The Key of the Keplian

3

The winter was both a time of friendship and a time of hardship for Eleeri. Cynan taught her all the scraps of languages he had picked up over a long busy life. To that knowledge he added warnings, hints, and beliefs about the places of the Old Ones, their natures, and beginnings. His mother had possessed some small gifts, so that the girl’s increasing abilities failed to distress him as they might have another. The girl herself barely noticed that her gift was growing, stretching as she used it. She had always had the horse gift; it was a part of her.

But in the clear air of this new land, things were changing. Before she had been able to handle the wildest mare, soothe the most savage stallion. Foals had run to her for comfort. By the time she’d reached seven or eight, Far Traveler had been using her to start the training process for the horses he accepted. Beasts trained by her seemed to be calmer, more intelligent and sensible. Eleeri had loved the work but hated it when each four-footed friend left again. She knew that all too many owners would treat them as cheap machines.

She loved horses, the feel of hard muscle sliding under her hands as she groomed. The rough strands of mane, the scents and the sounds. But she loved most of all the feeling of communion she had with them, their trust and returned affection. Over that winter she did not regard it as odd that this communication deepened. It had been rare for her to keep a horse past the few weeks necessary to explain their new duties to humans. With these three she had spent much time and many months. Of course they had responded. But Cynan, watching, knew that it was far more. There were times when it was as if the minds of girl and horse mingled so that beast and rider were one.

He deliberately moved onto that subject one night. “Eleeri, the power often comes as it will and not as you will it.” She glanced up, but said nothing. “You say that in your own land none have great power, only small gifts that tend to lessen with each generation.” The girl nodded. “Then think on this. Here it is not so. It may be that here the gift you have grows. I do not believe it is so small as you think, and such gifts untrained can be dangerous. If you come upon anyone who can, let them teach you.”

“Look, I don’t think I have the power you do. But”—she looked up and smiled, a smile of affection for the old warrior—“I promise I’ll get teaching if I can find a willing teacher. And”—she held up a hand before he spoke—“I’ll make sure this one is of the Light before I begin to learn, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cynan returned to the shirt he was mending and Eleeri to the deerskin trousers she was making. Over the autumn she had hunted well, and not a hide or fur had been wasted. The quiet isolation of winter was a time for using these. She planned to leave Cynan a complete set of the deerskin garments along with a fur cloak. She knew that nowadays his old bones ached in the cold. She also planned to make a pair of special knee-high moccasins for him. The hide under the foot was to be triple-layered and the moccasins would be fur-lined. That would keep his feet warm and dry when he must go into the snow to tend the beasts next winter.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. It would not be easy to leave. But he would be furious if she stayed. He would know it was to look after him, and his pride would be cut to the heart. She understood the pride of a warrior. She would not wound the old man by counting him as less than he was. He had come back to this place which had once been his, to die. They both knew it. Here in a tiny graveyard higher into the hills lay the bodies of his wife and last child. The bodies of his parents, and his siblings. The hold had been the refuge for his bloodline for so long, the years faded to dust.

Her mind wandered to his words. She wasn’t sure . . . perhaps her gift was growing stronger. But why should she have any great gift at all? It was true that there had been medicine men and women of ability in Far Traveler’s line. Too many times she had been forced to bite down on hot words as her schools decried those gifts, calling them native superstition. Something snagged on her thoughts and she dimly recalled the teasing that her grandfather had given his wife. Yes . . . she concentrated, and the memories grew a little clearer.

They had been around the table: her mother Wind Talker, her father, and his parents. It was on one of her grandparents’ rare visits to Eleeri’s home. Her grandfather had been speaking of Cornish superstitions and their use.

“. . . a method of control in many cases.”

“Then you don’t think there was ever anything more?” That had been her mother.

“Not to denigrate your beliefs, my dear, but no, I don’t. I think that it was usually a way to handle large numbers of people. To persuade them into suitable actions. For instance, in New Zealand a tapu may be placed on shellfish to allow the numbers to recover after a bad season. The people believe they will be cursed if they touch them until the tapu is lifted. In this way their elders control them and the food supply.”

He had suddenly chuckled. “If I believed all the old talk, I’d never have married your mother-in-law.”

His son moaned. “Not that old tale again, Dad.”

But Wind Talker was interested. “Is there some story?”

John Polworth leaned back, coffee cup in hand. “Story, that’s all it is, but it does show the power of superstition. Your mother was a Ree before I wed her. The old folks said that was an uncanny line. Reckoned that a long time ago the women had been priestesses of another faith and that it was bad luck to wed them. Jane’s great-grandmother was Jessie Ree. They said she could call storms or calm them if they came. Lot of rubbish, but my folks didn’t want me to wed Jane.”

Wind Talker leaned forward. “But you married her despite this.”

“I did indeed, my dear. I’ll have no truck with such nonsense, and so I told them. Jane Ree is the one I want and that was my last word on the subject.” He drank from his cup and set it down again with a decisive thump.

His wife smiled at them. “It certainly was his last word. But his parents never quite accepted me until John said we were leaving. He’d had the offer of a good job across the water, and maybe the people there would care less about superstition and more about the fact he loved me and I was a good wife. So we came and we’ve never regretted it.”

Eleeri sat, remembering the feeling of warmth and love that had surrounded her then. In later years she had heard other reasons for the hasty departure of the Polworths from Cornwall to their new country. A war had been coming, and John Polworth had no time for war. It didn’t fit into his plans, to die fighting in a country far from his own, for a cause he was not sure he believed in. So he’d married Jane swiftly and accepted the promised job in America. By the time war touched the United States also he was in a reserved occupation. She might have scorned him as a coward. But Jane knew it had not been that alone. He would have been no use as a fighter and he knew it.

She wondered if he had ever regretted his decisions. He had loved his wife, that had not been in doubt. He had appeared happy in his work and country, too. But did he ever wish to be back on his rock and seagirt land? She shrugged. Perhaps he’d had a wish when he knew in that last few seconds that he and Jane were about to die.

It was strange that both her parents and grandparents had died in accidents. It had been the year following that night around the table. A vacation, a crashed plane—and among the dead, the names of her grandparents.

Her parents had been killed in a car crash the year after that, when she was nine. For a whole six months she had lived—derided, despised, and humiliated—with the Taylors, her aunt and uncle. Finally she had fought back with a smuggled letter to Far Traveler. But before he could come, her uncle had caught her releasing a horse he was breaking. She could not have helped herself; the animal’s weary pain and confusion had cried out to her beyond refusal. But it had happened before. He was a man of quick and brutal temper and she was the despised Indian. He had beaten her far more savagely than he had intended, but it had saved her in the end. Far Traveler had come that afternoon.

Her relatives had made the mistake of refusing to allow him entrance. But with the rise of Indian rights and consciousness this had been more foolish than they had realized. Her great-grandfather had gone to find a man he knew. This one had spoken to others, and Far Traveler had returned with support. She had been brought out and, partly from the pain of her beating, partly with the knowledge that this might be a way out, had fainted within the circle of adults. Action had been swift after that.

She had been discussed, questioned, and refiled. Far Traveler had accepted her into his home, and certain friends had stood surety that she would be cared for. She might even have believed herself to have been safe, beyond the malice of a man steeped in hatred of her race, but for that last glimpse of him as she was taken away. He had watched, eyes bright with hatred. A long measuring look said that one day he would have his chance to pay her back for this humiliation. She had known that once Far Traveler died there would be no refuge. The Taylors would take her back, aided by social services people who would believe it was best for her.

She guessed that the years after that only distilled Taylor’s hatred. That in the time before she reached sixteen he would be able to build a cage of lies that would entrap her, perhaps forever. She had made her choices, and freedom beyond hope had been the result. Maybe Ka-dih, Comanche god of warriors, had watched over her.

She now bent to her work again. Maybe the blending of the two bloodlines had each strengthened the gift. She knew her people had often had the horse gift, but hers was stronger by far than usual. She shrugged again. It was hers; the how no longer mattered.

Across the fire Cynan watched her, unnoticed. Firelight glinted on the high cheekbones, the aquiline planes of her face. The gray of her eyes turned to black in the shadows and the black of her hair to night. She looked to be slight with the long fine boning typical of his own race, but he had seen the strength under that deceptive appearance. The girl was a warrior. He’d spent much time teaching her sword drill, but even he could teach her nothing she did not already know with bow and knife. She moved with apparent slowness, the smooth motion deceiving the eye. In reality she was swift, fast-reflexed, and controlled.

From things she had let slip it would seem that her kinsman had trained her almost half of her life. You’d have thought the man had known where she would go, what choices she would make. Cynan smiled to himself. In all probability it had only been an old man’s memories. The girl had been taught as Far Traveler had been in his own distant youth. In teaching the child, he had unconsciously returned to the days when life was simpler for his people. But in so doing, he had given her an excellent education for the world she now found herself in. Maybe the gods had had a hand in it after all.

His eyes touched her with affection. She was a good child, kind and generous. He must persuade her to leave as soon as the path was clear. If she stayed too long after that, she would discover his secret. It had been only her aid that had brought him through this winter. If she realized this, she might choose to stay. He would rather that she left believing him to be alive behind her. And so he would be, through the spring, the summer, and into the autumn. But he could feel the knowledge deep inside himself. As the year faded into the death season, so would he. Before first snows he would be gone. He smiled; it was time.

But he would not have her here mourning over his body. He’d seen the pain the death of her kinsman still caused her. Let her ride out knowing she’d left him well prepared for next winter. As the last days of next autumn faded into the land, he would seek out the graves of his loved ones. There he would lie down and pass to join their spirits. He would not have the child there to grieve when it happened. Nor would he have her live the next winter alone in a deserted hold.

His mind wandered. The horses: he needed none of them; she must take the three. He wished to give her a leave-taking gift, too.

He rose quietly and strode up the ancient stone stairs. He’d given almost everything of value to his far kin before he returned here. One thing yet remained. He pressed a stone in the wall, caught at the edge as it swung out. Within was a tiny casket carved of a glowing golden wood. Fingers fumbled at the catch, then the lid rose to release a sweet scent and a soft flare of light. He chuckled softly. Of all the things he could have kept, it had been this one. It would weigh nothing; she had enough weight to carry. But that she would love this he knew; it was right for her. Perhaps Another had a hand in this, too.

He replaced the stone and returned to his mending. When the time came, he would be ready. In the meantime, it would be well if the child also learned to write at least one language in this world that was new to her. He rose again to fetch what he needed.

“What are you up to now?” Eleeri asked him. “You haven’t sat still for a minute this evening.”

Cynan looked at her thoughtfully. “There are several things I know which may help you in days to come. Two I could teach you while winter keeps us inside this hold: one is reading in the tongue of Estcorp; the other is signing.”

Eleeri jerked upright, her eyes suddenly alert. “Your people have a sign language?”

Cynan smiled. “I see yours do also. Ours developed only with the need to fight. Oh, hunters had always held some signs in use. But when we rode to war and as scouts, the language developed greatly. You learn well and quickly. If your people also had such a language, I think you would have no trouble learning ours.”

“Then I will, and I’d like to try reading as well. My great-grandfather always said that one should learn if any were willing to teach, that knowledge was never wasted.”

“He was a wise man,” Cynan commented. “Come, sit beside me and I will show you the signs. After that . . . I have only one book, but you will learn well enough with that to read.”

The winter moved on slowly, and at last the thaw started. With many months to study, Eleeri could now sign in the simple language of hunting and war as well as any born to this variation. She could also read, albeit with some stumbling over unfamiliar words.

By now she was more than ready to ride. Furs and skins had all been made into stout clothing. Saddles and horse gear were mended and oiled. She would use the horses in turn to hunt, as yet they were unfit for a long trail.

Water trickled down the stones of the hold, dripped miserably from the roof, gathering in deep sticky mud in doorways. Eleeri heaved a sigh. She hated that, but it would all pass when the weather warmed further.

It did so, and to her surprise, Cynan insisted on coming out to ride once the land had dried.

“The mud has gone and my bones no longer ache so much.” He smiled at her. “Besides, there is something I would show you.” He refused to say more, leading her deep into the hills as her sturdy pony obediently followed the tail of Cynan’s mount. They rounded the bend to find themselves in a small cup of flat land. Most of it was taken up by . . .

“The place of the Old Ones you told me about?”

“Even so, my child.” He dismounted laboriously. “Sit here on the grass and listen.” He waited until Eleeri was settled comfortably. “My people worship Gunnora. She is the Lady of fruit, grain, and fertility. Lady of love and laughter. In her name we celebrate the change of a girl into womanhood. The amber pieces you showed me are of great worth. They contain seeds and could be sold as amulets of her symbol. I think they did not come to you by accident. Guard them well. Do not show them to others, but if you can, pray to Gunnora at need.”

Eleeri considered that. It sounded as if this Gunnora was the same as the Corn Woman, goddess to many Indian tribes. She would feel no sense of wrong in praying to Corn Woman under another name.

“I can do that, and I’ll cherish the amber. What else?”

“In Escore and on your journey there will be danger. Not only from beasts and man, but also from creatures of evil. They could imperil more than your body. I would ask of those who built this place if they will grant you guards.”

The girl blinked. Was he going to ask for ghost guard dogs or magic swords?

Cynan saw her confusion. “You have seen me place the small pebbles I carry about the doors. Those are guards, in a way. While they lie in any entrance, nothing which is of the Dark can enter. Men who are wicked, that is another thing,” he added as both remembered the bandits.

“Is this Gunnora’s shrine, then?”

He shrugged. “For all the time my family has lived here, we have prayed to her. The Old Ones built this place, but if it was Hers when it was laid down, we do not know.”

Eleeri studied it. It was simple, of a spare elegant design. Merely a pavement laid out in a star made from many hues of marble. Around the edge on each star point stood a tall white pillar. Yet it breathed a tremendous feeling of peace. Of a harbor safely attained. She was drawn again, rising without hesitation to approach the edge.

“What do I do?”

“Think about your need to be guarded from evil. Then step forward to stand in the star center if you can.”

She obeyed. At first it was difficult. Cynan had told her of many creatures who fought against the Light. But she’d seen none. It was hard to create them in her mind, along with a request for protection against them. It became easier the longer she tried.

Holding them in her mind’s eye, she walked forward.

Behind her, walls of mist lifted between the pillars so that she vanished from Cynan’s sight. He relaxed. That which dwelled here had accepted her as Daughter to the Light. It might refuse her request, but she was safe.

Within the mist walls, Eleeri stepped to the star center. There she bowed her head in a polite acknowledgment. Warmth gathered around her. So, there was something here. She would ask for help.

She did so, to receive in turn a wordless question. How much would she value this favor? After that it seemed that her mind would burst, as into it flowed a montage of evils. She saw Gray Ones run mad, killing, rending with tooth and talon all who crossed their paths. She saw odd-looking small creatures covered with a long coarse hair like roots, who burrowed to bring a slow smothering death to those who fell into their traps. Pools of evil showed as blighted blotches on the land. Into them she saw those unguarded stray and be consumed, body and soul together.

She shuddered. “What do you want?” Fear grew as the images all but overwhelmed her.

You! Slay Cynan and I will give you power over anything you desire.

“NO!” Eleeri stepped back in anger. “You’re supposed to be Light.”

He is dying.

“His life is his own.”

There was the sensation of being gathered into strong, loving arms.

Well said, child. The guards you ask shall be given. Before her a figure grew: a woman taller than Eleeri, with shimmering hair. It flowed golden down the straight back of the figure, caressing the woman’s green gown, tendrils straying outward. Without volition Eleeri knelt. Her hands were caught in long fingers as she was lifted up again. Then Eleeri’s hands were turned over. Into them the woman dropped four small smooth stones.

“Cynan will show you how they may be used. Good fortune ride with you, Eleeri of another people.” She began to fade as the girl fumbled with the pouch about her throat.

“Wait, oh, please wait.”

The woman’s shape firmed again. “What is it, child?”

“A gift for a gift.” Purple and blue fire flashed in Eleeri’s hands. She held out the gems left to her by Far Traveler. Somehow it seemed right that she should offer them. The woman stooped. The green and gold seemed to deepen as she took into her hands the bright pebbles. Mist swirled, brightening in the woman’s colors as she faded once more.

“A gift for a gift indeed, child. You who bear my guards also bear my symbols. Call on me with them in darkest times. I shall not forget you. Light bless your path.” She was gone, and Eleeri felt almost bereft. Slowly, cradling her four stones, she walked from the pavement.

Cynan was waiting. He said nothing, seeing the stones and the strange look on the girl’s face. Silently he led her back to the patient ponies. That night he taught her the stones’ warding. He found it interesting how swiftly she learned. It had been a matter for gossip once. Did those who came through gates have a gift given by the passage? Or were only those with the gift drawn to gates? It was said that Simon Tregarth had had little of the power in his own land, but a far greater portion in this. Could it be that beyond the gates the power was damped, to bloom more powerfully once the gate was passed? A thought to consider over long nights.

It took a week for Eleeri to learn all Cynan could teach her of the four stones. By then she, too, was beginning to wonder about her power. Always she could remember her horse-gift. There had never been a time she did not possess that. But since her arrival in Karsten, it seemed the gift was growing, and expanding into other areas. Cynan had shared his own questions, so that she, too, suspected many in her own world might have latent abilities. Still she did not wish to hold power. From what her friend said, it made of one too good a target. Still, the four ward stones had replaced the gems in the pouch at her throat. She suspected they would be weapons to her hand once she began her travels again.

But before that she had something she wished to do. Many things, in fact. She must hunt the yearling buck, culling out the smaller and weaker. They would be meat for Cynan. The old man had been trying to hide his growing weakness. He talked of her departure as soon as the last of the mountain snows were gone and the trails well dried. She knew why well enough, but it was his choice. If she was not there when he finally died, she could remember him as he had been to her: a strong friend and a teacher.

She hunted well. Then, closer to leave-taking, she made up her mind. The next day she would ride to the graves of his kin. She would scythe the grass short above the graves, place flowers. In her hunting she had found a brightly flowering bush with sweet-scented blooms. Now she raised one carefully. Back at the graves she gathered stone to stack along the earth that bordered where Cynan might wish to lie. She replanted the bright shrub in a mound of earth and leaf mold, next door to the grave of his wife. If he chose to lie there, it would be a fine marker for him who would have no other.

A month later, they rode down to the sea. There they gathered as much of the salt as they could scrape from the rocks. One by one they filled rock hollows above the reach of the waves. Over the next week the water would evaporate, leaving more of the priceless crystals.

With the coming of the warmth again, Cynan was stronger. His muscles moved more smoothly, but the knowledge of his death was still there. Each season from now on would be his last for him. Still, he often forgot as he hunted with the child, raced her along the beach, horses pounding through the sand.

Spring began to shift into early summer. His larder was filled with meat both dried and smoked. His bins were full of fruit and nuts, and the gathered greens the hills provided. At last he spoke.

“The trails are dry. It is time you left.”

Eleeri nodded. “Next week.”

“No.” His head shook firmly. “That you said last week and the week before. Let you spend tomorrow with me, the next day preparing. Ride out the day after that. It is time.” His hand stretched out to touch hers. “Child, child, to all things there comes a time. This is yours—to go. It is mine also, that you know but we will not speak of it.” He eyed her sternly and nodded as he saw acceptance. It was well. He stood and yawned. “I’m for my bed, and you, too, youngling. In the morning I will show you I can yet run you into exhaustion.”

She made a small jeering noise and headed for her own bedding. “I’ll sleep eagerly to see that.”

All the next day they spent together. They talked, strolling about the upper rooms of the hold as he told her of how it had been. They picked berries, sweet and sun-warmed, laughing like children together. They waded at the river’s edge, spearing small fish. These were a wonderful evening meal spiced only with the sea salt and herbs from the hill’s bounty.

The following day they readied the horses. Eleeri would have left him the strongest, quietest beast, but Cynan refused.

“I have no need of a horse. I never needed one before they came, I do not require one when they can leave with you. Sell two of them, trade one for supplies, I care not. But they are of no use to me.” His real reason was unspoken but understood by both.

The girl said no more. Quietly she filled her pack with articles she might need. The stirrups she bound high on the two beasts she would not ride. Her chosen mount was a sturdy dun, black of mane and tail, with legs dappled high in that same shade. A good horse in hills, surefooted and sensible, with hues that allowed him to fade into the landscape.

She studied the other two. Both were more showy, one chestnut, the other gray. Both wore polished mended gear and should fetch good prices if she chose to sell. Finally she ran out of things to do and returned inside. There she blinked in surprise. From somewhere Cynan had found a large cloth. This had been placed over the huge old table. Somehow he had moved that toward the fireplace and decorated it with branches and berries. Candles spread puddles of light across the feast that lay there.

Within the doorway Cynan bowed ceremoniously. “Be welcome to my house, Eleeri, Daughter of the House of Far Traveler. Feast with me before you take your road again.” He took her hand, drawing it through his arm as he conducted her to a seat.

She ate with determined appetite, laughing at his jests and storing all this in her mind. When they were done he stood.

“Long ago I had a thing made. It was to have gone to a daughter of my House. Her gift was friendship with beasts, and I deemed this which I had made to be right for her name day. But the turning came and she rode out to fight.” For a moment his eyes held ancient pain. “She never returned, nor could they bring her body back to me. She lies somewhere in these hills, holding still her watch against the enemy. Now I would give this gift to you, if you do not count it unlucky.” From under a leaf he produced the small gleaming casket and handed it to Eleeri.

The girl gasped. “It’s so beautiful.”

Cynan laughed. “The casket is not the gift, girl, that lies within. Open it and see.”

He watched as she gently lifted the carved lid. Her eyes lit with wonder as she twined fingers in the cord to lift the pendant free. It dangled from her hand, carved from some black stone with bright ruby eyes inset in the tiny arrogant head. A loop of silver was attached to a lock of flowing mane and through that the plaited cord Eleeri twisted in her fingers. It was a horse, and yet not quite a horse: there was something in the stance that betrayed intelligence. The eyes seemed to hold a life of their own and to look boldly up at her.

“Cynan, it’s wonderful. Where did it come from?”

“From these hills. I say that I had it made, but that is not correct. I had the loop attached, the cord plaited, the casket carved. The beast itself I found. Before the hills turned, there was a place of the Old Ones near here, perhaps an hour’s ride away. After my wife died, I went there often for the peace and comfort it brought me. One day I found that. I took it up and it seemed as if it was a gift of the Old Ones. I thanked them for it. Promised that she who would wear it was one of some power and would cherish it with respect.” He smiled. “I swear that it grew warm then in my hand. I took that as a sign it was truly right I should take it. Now it comes to you.”

Her hand closed around it tightly. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had. I’ll never part with it, Cynan, and I’ll always remember you when I see it.” She placed the cord about her neck and shifted the tiny horse to hang in front. “Now—I have something for you, too.”

She trotted away to return with a bundle clutched in her arms. “Here, shirt and breeches of deerskin and a fur cloak. You know how you feel the cold. And look, I made you moccasins to keep your feet warm. They have fur lining and triple soles.” She giggled. “Go and try them on. I want to be sure I got the sizes right.”

Cynan came down the stairs several minutes later. In the firelight she could almost believe him a warrior of the Nemunuh. His face broke into a happy grin as he advanced across the floor. He turned slowly.

“You have no need to worry. They fit well and they are warmer than any clothing I have had for more years than I would wish to number.” He straightened. “I will wear them to bid you farewell tomorrow. For now let us sleep; it is best to take the road early. That way you waste none of the day.”

It may have been a gift of the gods . . . they slept well and soundly that last night. Both had feared a wakeful night knowing this was good-bye. But their sleep was swift and their dreams kind. At first light both woke. Together they ate and drank in silence. Then Eleeri brought the horses and mounted. Beside her Cynan was dressed in the clothing she had made for him. She leaned down to take his hand.

“I will always remember you.” Her vision was blurred by tears. “I love you.” Her hand lifted. “For the feast you gave me, fair thanks. For the welcome of your gate, gratitude. To the ruler of this hold, all good fortune, and bright sun in the days to come.”

Cynan moved forward and as she leaned down, he reached up to hug her hard. “Ride in strength, warrior. May your weapons never fail and may Ka-dih bring you at last to a place befitting his daughter.” He slapped the pony firmly on its hindquarters and it started down the trail. As long as the road lay straight, Eleeri turned to watch him. At the bend, she lifted her hand and heard his final call echoing after her.

“Farewell, child. My love go with you.”

She rode on, tear-blinded, knowing she would never see or hear him again. Ahead lay an unknown future. Thus far she had prospered. What would her tomorrows bring?