Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Read online

  Jeyn ran her finger across and southwest from the mark indicating their location in Raisal, on the north coast of the continent, to the centrally located capital of Rhenlan. “You’ll have a report by midday tomorrow.”

  “It will contain old news.” Before Jeyn could nag him in his wizard’s absence, he quickly added, “Which is the best I can hope for. I’m an impatient old man.” He was forty, and in perfect health.

  Jeyn did not respond to his teasing. She scowled at the map and asked, “What is Hion thinking?”

  “The situation has gone too far,” Sene agreed. “Rhenlan’s gone too far.”

  “Hion’s gone too far,” Jeyn corrected him. “And I’m not marrying his son.”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  “He did send an offer.”

  “And I sent it back, didn’t I?”

  That won him a predatory smile from his heir. Maybe the way to deal with Rhenlan was to let Jeyn take a hand in its future. No. The Dreamer problem was more important in the long run than any of Hion’s warped ambitions. Jeyn and her twin Chasa would marry the sensible Keepers he had picked out for them. That reminded him that Chasa’s betrothed was still with the Brownmothers in Rhenlan. Rhenlan. Not his land to rule. He didn’t want to rule any land except Sitrine. Unfortunately, by its location and the policies of its rulers, Rhenlan was becoming the center of everything important to the survival of the Children of the Rock.

  “There used to be more than three kingdoms,” he said aloud.

  “I know that, Father.”

  “And why are you being so formal?” he demanded, turning his back on the map to look down at the girl. She smiled once again, brown eyes warm with teasing. She and her brother looked remarkably like their pale-haired mother, slender of build rather than big and square like him—but they had inherited his eyes.

  “You’re being very regal yourself today. Thought you might like formality for a change. Respect from your humble subject.”

  “Maybe I ought to marry you to Damon.”

  Jeyn made a face. Sene turned reluctantly back to the map. Beyond the table, the low windows of the terrace opened onto a view of the estate’s north pasture, which sloped down to the sea a half-mile away. The bright spring sun was not too strong. A gallop down to the beach would be nice, followed by a leisurely swim. Worrying about the squabble between the kingdoms of Dherrica and Rhenlan was occupying far too much of his time.

  “I want to know if Dea took action to aid Gleneven. And I want to know if Hion’s deliberating tempting her, or if he was honestly unaware of Gleneven’s need.”

  He looked up to find Jeyn nodding her agreement. As much as she liked to tease him, she was as concerned as he was. She and Chasa understood what it meant to be Shapers.

  “Is there anything we can do while we wait?”

  “Let’s saddle the horses.”

  “We’re going to Edian?” she asked, surprised.

  “No,” he teased her, “we’re going for a swim.”

  * * *

  Greenmother Jenil paused in the doorway of the inn. Another illness defeated by her skill. Another child who would live and, if the gods willed, someday have children of her own.

  And what of my children?

  Jenil stepped down into the darkness of the inn’s stable yard, trying to decide whether to walk the miles home to Garden Vale, or transport herself magically to her destination. The walk would give her time to think, to prepare what she had to say. Another child awaited her attention, a girl critically important to the future of the Children of the Rock.

  One day soon, Filanora would have to sacrifice everything she’d grown to know and love in order to build that future, but Jenil could not let that fact influence either of them. Coming to the dirt road that wound through the center of the small village, Jenil stood in the humped middle of the track and weighed the value of procrastination against the reality of aching feet.

  Her feet won. She closed her eyes and bent herself sideways and forward through the power surrounding the world, leaving behind a puff of smoke and arriving elsewhere with a fluttering in her stomach.

  Jenil gazed around her chamber at Garden Vale. It was a pleasant room, full of books and jars of healing herbs, lit by the soft gold light of many candles. Slipping out of her cloak, she said, “Hello, Filanora,” to the girl leaning over the embroidery stand. “I’m glad you’re still working on that hanging.”

  Filanora came forward. For once, the girl who much preferred to be called Feather did not make a sour face at the sound of her real name. Instead, her delicate features twisted in an expression of dismay.

  “Oh, Greenmother, we’ve had the saddest news! Gavea the Great has died!”

  Jenil took the chair Feather had occupied, and gently brushed back a few of the wisps of black hair that framed the girl’s heart-shaped face. “I know, child. I felt her go.”

  “Aren’t you sad?”

  “It was her time.” She was not sad. The word did no justice to her emotions. Stricken. Devastated. Terrified. The web of power had vibrated all day with the reactions of the remaining Dreamers. So few of us, and now further diminished.

  Jenil gazed intently at the pretty child in front of her. “Do you remember Gavea?”

  “No. We never met.” A tiny frown puckered the smooth skin between her eyes. “Did we?”

  “It was Mother Gavea who found you in one of your father’s lemon groves. You were very young and very frightened. Your family had just died of the plague. It was a small outbreak.”

  Small. After what the plague had done to the Children, she and Gavea had been grateful that, in this instance, only one village perished. A very brave village. The people had posted guards along all the roads and allowed no one to come near, to prevent the plague’s spread.

  In a soft, shaking voice, Feather repeated, “Lemon groves. What was this village called?”

  “Telina. You are Filanora, daughter of Rish and Alonora. Alonora was a beekeeper. Her honey was famous all over Sitrine.”

  “I—I remember her honey. On the floor. She fell, in the kitchen, and the jar shattered… flies came.” A slow horror spread over Feather’s face, and she raised her hands to her mouth, as if that would stop the awful words. “They were everywhere, on her mouth, her eyes, I couldn’t—”

  “Hush.” Jenil grabbed the girl’s fragile hands and held them tight. With a deftness born of too much practice, she bent the power and slipped into Feather’s mind. “No, you never met Gavea,” Jenil said, and into her spoken words she entwined all of her healer’s power. “You are Filanora, my ward, and when you are older, perhaps you will become a Brownmother. You have lived here in Garden Vale all your life, and your past is nothing but pleasant memories of berry-picking outings and the embroidery we design together.”

  The horror faded from Feather’s eyes. Jenil sighed. No, she was not ready yet. How long would the healing take? The world desperately needed a new generation of Dreamers—but nothing would be accomplished by driving this child into insanity. Jenil had no choice. She would continue to protect Feather from her memories. Surely, as she grew older she would become better able to deal with them.

  Carefully, Jenil withdrew from the girl’s mind, and released her hold on the gods’ power. “No, you never met Gavea,” she repeated, nothing in her voice but the fatigue Feather was used to hearing at the end of the day.

  The child blinked. “No. I didn’t.”

  “It’s too bad. You would have liked her. She loved to sew, just as you do. Come.” Jenil turned in her chair. “Show me what you accomplished on your tapestry today.”

  Chapter 4

  Too many people, Dael thought, making his way as carefully as he could toward the pool enclosure. He looked alertly around him as he shoved and shuffled his way along the perimeter of the courtyard, determined to get close enough to see Vray, but not wanting to use his authority just now. He didn’t want to be the one to make a disturbance in the solemn crowd.

&nbs
p; This was not a happy gathering, no festival day bringing people to the castle to listen to Redmother tales. This many people didn’t show up for a Redmother’s tales anymore. The bright summer colors of tunics, flowing skirts, and light-weight trousers were the same as appeared at midsummer Festival. But the mood on this day was far different. Sad faces. Angry, some of them. Confused. Some bitter.

  This should not be happening. Not a public Remembering. He wished Damon had ordered him to stop it. The girl’s death this morning had not been public. Dael didn’t want to think about it but it was hard to get the sight out of his mind. He remembered how Emlie’s fine black hair clung to the executioner’s hands as he tightened the strangling cord. Tears dampened the white yoke of her dress, but the princess died in silence, big pale eyes full of terror, then pain. Dael had witnessed it, but it wasn’t a memory he was going to be able to bring himself to share.

  He reached the wall to the left of the pool. A number of people still stood between him and Vray, but his height permitted him to see clearly over their bowed heads. Vray stood beside the pool, her black robes trimmed in the red of her order, her head tilted thoughtfully, eyes closed, listening carefully to the voices that spoke, one by one, from the crowd. She looked more solemn than any of those who chose to give her their memories of the dead young woman.

  Why are you doing this, Kitten? That wasn’t a fair question. He knew why she had to do it. She’d explained it to him quite emphatically when he’d tried to talk her out of it.

  “It’s my duty.” She’d been crying as she spoke, facing him in the corridor connecting the courtyard with the great hall, minutes after the princess’s death. She hadn’t cried during the execution. She’d witnessed it in stony silence with the other Red and Brownmothers of the court. When he caught up with her, tears dripped from her sharply pointed chin and clouded her gray-green eyes.

  “It’s dangerous,” he had insisted. “Your father will be furious.”

  “I’m used to that,” she’d argued back, touching a bruise on her cheek.

  “Do you have to make it a public Remembering? Wouldn’t it be better if—”

  “No!” she had snapped. “That would be hiding the truth. All Rhenlan knew she was here. All Rhenlan must know what happened to her. She was my family’s guest, and I am our Redmother. She will be Remembered!”

  Dael covered his eyes with one hand, shutting out the vivid memories as well as the chilling present. People were speaking, but he didn’t want to hear them. Hion wanted the death ignored. He had made his point to Dea. The Remembering ceremony would make an entirely different point to the citizens of Rhenlan. Hion wanted the approval of his people, and had it, usually. If Vray’s actions today detracted in any way from the respect and obedience that the people accorded to their king, Hion would never forgive her.

  So much misery, all because two Shaper families couldn’t reach a compromise. To dwell on the tragedy could spark unrest in Edian, and only make matters worse. Why couldn’t Vray see that?

  He’d thought she was intelligent enough not to challenge her father and brother. He’d hoped, anyway. Hion’s going to react, Kitten. You’re showing you can be a threat to his authority. You know it, too. Shaper games. I’ve tried to teach you better than that!

  As Dael stared at her, his anger began to slip away. She was so still, so attentive. So beautiful. Despite the Redmother’s robes, there was no question that she was a princess. She had brought this crowd together, and now controlled them. A Shaper shapes, Dael thought. They can mold our emotions as easily as Dad fashions an ornament from a lump of soft gold. Vray was born to rule. She would do it well and properly and fearlessly if she were heir instead of Damon.

  Just look at her! He wanted to shout the words at the citizens of Edian, the visiting merchants and country-folk, his people watching from the walls. This colt of a girl was the soul of Hion’s line, maybe more so than Damon. Despite grief, despite the danger of defying her father and angering her brother, she was doing her duty. This was a queen.

  I’m scared, Dael admitted silently. He didn’t know if she was going to get away with this. He couldn’t believe she’d be allowed to get away with it. But by the First Mother, he was proud of her today.

  * * *

  Edian was the king’s town. It took in food and raw materials from the countryside all around, and produced nothing. Nothing, that is, except guards. So Tob’s father said.

  Tob stared around the large central square of the town, and decided that his father was right. At least as far as the guards were concerned. In all his eleven years he’d never seen so many guards in one place at one time. The armed men and women stood in small clumps between craft stalls along the edge of the square. Half a dozen others were mounted near the entrance to the open green, their horses stamping their feet in impatience at standing for so long. Tob swallowed nervously, then broke into a trot as his father continued his passage across the center of the square.

  The day’s weather had been good for trading. Puffy clouds dotted the blue skies, and a cool breeze rippled gently against the multi-colored awnings on the craft stalls. But half of the stalls had been empty and silent all day. Now, although it was only midafternoon, most of the other stall owners were closing down. Tob imagined that he could feel the guards’ eyes on them as he and his father left the square and climbed the steep road leading toward the king’s castle. With an effort he resisted turning around to look to see if any of them were following. The road was far from empty. Jordy the carter was not the only man in Edian interested in what had happened at the castle.

  Tob heard a voice calling his father’s name. Jordy paused, then stepped to the side of the road to exchange a few words with a merchant. The pause gave Tob opportunity to catch up. As he reached him Jordy said gruffly, “Stay close, lad. I don’t want to lose you in the crowd.”

  Tob had a fleeting desire to ask if he could hold his father’s hand, but he bit back the words. He was no longer that much of a child. For as long as he could remember, he’d looked forward to this, his first summer of traveling as his father’s assistant on the summer trading route. He’d enjoyed the hard work of helping Jordy set up camps and load and unload the wagon. Mastering the carter’s special skill of memorizing customers and their orders was more difficult, but Jordy had accepted his honest effort with respect. Tob was not going to ruin his position now by giving in to his fears. He compared the worried expressions on the faces around them with Jordy’s tight-lipped anger. No. Tob would not be afraid.

  “I’m right behind you,” he answered his father.

  Jordy nodded, turned, and led off once again. This time Tob kept up easily. He was a head shorter than Jordy, but during the ninedays they’d been traveling the roads of the kingdom he’d learned to keep pace with his father’s ground-eating stride. He made himself fall into step with Jordy now and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the back of the familiar embroidered tunic.

  As they reached the low entrance to the castle courtyard they slowed, other people pressing close as everyone prepared to pass through the narrow gateway. There were guards here, too.

  * * *

  Three hundred people had crowded into the castle courtyard, and more were coming all the time. Despite this, or because of it, the silence was eerie. Jordy reached back and rested a wiry arm over his son’s shoulders, drawing the boy up beside him. Tob glanced at him quickly from under thick black lashes, concerned. Jordy shook his head, motioning for silence.

  Although the Rock Pool was hidden beyond the heads of the people in front of them, Jordy could just hear the rise and fall of single voices uttering their remembrances. A young woman’s voice was saying, “... a very gentle way with the kitchen cat. The princess said she had a favorite cat at home and spoke of going back to visit it. I remember a woman who knew kindness.”

  Around them heads nodded solemnly. After a suitable pause another, masculine voice was raised. “The princess’s favorite color was rose. She asked for a rose bed cover
when she first arrived at the castle. I remember going down to a woolen stall to buy one. I remember the princess with the color rose.”

  Again silence. Jordy waited a few seconds, then took a deep breath and spoke.

  “I remember her arrival in Edian.” His voice carried clearly to every corner of the courtyard, turning a few heads. He’d lived in Rhenlan for many years but his Dherrican accent had never blurred. “She arrived with royal escort, official envoy between her kingdom and ours. Remember her as her mother’s child, called to fill an impossible role.”

  Beside him, Tob stiffened uncomfortably. Jordy returned the sharp glances of his neighbors, not bothering to mask his anger. Let them hear the truth! Let them remember! Wasn’t that what they had come for?

  A voice close to the Rock Pool began to speak. Jordy listened long enough to be certain that he had sparked some remembrances of more serious aspects of the princess’s life and death. Then he dropped his hand to Tob’s elbow and pressed the boy toward the gate once more. People made way for them so they in turn could press closer to the Pool and its ceremony. Jordy doubted that every one of these people had a personal remembrance of the princess to contribute, but whether they contributed or merely came to witness, the important thing was that they had come.

  Movement atop the courtyard wall drew Jordy’s eye upward. Standing between two bowmen was a slender figure, his black hair cropped just below his ears. Prince Damon. He was paying no attention to the mass of people crowding the courtyard. Instead he was gazing toward the Pool and, Jordy realized, his sister. So, she did not have His Highness’s approval for the ceremony? Damon couldn’t have expected to avoid a Remembering. According to the word that had spread through Edian, the king had killed the poor girl with all proper pomp and ceremony. A Remembering was the next logical step. You couldn’t just bury a body without remembering the person’s life. However, a private ceremony restricted to the inhabitants of the castle might have been more to the king’s liking.

  Jordy glanced briefly over his shoulder. He never had caught a glimpse of Prince Damon’s younger sister, the princess who had initiated the ceremony. For the first time, Jordy wondered just how dangerous her position was. Officially, traditionally, she had done the right thing, paying homage to a person who had been a guest, however unwilling, of her family.