his lips on hers. Goddess, she wanted him now, this very moment, more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone.
“Madam?”
She touched him then, letting her hand rest on his, loving the feel of his skin. “Ah.” Her face warming, she drew back, the heat spreading throughout her body. She’d never known a man could arouse her this way, and to read his thoughts, to know that . . . “You think I’m beautiful.”
“You have always been beautiful to me.” He leaned closer, a look of deep purpose on his face. “Madam, I . . .”
Outside the cave, children laughed, their mothers calling them to bedtime. Men shouted and joked, and the golden moment with Roric faded, never, she feared, to be repeated. She wanted to cry from disappointment. She caught the expression on his face and dared to hope he felt the same.
Their gazes locked, a long moment of silence stretching between them. Then Roric spoke again, as if nothing special had happened between them. Did she mean so little to him? “Tell me, madam, how would you define good magic?”
Inwardly, she sighed, a hundred regrets roiling inside her. Did he feel the same as she, or was that only wishful thinking? Wrenched back to the moment, she frowned. “Well, that’s easy. Any spell that helps others, such as healing an illness or saving someone’s life. I should think that would be obvious,” she said, raising her eyes to his.
“Ah, then, how would you define black magic?” He kept a level gaze on her.
“Any bewitchment that hurts someone, or worse, murder. If it causes pain or hardship to others, it’s black magic.”
“Well, suppose someone has an incurable illness, such as the deadly sickness that eats away at your body. What if that person is in terrible pain and slowly dying? If you could give the sufferer a strong dose of foxglove that would end his misery forever, would you consider that good magic or bad? Or would you consider it magic at all?”
“Oh, I see what you’re getting at. But many people mistake healing for enchantment. For example, look how Radegunda healed people of so many illnesses. That is not magic, but many called her a witch because of her knowledge. This is aside from her actual magical ability.” She sighed. “There are no easy answers, are there?”
“Madam, take it from one who’s seen much suffering in life, there are rarely any easy answers.”
“Then I must leave it to the druids to determine what is good magic and what is bad.”
“The druids,” he mused aloud, “ rigid old men not known for their compassion.”
She sat up straight, a look of resolve on her face. “Then I shall charge them with codifying the rules, but I shall have the final say.”
“That would be best for the country,” he said. “Madam, never underestimate your good judgement.” His face assumed a solemn look. “And never doubt you will be restored to the throne. Together, we will make it happen.”
Chapter Thirty
I must keep on trying. I can't lose hope. Every day, Keriam kept vigil by Lina's side, holding her hand, speaking comforting words. But nothing happened. And I suppose it will be the same this day, she lamented, discouraged and heartsick. On the limestone floor, she knelt beside the young girl and placed her hands gently at each side of Lina's head. Her parents sat in the shadows, their heads bowed.
"Lina," she murmured, searching for the right words in the torathors’ language. She knew she spoke brokenly but prayed that the young girl would understand her words. "Your mother and father are so worried about you. Please believe me that you are not to blame for your brother's death. It was no one's fault. He was taken away by the Goddess, to live in the Otherworld. It was meant to be." She squeezed the child's hand. "Come join us again. We want to see you rise from the floor, hear you talk and laugh.Do it, Lina! Do it for your mother and father, for me!" Goddess, she prayed, please help me now. Please help me develop my ability to the fullest, so that I may cure this sick child.
The young girl's right forefinger moved, then her hand. Turning her head slightly, she opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Lina!" Keriam whispered, afraid to hope. "Your mother and father love you. No one blames you for anything. Please come back to us." She squeezed her hand again. "Please!"
Dorn and his wife rose from the floor. They inched closer, their eyes wide with anticipation.
"I . . .I . . ."The girl licked her lips and sighed. She shifted her left leg, a look of confusion on her face. "Where am I?"
"In your cave, with your mother and father! They want you back with them, the way you were. And thank you, Talmora, for helping me help this child. From hereon, I will never suppress my abilities. Keriam wanted to sing with happiness but feared to hope too soon.
The young girl blinked her eyes, then crinkled her eyes at Keriam. "Who are you?"
The chief and his wife stood, their faces infused with joy. "Is she--"
Keriam lifted her hand to stop them, afraid they would spoil the fragile moment. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'm a friend of your mother and father, your friend, too. Dear Lina, you have been asleep for a while, but we are happy to see you awake again."
Bracing herself on her elbow, the girl sat up and gazed around the cave. "Mother, father . . .?"
"Ah, daughter!" They rushed over and drew her into their arms, kissing her again and again. "You are well now. You are back with us!"
Keriam departed the cave quietly, leaving the family to share this golden moment. Outside, she blinked in the bright sunlight and leaned against the cave wall. Overcome with emotion, she took deep breaths, then walked away to rest by the river.
She met Roric along the way as he chopped a tree for firewood close by the river, using an axe with a polished stone head. "The chief's daughter is well again," she told him. "All it took was patience." And perhaps help from the Goddess.
Wiping his hand across his forehead, he leaned the axe against the tree, a look of relief on his face. "Princess, you have performed a miracle. The outlanders will never forget this."
She sighed, bracing herself against the tree. “Enough for now that I helped the chief’s daughter throw off her sickness.” Mentally and physically exhausted, she sank to the ground, where Roric joined her. She stretched out her legs, bracing her elbows behind her, staring up at a gray sky. “Soon winter will be upon us. So it will be months before we can start an offensive against Balor..”
He gave her an encouraging smile. “And we will win.”
She returned his smile, unsure if he spoke those words only to encourage her, or if he really meant them. They must defeat Balor; they had no choice.
* * *
A fire smoldering beside her, Keriam slept soundly that night under her thick bear robe. She mumbled in her sleep, her body stiffening. Numbness crept over her body, and a tingling sensation erupted over her arms and legs. Her body paralyzed, her spirit rose, at first only a few feet above the cave floor, then gradually escaping the cavern. Facedown, she floated far above the forest as she stared at the countryside, the bare trees, the farmers' fields, and far to the south, the capital city.
