The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 3

Gerick had already finished breakfast by the time I went downstairs the morning after Karon’s visit. I didn’t know whether he’d ever gone back to bed, but he always did exercises in the yard before his breakfast, so any sleeping he’d done would have been very short. In late morning I found him in the library, standing next to a small table on which lay an open book. He was running his fingers over the page, and he started when I wished him a good morning.

“Ah, just the person I need.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the large library worktable, patting a pile of manuscripts and papers. “You must rescue me. Tennice set me to read fifty pages on Leiran-Vallorean border disputes by tomorrow, but my Vallorean just isn’t good enough to make any sense of it. Do you have time to give me a boost?”

“Of course. But you must pay my fee first. You can guess I’m rabid to know about last night. Your father said the journey was uneventful… ”

Gerick’s face closed down and his whole body tightened, as always happened with any direct questioning. His hand on the stack of papers fell motionless. I would have sworn he had stepped away from me, though his feet had not moved. But then he shrugged his shoulders and glanced up, before quickly averting his eyes. “The Bridge was amazing, the crossing not half so fearful as I expected. Horrible things all around, but not touching me this time. Not inside me. It felt almost… familiar.”

I shuddered a little, recalling our journey out of Zhev’Na through the chaotic Breach.

“And the Gate… I’d never imagined it, the power of the enchantment. But it was a long journey for the short time we spent on the other side - less than an hour. He showed me his apartments, his private library, and a marvelous map of the whole world of Gondai that hangs in the air, so you can see the actual landforms and the mountains rising up from the plains. We walked down the passage to his lectorium, but he heard one of his Preceptors still working in there, so we didn’t go in. He hadn’t expected anyone to be about. We were out of time, anyway.”

He pulled a chair up close to the worktable and drew his papers toward him. “I’d best get to work now.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Mmm.” He dug a thick sheaf of papers from the stack. “Here’s what I was having trouble with… ”

We spent a pleasant hour with no further mention of the night’s adventure or his nightmare. When he had his task well in hand, I took up the letter I’d come to finish.

As the clock in the hall below us struck the noon hour, Gerick threw down his pen and shoved a rolled manuscript across the table. “That will have to be enough,” he said. “My eyes have gone crossways, and the pen’s gouged a ridge through my fingers.”

“I doubt you’ll suffer the ill effects for long,” I said. “It’s an important subject. Border disputes are blamed for every war between Leire and Valleor, but if you read the histories, you’ll see how much more there is to it. Leirans think of Valloreans as soft and corrupt. Valloreans think of Leirans as ignorant barbarians. Both are quite wrong. And someday you’ll recognize what a liberal-minded statement that is from your Leiran mother!”

“I don’t see what use it is for me to learn such things.” He stripped off his coat and threw it on a chair. “I’ll finish it later. I need to see what’s up in the stables.”

Leaving unspoken the motherly platitudes that came to mind, I returned to my own project. Peace, routine, care that did not smother, whatever we could of a normal upbringing in a gentleman’s house, that’s what we tried to provide for Gerick.

I instructed him in languages, composition, mathematics, “motherly” things like manners, and unmotherly things like the politics of the Four Realms. Tennice tutored him in philosophy, rhetoric, history, and law, and tried to speak with him of matters a sixteen-year-old boy might not wish to discuss with his mother. Paulo was his friend; Teriza, the housemaid, treated him with respectful distance; and thirteen-year-old Kat was his worshipper. He had been uncomfortable, at first, with the serving girl’s unremitting devotion, but her innocent charm had worn away enough of his reserve that he could accept her small services with a solemn and gracious demeanor. It seemed to help that Kat worshipped Paulo in exactly the same way.

The only area in which our regimen differed from that of most Leiran households was in its emphasis on the intellect at the expense of military training. As a boy at Comigor, Gerick had been provided with a fencing master, and it had been his childhood ambition to be a master of the sword as my brother Tomas - the man he had once believed to be his father - had been.

But Gerick had not touched a sword since leaving Zhev’Na. He had vowed to forego physical opposition of the Lords when he became one of them, and, to seal his oath, the Three had melted his weapon as it lay on his palms, scarring them horribly. Karon didn’t know whether Gerick’s refusal to take up the weapon again was based in the belief that using a sword in any way would be a violation of his vow - bearing arms against those he had sworn not - or whether the experiences of Zhev’Na had somehow made the sword repugnant to him. The question remained as yet another mystery Gerick could not or would not explain.

When, in my turn, I was ready to leave the library, I indulged a bit of curiosity. The book that had interested Gerick was a journal belonging to the late Professor Ferrante, a history scholar at the University in Karon’s student days and one of the few people in the Four Realms who had known that Karon was a sorcerer. Our friend Tennice had inherited this house when the professor was murdered by the Zhid. On the open page were Ferrante’s notes from a time twenty years past, scribblings of students’ names and assignments, notations of appointments and tutorials. I could see no item more interesting than the others, until I came to one near the bottom of the page.

K. unable to complete exposition of Cenadian glyphs due to climbing accident. Advanced him twenty diracs to hire a scribe until next funds from M. Warned him the wrist will knit crooked when he refused to have Ren Gordac see to it. Should have thought. It was his left. Unfortunate the boy can’t take care of it himself. How strange to have such skill. Stranger still to be unable to take advantage of it.

Gerick must have guessed the passage was about Karon in his student days, as I knew it was. Karon’s left arm had already been covered with scars, each one the mark of a healing he’d done and a telltale to anyone hunting evidence of sorcery. As I descended the stairs, I wondered if Karon still felt the ache in his left wrist when winter came, even though the bone was not the same one broken in the fall so long ago. How much of memory resides in the physical body and how much resides in the soul? That was another part of the lingering awkwardness between Karon and me; even after four years neither of us knew exactly how much of him remained. Surely if we had more time together, things would be easier.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly as was usual at Verdillon. The stream of our life flowed peacefully here. I felt safe and hidden, despite the sullied hopes of the night.

After supper Tennice, back from Yurevan, challenged me to a game of chess. A grumbling Gerick returned upstairs to the library to finish his work, and Paulo headed back outdoors, leaving us alone in the sitting room.

Seri.

I looked up from the chessboard, but Tennice’s balding head was still bent over it. “What’s the problem?” I said. “Can’t you find a wicked enough move? You’ll have me in three as it is.”

Tennice didn’t look up, but twitched a bony hand in dismissal. “Hush, Seri. I thought you had better manners.”

“But you said - ”

Seri, I’m in the garden. Is it safe to come in?

The voice wasn’t Tennice’s at all. “In the garden… of course… Yes, of course, come in! It’s just Tennice here with me.”

Tennice looked up this time, his puzzlement quickly erased. “He’s here again so soon?”

Twice in two days? Unheard of. Perhaps the time for closing the Circle had come sooner than expected. I hurried to the garden door to welcome him, not daring to hope that this visit meant a longer stay. To my surprise, Karon wasn’t alone.

Awkwardly I folded my arms in front of me instead of wrapping them around him. “Come in, please. It’s a fine night for company.” A slender, light-haired young man followed us through the back passage.

As soon as we reached the sitting room, Karon nodded formally to me and then to the young man, one hand extended toward each of us. “Madam, may I introduce Radele, son of Men’Thor yn Ustele? Radele, this is my wife, Lady Seriana Marguerite of Leire and our friend, Tennice de Salviet.” Karon then dropped his hands and clasped them behind his back. “I’ve brought Radele to stand guard here as I’ve said for so long I would.”

“Stand guard… has something happened?” I asked. Ever since our Dar’Nethi friend Kellea had returned to the village of Dunfarrie the previous year, Karon had wanted to bring in a Dar’Nethi to protect Gerick and the rest of us in ways only a sorcerer could do. He’d kept putting it off, saying he wanted to find someone he knew well enough to entrust with such a mission. Strange that he hadn’t mentioned a word of this last night. “Have you given the signal already? The war - ”

“I just found the right person, someone willing to take on an exceptionally important duty, where he’ll most likely never need to lift a finger.” Karon moved across the room to the sideboard, where he began pouring wine. “We’ll assume he’ll acquire no glory here.”

I stared for a moment at his back as if an explanation might be scribed in the silver embroidery adorning his black doublet. Able to read nothing in Karon’s posture, I switched my scrutiny to the newcomer. “Welcome to Verdillon, sir. As my husband says, may you have no occasion to find glory at arms here.”

The young man made a graceful bow. “I’m a glory-shirker, madam,” he said. “Never have decided what rhyme the Singers would put with my name: meal, deal, seal. Very unwarlike, ineloquent rhymes.”

The young Dar’Nethi’s face was pleasant and open, his fair beard and mustache neatly trimmed. Pale brows and lashes framed eyes of the usual Dar’Nethi blue that sparkled with good humor. But why in the name of sense would Karon choose the kinsman of Men’Thor and Ustele, who in four long years had shown him nothing but hostility?

Tennice excused himself, saying he would summon Gerick and inform Teriza we had guests. Radele accepted a seat on the long couch near the hearth, but Karon remained on the far side of the room, leaning against the sideboard. He seemed exceptionally subdued, especially in contrast to his animation of the previous night. The hospitality of the evening was clearly left to me.

I took a seat beside Radele. “So are you a poet, sir, knowing so much of rhyming?”

“No poet, my lady, certainly not. My mentor was forever berating me for my lack of memory, and offered constant suggestions for my improvement, including setting important reminders into verse… ” With much animation, Radele began a long story of a rhyming spell he’d made as a boy. “… though he at last gave in, for the winter was bitter cold in the western Vales that year. But the master never could wear the hat without breaking into tears at the memory of his cat.”

I could not stop laughing at his tale. Even so few moments’ conversation revealed Radele to be as charming in manner as in appearance, entirely unlike Karon’s reports of his dour father and grandfather. The young Dar’Nethi promised to be a delightful addition to our household.

The young man’s good humor was going to be a necessity, of course. Gerick wasn’t going to like having a Dar’Nethi bodyguard. Not at all.

As I was still smiling at Radele’s story, Gerick hurtled down the stairs, stopping in the foyer to run his fingers through his hair and pull a tight, rust-colored jacket over his beige cambric shirt. Then he stepped into the sitting room, bowing first to Karon and then to me. “Good evening, my lord. Mother.”

Karon nodded to Gerick without speaking and took another sip of his wine.

Radele rose from the couch. Sober, expressionless, Gerick stood waiting by the door, looking first to his father and then to the visitor. Lest the awkward silence grow lengthier, I took up the introductions. “Gerick, may I present Radele yn Men’Thor yn Ustele? Your father has brought him to stay with us for a while. Radele, this is our son, Gerick yn D’Natheil.” Dar’Nethi conventions included paternity only through living forebears, else Gerick’s lineage would have been a bit more complicated.

“My lord.” Radele bowed, his palms extended in the Dar’Nethi custom of greeting. I could find no fault with his respectful address or posture though neither seemed particularly warm. “A pleasure to meet you at last. I glimpsed you last night on your visit to the palace - your first, I think - but the Prince whisked you away before we could be introduced. Everyone in Avonar is anxious to make your acquaintance. I shall be the envy of the city.”

That everyone in Avonar was anxious about Gerick was no doubt true. But I didn’t think it had to do with making his acquaintance. Gerick was the Prince of Avonar’s son and successor, acknowledged by the Preceptorate of the Dar’Nethi. But that acknowledgment had occurred before Gerick had stepped into a spinning, man-high brass ring called an oculus and become the Fourth Lord of Zhev’Na. Despite Gerick’s subsequent repudiation of the Lords, I could not imagine that the Dar’Nethi loathing for the Three of Zhev’Na would ever permit Gerick to sit Avonar’s throne. But for the moment, Karon chose to proceed as if Gerick were his heir, saying that his own beliefs and deeds must stand as Gerick’s advocates with his people.

Gerick did not address Radele, just inclined his head in a minimal politeness and removed himself to the farthest chair available while still remaining in the same room with us.

To my relief, Tennice returned just then, followed by Paulo bringing a tray of refreshments from Teriza. Further introductions and greetings left Radele engaged with Tennice. As I showed the tall, skinny youth where to set the fragrant tea, cold ale, and plates of various sweets, fruit, and cheeses, I whispered. “Stay, Paulo. I think Gerick would appreciate it.”

“If you say, ma’am” - he kept his voice low as I had done - “but I’m not dressed for company.”

I tugged at the red scarf he wore tied around his neck over his well-worn russet shirt and work breeches. “You very well know that you are welcome in our house at any time whether you’re wearing a loincloth or a ball gown.” He grinned and snatched a jam tart.

The dusting of freckles across Paulo’s thin, ever-sunburned face was almost the only reminder of the lame, illiterate boy from Dunfarrie that fate had embroiled in our adventures six years ago. Karon had healed his twisted body, and in return the shy youth had saved Gerick’s soul. His lanky frame now towered over Gerick and me. Paulo had turned eighteen this summer, a young man now.

As I had anticipated, Paulo gravitated to Gerick’s side, sitting on the floor beside Gerick’s chair and stretching his long legs across the tight-woven carpet. While Radele sat between Tennice and me, listening appreciatively to Tennice’s stories of growing up as the studious middle child between two rowdy brothers, the two youths munched on Teriza’s cakes and pastries. Gerick murmured a bit to Paulo, even extracted a smile and a few words from him, but he never smiled himself, and he made no effort to speak to any of the rest of us throughout the evening.

Despite Tennice’s humorous monologues and Radele’s witty ripostes, Karon stayed apart as well. He sat in a chair close to the door, resting his chin on a closed fist. My attempts to involve him in the conversation were met with a monosyllable at most. Yet his attention never wavered in the slightest from the company. Every time the talk slowed, the air felt oppressive.

All too quickly Karon rose. “I need to get back.”

His movement drew all of us into activity. While Tennice advised Radele about breakfast and washing water and the other facilities of the house, the two boys crammed the last of Teriza’s pie into their mouths, piled up the dishes, and carried them off to the kitchen. I went straight to Karon.

“What’s happening here?”

Karon took my arm and drew me farther from the others into a window alcove. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain. I’ve got to go” - he spoke so quietly that no one else could possibly have heard - “and I must speak with the boy for a moment.”

“But - ”

“Seri, be very careful. Please. Listen well and observe.”

I wouldn’t let him leave it at that. “Listen to what? Karon, why ever did you bring Men’Thor’s son here?”

“Because I need someone honorable, someone capable, and someone whose heart is not engaged with me or my family.” I started to protest again, but he pressed one finger to my lips. Then he kissed my hand, pressed it fiercely to his brow, and spoke out over my head. “Gerick, could you walk out with me?” His hand brushed my shoulder as he walked toward the door, giving Radele a stiff, wordless nod at the same time.

“Of course,” said Gerick. He set the last cups and plates back onto the table from which he’d just taken them and followed Karon into the front courtyard.

I peered through the window as they stood talking for a few moments. A serious conversation. Brief. Gerick folded his arms across his chest and watched thoughtfully as Karon strode into the distance and vanished.

I wouldn’t have been half so worried save that, throughout the entire evening, Karon had never once looked me in the eye. Something terrible had happened. I just didn’t know what.

Gerick had nightmares again that night. When I hurried to his bedchamber, I found Radele, sword drawn, examining the windows and doors and flicking the draperies aside as if expecting to find a cowering intruder. But only the moonlight had passed through the diamond-paned windows that overlooked the sleeping orchard… only the moonlight and whatever it was that violated a young man’s dreaming.

“All seems secure,” Radele said, when Gerick’s cries were aborted by his waking. “Is there anything I can do for you, young sir?”

“You can remove yourself from my bedchamber.” Gerick did not even look at Radele. He grabbed his breeches from the foot of his bed and drew them up over his leggings, tucking in the rumpled shirt he had worn to bed.

Radele didn’t move. I smiled halfheartedly at the Dar’Nethi and nodded toward the door. Expressionless, he bowed and left the room.

“Gerick - ”

“I’m sorry to have waked everyone,” he said, pulling on his boots as if he couldn’t accomplish the task fast enough. “But I don’t need anything. Certainly not from him.” He planted a cold kiss on my cheek and hurried out, taking the stairs two at a time, leaving me alone in the moonlit bedchamber.

I sighed and smoothed his blankets, then followed him into the passage. Before returning to my own bed, I stopped at the stair landing where Radele slouched in a shadowed nook. He had one knee bent, the foot planted on the wall behind him, and was peering out of a small, round window that looked down on the stableyard. “Radele, I must apologize for my son’s rudeness. As my husband likely told you - ”

“Don’t trouble yourself, my lady,” he said, straightening his posture at my approach. “It is not my purpose to ingratiate myself with your son or to judge my success by his attentions, only to guard those who live in this house as my prince has commanded me. Watching and listening are my truest talents.”

“Your sword was most efficiently drawn,” I said.

The young man grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “My sword knows no place to be save in my hand. I’ve lived the sum of four and twenty years, ten of them on the walls of Avonar, watching and listening to prevent the cursed Zhid from slithering over. I’m not one to sit at leisure while others take action.”

“Watch well, then. Good night, Radele. And thank you.”

“Good night, my lady. Sleep well. You’ve nothing to fear.”