Son of Avonar

CHAPTER 18

The morning dawned cool and gray, as did most summer mornings in the Uker valley, but the rising sun burned off the fog early. I awoke cramped and tired from the night on the dirt floor of the charcoal burner’s hut, and the lingering disturbance of my dreaming was hard to shake. Stars of night, why could I not be rid of it? Perhaps if I could get the unpleasant prince and his annoying servant on their way, I could go back to Dunfarrie and bury it all again. Yet I wondered. My cottage now seemed as remote as D’Natheil’s Avonar.

Tennice and Baglos were quiet that morning, too, brows furrowed and shoulders tight as we passed around chunks of dry black bread, spread with a paste of beans and leeks that was long past fresh. D’Natheil showed no interest in breakfast, but sat in the open doorway, intently scribing his wood chip with the point of his knife.

“What is it he makes?” I asked Baglos, as I smoothed my still-damp clothes into some semblance of order.

“I’ve asked, but he does not respond.”

“Is he well? He looks ill… or, no, maybe thinner somehow.” The growing sunlight revealed a tracery of lines around D’Natheil’s eyes. I’d not noticed them before.

Staying out of arm’s reach, Baglos questioned the Prince. D’Natheil shook his head, but rather than lashing out at the Dulcé as was his morning habit, he graced Baglos with his smile, the smile that was everything of good humor and unsullied delight.

The smile was the only constant in D’Natheil. I had never known anyone to change so rapidly, not only in the seasons of his mood, but in his physical appearance as well. I could no longer envision him as he had been on that day he appeared naked in the woods behind my cottage, but I would swear by everything I valued that it was not as he looked today or yesterday or a week ago. I had thought him little more than twenty, and from the Dulcé‘s tales I judged that close to accurate. And yet on this morning he looked almost of an age with me, as if these past days had laid brushstrokes of years and care on the canvas of his face.

Baglos denied it. “He is as he is, woman. Anything else is only your imagination.”

I told him that my imagination had been unused for so many years it wouldn’t know how to invent such a business. But, then, after a fortnight without, the Prince had shaved his face this morning. Perhaps that was the difference.

It took me a while after entering the gates of Yurevan to decide what had changed about the city since I had last visited. The mottled stone buildings of the University still dominated the city from its hilltop site, their cloisters welcoming the brightest thinkers from all the Four Realms. The winding brick streets were marked only by time, not war. Ironwork of intricately designed flowers and beasts still ornamented balconies and walls, and the flowers still bloomed in their charming niches. Quaint, tall houses peered down on passersby like old grandmothers inspecting their children’s children. It was the people were different, I finally decided.

In the past every street corner had been occupied by a speechmaker haranguing the populace about excessive taxation or the indenture of children, or a student debating society arguing points of history or the origins of the universe. No tavern had lacked an aspiring poet to serve up verses along with his ale, and no sausage cart had failed to employ a young philosopher ready to argue about whether your sausage truly existed beyond your desires. And everyone had taken time to listen.

No more. Now the citizens of Yurevan hurried about their business with averted eyes, and vendors offered no word beyond your transaction. Only on one corner stood a wild-eyed, shabbily dressed man, preaching that the stars foretold the doom of Leire and the coming of a philosopher-king. Mothers pushed their gawking children past the man quickly, and while Tennice and I bought sausage and cheese to take back to D’Natheil and Baglos, green-clad guardsmen dragged the man into the street and beat him silent.

“Yurevan’s no different from any Leiran-ruled city any more,” said Tennice, hurrying me through an alley to avoid the guardsmen, who were laughing as one of their fellows relieved himself on the crumpled body of the madman. “Evard has set up his own man to run the University. He claimed rebels were using it as their lair, disturbing the freedom of the academics. He’s come near ‘protecting” the place to death. Ferrante wouldn’t lecture there any longer. One of his friends after another disappeared when rumors of sedition touched them, and he decided it was safer to take only private students at home.“

“I had no idea.” Conquerors had always paid deference to the University, even when the cultural centers in other cities were looted and burned, even in the death throes of the Vallorean kingdom. I had come to think it was some deep-rooted yearning to share in the wisdom tangible in its cloisters. “I always imagined that no matter what madness enveloped the rest of the world, Yurevan and the University would be exempt from it.”

“That belief is what brought me here. But we were wrong. The madness is everywhere.”

Thinking that four together would be too conspicuous, Tennice and I had come alone to seek out the J’Ettanni woman. We’d left our horses at a hostelry and made our way through the narrow, twisting streets that climbed University Hill. Tennice stopped at a bookshop that he frequented and asked the owner if he knew where he could find gymnea, a medicinal ointment used for failing eyesight. The bookseller directed us to an herbary two streets west and four streets north. They had a good selection, he said, though the shop was run by a “right prickly sort of woman.”

Halfway along a bustling lane we found the tall, narrow shop with a wooden sign over the door that read herbs, teas, medicaments. The storefront sported two windows, each with its wooden planter box crammed with aromatic flora, and when we opened the shop door, we were almost bowled over by the hodgepodge of scents. The tiny room was filled floor to ceiling and on every wall with row upon row of shelves, each crammed with neatly labeled glass jars and tins and paper bundles. Two worktables crowded the rest of the room so that it was almost impossible to move. On one table was a stack of thin paper, a ball of string, a mortar and pestle, measuring cups and spoons, and a small brass balance. On and under the other table lay heaps of plants, stacks of jars and boxes, and innumerable trays of roots, leaves, stems, and flowers spread out to dry.

Two well-dressed women stood by the weighing table chattering about the ague and the grippe, and the annoyances of servants who forgot themselves enough to get laid up. A small, dark-haired young woman measured a quantity of black seeds into one pan of the balance. She transferred the seeds to a sheet of paper, briskly folded the paper into a small packet, and exchanged it for a coin. “Anything else, Madame LeDoux? Have you fenugreek tea for Nidi’s throat?”

“Plenty for now. Perhaps next week if she’s no better.”

“Good day, then.”

“Good day, my dear.”

The two ladies fluttered out the door, and the girl turned to Tennice and me. “What do you need?” Her dark hair was cut short, and it hung straight, framing her high cheekbones and light eyes. Her well-defined chin and short, straight nose complemented her blunt manner. She could be no more than eighteen. When the girl stepped around the table, eyeing our disheveled clothing impassively, I was astonished to note that she wore trousers. I had thought my own split skirt bold.

Tennice spoke up. “We’re seeking the owner of this place.”

“Why?” said the girl.

“We have business with her.”

“You may tell me of your business.”

“No, young lady, this is private business.”

“The owner does no private business with strangers.” The girl’s words snapped like dry sticks.

Tennice whispered to me, “Speak to her, Seri. You know I’ve never been adept at handling women.” An understatement to be sure. Though neither kings nor dukes nor judges could faze Tennice, a timid serving maid could throw him into a fluster.

I started again. “Perhaps, if you’d be so kind, you could give the owner a message from us?”

“I might.”

“Tell Kellea that we were recommended by a friend. He says this is the only place to buy a rare herb to treat the gout. We would appreciate a word with her.”

The girl looked at us strangely. “What word would you have with Kellea? If all you want is mycophila, then I can get it for you.”

“Please, we wish to consult Kellea on a confidential matter. You understand. A bit embarrassing to talk about… Is there a time when we could find her here or perhaps a place where we could meet her? Our friend recommended her especially.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders. “You’re speaking to her already. I’m Kellea.”

No, no, no. The girl was too young. It had been almost twenty years since the destruction of Avonar. “There must be some mistake. Is there someone else by the same name? Your mother, perhaps? Or perhaps another herb shop? We were expecting an older person.”

“There’s no other Kellea. My mother had a different name and is long dead, anyway, and this is the only herb shop in Yurevan. What’s your business? Tell me the name of your friend.”

Tennice and I looked at each other in confusion. “I must have been wrong,” he said.

“Kellea!” called a croaking voice from beyond a narrow doorway.

“What is it, Grandmother?”

“Tea, dear heart. Could you bring me a cup of nine-leaf tea?”

“I have customers who are just leaving. As soon as they’re off, I’ll bring it.”

I looked sharply at the girl. “Your grandmother. Is her name perhaps the same as yours?”

“I told you, I’m the only Kellea. If you have business with me, state it.” She folded her arms tightly across her breast, her hostility shoving us out the door before our feet had moved.

I hated abandoning our only clue. Kellea was the only one of the four—Then it struck me. The herb shop, shelves laden with medicines. The names. “Kellea,” I said, scarcely restraining my excitement, “what is your grandmother’s name?”

“This is ridiculous. What could you possibly—?”

“It would be a great kindness. It’s very important.”

I might have been dragging the answers from her with red-hot pincers. “Her name is Celine.”

Context. How is it we can stand in two different rooms, hear the same combination of letters and sounds, and our minds construct such differing images? Tennice had spoken four names, but I hadn’t listened in the proper context. “Celine” was not a vanished stranger, one more unmarked name in a list of the uncountable dead. I knew her. “Please, Kellea. May I speak with your grandmother? My information was in error, and she’s the one I need to see.”

“My grandmother sees no one. She’s quite feeble.”

“I swear to you that I mean her no harm. I’m a friend of her friends. Take her the message I give you, and if she commands us go, we’ll go.” I took a deep breath and reached backward. “Tell her I knew a student of hers from long ago. He learned many lessons from her, but the most important one was to look at the whole person before judging the worth of their gifts.”

As rigid as an iron spike, the young woman disappeared into the back room. She returned quickly. “She’ll see you. But only for a moment. You mustn’t tire her. She turns ninety next month.”

Tennice and I followed Kellea into a tiny room that smelled of lavender and mint. A sunny window flooded the room with light and air and myriad other scents from a courtyard crowded with planter boxes and baskets of herbs and flowers. In a chair by the window sat an old woman, so withered and dry that it looked as if the slightest breeze could swirl her away like dust. Her head nodded continuously in the way of the very old, but her blue eyes blazed with curiosity. “Who is it speaks of long ago?”

“My name is Seri, madam, and this is my friend, Tennice of Verdillon. I cannot say how honored I am to meet you. Never did I believe I would have that privilege.”

“That’s all very nice, but you haven’t answered my question.”

“My husband was your student. His name was Karon, eldest son of the Baron Mandille, Lord of Avonar.”

Celine showed no fear. No hesitation. But she was listening, surely, awash in stillness. Even her head had stopped its bobbing for the moment. “And what has this to do with me?”

“He told me of his mentor whose name was Celine, and of how she took a frightened and awkward boy and taught him the beauty of his calling. And when he became cocky, as young men do, she taught him the grace to look for the gifts in everyone. He told me of your candlemaker and your sons, and how, whenever he had a problem, he would think first, ”What would Morin do?“ ”

The old woman extended her hand, her head nodding again as if I had recited my lesson correctly.

“Grandmother!” said Kellea.

But the old woman’s handclasp was firm, and she examined me with unclouded eyes. “Karon. Such talent he had— and the heart to match his skill. Lifegiver, we called him. I didn’t know he lived past the dark day. But I see in you that he has gone the way of the rest of them.”

“Ten years ago. He was discovered.”

“I was old when he came to me. Who would have thought I would outlive him? I suppose I’ve outlived them all.” How familiar was her speech. Not querulous or sad, but only wondering at the mysterious ways of life, rejoicing, even in grief, at the interleaving of joy and sorrow and pain and beauty. “And you were his wife. You were not of Avonar?”

“No. We met several years later.”

“You knew what he was?”

“Yes.”

“It’s no easy thing to love a Healer—to share with a thousand others what should be yours alone.” She touched my cheek with her warm, dry finger. “You laughed with him?”

“Very much.”

“Good.” Celine settled back in her chair, shaking her head solemnly. “No. No easy thing to walk the Way with a Healer.”

Kellea stood watching like a new-honed knife, ready to slice the first thing that came in its path.

“So this is your granddaughter?” I said, wanting to leave the past behind and get to our business.

“Great-granddaughter. Morin’s granddaughter, newborn only a week before the dark day. On the day the Leirans came, I had taken her for a walk in the hills to give her mother a rest. I watched from the hilltop as the soldiers burned Mandille and Christophe and Eduardo and everyone else of the J’Ettanne, and they put my Carlo and Morin and the rest of the people of Avonar to the sword. Now, why are you here? Not to reminisce. Not after so many years.”

“We found you through Professor Ferrante.”

“I’m surprised at that. He was sworn. Why?”

“The story is so long. I hate to tire you with it.”

“I’ve nothing better to do. Kellea runs the shop. I sleep here in the sun or watch the flowers bloom. Soon I’ll be in L’Tiere and have all the sleep I’d ever want. Keep me awake for a while.”

Through the long afternoon I sat at Celine’s feet and told her the story of D’Natheil and Baglos, and the reason I sought a J’Ettanni survivor. Whenever the bell on the shop door rang, Kellea would disappear and tend to her customers, and then she would return to her post at Celine’s doorway. At every half hour, she would tell me that Celine needed to rest.

“Hush, child, and listen,” Celine said to her after the third time Kellea ordered us out. “These are matters of concern to you.” And then to me. “Kellea is greatly gifted, but she has never known any of the J’Ettanne but her old grandmother, has never heard the stories told on Av’Kenat, never had a mentor for her talent. I could not be all things to her.”

“I need none of those things, Grandmother. Just you. I want you left in peace.”

“Did you not hear the story, girl? If we don’t help, then even such peace as we know may be swept away.”

“Why do you believe them? Because they say familiar words and names? You’ve taught me to trust no one, and now you open your door to these people without a question. It could all be lies.”

Celine patted my arm as she spoke to her granddaughter. “If you cannot tell truth from lies when you’re ninety, then you’ve made a great waste of your time and deserve no better than you get.” She gave me a thoughtful glance. “It’s quite a thing you ask, Seri, for me to read this man. It may not turn out as you wish.”

“But you’ll try?”

“I’ve seen my friends slaughtered and my sons and grandsons put to the torch. I’ve held life in my hand as few ever have a chance to do, with the choice to give or take. I’ve listened to the voices of my ancestors for ninety years. If you think I would miss the chance to find out why, then you should bottle me in one of my own glass jars and sell me as a specific for inducing madness.”

“Grandmother, you can’t!” But Kellea’s horrified exhortation was drowned in Celine’s hoarse laugh, and as Tennice and I joined in, the girl stormed out of the room.

“Now the two of you be off,” said Celine, wiping the tears that rolled down her dry cheeks. “Let me soothe the fears of my sulking child and take myself a nap. Bring your silent friend tonight after dark. Then will we investigate the mysteries of the universe.”

When we reclaimed our horses at the hostelry, one of the grooms was saddling a large black horse. The shape of its head, its legs… the trim of mane and tail… the saddle I had shared with Paulo on the ride from Grenatte to Dunfarrie… Rowan’s horse. I urged Tennice to hurry and did not breathe easy until we were lost in the press of traffic heading for the outer gates of the city.