~ 14 ~

From the moment she’d seen him, Anlin had known the boy was Telm. Her Telm. Oh, his face had lost the round look of a baby; it was angular and hinted at a handsomeness she had not anticipated. He was also much taller than she remembered, but the eyes were the ones that had looked into hers with such trust, the hair that curled around the shells of his ears was the same, and the way he held his head had not changed.

The angry discussion between the Shaman and the Seerin washed over her as she looked for one distinguishing characteristic after another. It was only when she noticed her son’s concern that she paid attention to what the two Rennish were saying. And what she heard brought a smile to her lips.

Seerin Krisla and the Shaman were both angry with Lord Tarn. In the Seerin’s case, furious would be a better description. On this issue, they were in accord. They differed on what to do about Telm, however.

“What happened to Faulk is a stain on our honor,” the Seerin said. “I promised his mother he would be cared for. You’ve told me of the condition of his back. That was not care. That was the brutal legacy of a god-mad man whose very existence, it could be argued, can also be laid at our feet. I can think of no other recompense except to let him take the boy with him.”

“Unacceptable!” The Shaman’s voice rose in volume in counterpoint to the Seerin’s measured tones. “It is unacceptable to pay for some past mistake, which was really not of our making, with the abandonment of Telm.”

“He would not be abandoned. He would be given into his mother’s care.”

“And what makes you think that this care will be so different from that which was shown to your precious Faulk? The minute the Lords realize Telm’s potential, they will seize him and attempt to corrupt his ability. This boy, grown to a man, is not a weapon I want to see turned against us.”

“I do not see this happening,” the Seerin said with infinite patience. “None of the Lords, or more importantly, their Talented women, have the ability to teach someone like Telm. Even you find Telm difficult to teach since Earth magic and Sky magic have been so entwined within him. They would simply be confused by him and would leave him alone.”

“So, you counsel that Telm’s amazing potential should be allowed to what? Molder? Run wild to whatever consequence?” Callip’s voice held disgust.

“Some ability is already established. The boy will always have that, and it will put him on the par with most of the most Talented in Fallucia. He will grow up as a Fallucian.”

“Another improbability,” the shaman said. “Will any in that benighted country ever look at him as anything other than Rennish? The cast of his features proclaims his mixed parentage. You would sentence Telm to a life of unhappiness and despair. For what purpose? To make amends for a mistake he had nothing to do with?”

“And we do not do that every day?” Seerin Krisla asked quietly. “We condemn many to unhappy lives. It is one of the responsibilities the Goddess places on us to balance our great ability. Your only problem here is that you personally know Telm. You like him. You see yourself in him. But personal considerations must be put aside when the honor of Rennic is involved.”

“It is not Rennic’s honor that is in question here. It is yours. You are the one who initially believed what you were told by Lord Tarn. You are the one who has continued to be hoodwinked by his son, the present Lord. You are asking Telm to pay the price of your mistakes.”

“Callip, how dare you impugn my motives? It is I and the other Seerin who must act as Selectors, who are faced year in and year out with the hard decisions, who see the misery that lies beyond the gates of Ridgemere while you hide within.” Seerin Krisla’s volume had risen to match the Shaman’s so the two were close to yelling at each other. As if she suddenly became conscious of their audience, she lowered her voice and said, “This is a discussion for another time. It is approaching mid-day, and I’m sure we all would like to eat.”

She turned to a perplexed Faulk and said in Fallucian, “I will have decisions and apologies to make to you shortly, but for now, I will have someone guide you to one of the wives’ rooms. There you and Anlin may rest. Food will be brought to you. I will meet with you before dark.” Then she swept from the room.

“Come Telm,” Callip said and moved to follow the Seerin.

Anlin reached out and stopped the boy as he attempted to brush by her. His shoulder felt bony under her hand. Did they not feed him well? He looked up at her through eyelashes that sparkled with tears. His cheek was inflamed where the scarring would take place. Telm’s sweet, beautiful face had been mutilated. Tears filled her eyes also. “Do you know who I am?” she asked gently.

“You’re the Fallucian slave who took care of me when I was a boy,” Telm said without inflection.

His words hurt her, but she wanted to tell him that he was still a boy. She wanted to hug him. Instead she stayed frozen and said, “I’m your mother.”

“So Callip has said.” Then he tried to push past her. She tightened her grip and held him firm.

“Don’t you remember how we used to cuddle in the bed? It was so warm and comfortable with you asleep in my arms. Don’t you remember the red cloth ball I made you just before you were taken away? We would throw it back and forth in the yard.”

Telm shifted from foot to foot and looked away from Anlin. “I remember all that. But now, I have my own bed, and the room has a brazier, so I’m never cold. And I’ve out-grown the need for baby toys. I have all I need.”

Anlin released his shoulder, and he scuttled out of the room. This was not how she’d imaged her reunion with Telm. Her heart ached with love for him, and he seemed completely indifferent. No, this was worse than indifference. “He hates me,” she said.

“What are you saying,” Faulk asked from across the room. Anlin realized she had being speaking Rennish. In fact, mostly Rennish had been spoken since she walked into this cell. Faulk probably had no idea what was going on.

“That was Telm,” she said. There was no reason to again express her fear that her son hated her. It was bad enough that she knew.

“Yes, I know. He was here when I regained consciousness.”

“Oh, Sweet Cheelum, I didn’t even ask how you were. I was worried when the Sentinels kept hitting you in the head to keep you unconscious. I was afraid you’d never wake up.”

He smiled slightly. “Maybe I did take too many blows to the head. I have no idea who these Sentinels are, except that Telm seemed delighted they might be in trouble. Evidently there is some sort of friction between these Sentinels and the Shamans, and Telm identifies with the latter group.”

“He does. He’s the Chief Shaman’s acolyte. And he hates the idea of leaving here and coming back to Fallucia with us. I think he, oh hell, I think he hates me as well,” she forced out. And then the tears that had been threatening burst forth, along with great staccato sobs she couldn’t control.

Even during her worst experiences as a slave, she had never felt this bereft of hope. She had had this dream, this unrealistic dream, of a happy life with the one person she loved unconditionally. But Telm didn’t want her. He didn’t want her at all.

Faulk was suddenly next to her, pulling her into his arms, her head nestled on his chest. The robe he wore felt scratchy and smelled odd, not like Faulk at all. But the solidness of the chest and the hand gently patting her back were all Faulk. Instead of feeling constrained by his arms, she felt sheltered. She laid her head against him and cried tears that had been building in her for years. When the torrent had finally ceased, she just absorbed his warmth.

They were standing thus when a Seerin came to get them. It may have been the woman who had originally met them when they’d arrived, but her veil was in place and it was impossible to tell. She led them up stone stairs and through a door into bright sunlight, and then across the circular road to one of the long, white buildings. An inscription over the door once again proclaimed, “Holy duties bring joy.” But this was no bathhouse. They entered a long, wide hallway with heavy doors spaced at intervals along it.

Their guide stopped before one such door and entered it. “This is one of the wives’ receiving rooms,” the Seerin said. “Food and drink have been left for you on the chest. There is a lavatory through the door to the right. Seerin Krisla says for you to relax and refresh. Someone will come for you in a few hours.”

Then she bowed to them slightly and left, closing the door firmly behind her.

Anlin looked around the chamber. It was opulent, perhaps bordering on decadent. A brassier sat in one corner, making the room comfortably warm. The same subtle aroma she had smelled in the bathhouse came from it. A large, thick tapestry, filled with a pattern of vines and leaves, lay on the floor.

The vine pattern was repeated in the heavily embroidered bed hangings that surrounded a massive bed. On the bed was a cover made of furs stitched into wide stripes of fawn and white. To one side was a round table with two cushioned chairs. Near it was a tall chest on which sat bowls and dishes of the same iridescent blue pottery that Anlin had seen in the waiting room where she had met with Seerin Krisla. And from these bowls issued tantalizing smells.

Anlin’s stomach growled. “I’m eating before I do anything else.” She looked at Faulk. “Don’t you want some?”

“In a minute,” he said. The one discordant item in the room had snagged his eyes. One of their packs lay near the door to the lavatory.

He walked over and squatting, opened the pack. “Only clothes,” he said. “Some of yours and some of mine. Obviously repacked. But I could do with something clean.” He shook out his good, green tunic. “Maybe this lavatory is a miniature bathhouse. I could use that as well.” Carrying clothes in his hand, he disappeared through the door.

Anlin uncovered the bowls to find what looked like pieces of chicken covered in a savory sauce and some sort of fruit compote. Both steamed with enticing fragrances. She immediately filled a plate, sat at the table, and began to eat. The flavors were superb. She’d certainly never had anything like this the whole time she’d been in Rennic. Nor could she remember such interesting fare being offered at her father’s well-supplied board.

She was well on her way to vanquishing her hunger when Faulk reappeared. His hair was damp, and he had on the moss-colored tunic he’d worn at their wedding. A razor must not have been included in their pack, however, since his face still wore a deep-red stubble.

“That place is amazing,” he said, crossing the room. “It has the same basic set-up as the bathhouse, but on a smaller scale. There’s a little cauldron with a spigot, and when you turn it, heated water flows out into a bowl. It’s really ingenious. And under the privy hole, there’s running water, almost like an irrigation channel.”

Anlin could feel his enthusiasm and delight. She had to smile at him. His enthusiasms always dealt with improvements he could make to White Ford. “And what took you so long in there was trying to figure out exactly how everything worked. Am I right?”

Faulk looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I thought it was something that could easily be added to White Ford. I can’t imagine how the same country can have the hovels we saw in the countryside and villages and the luxuries that are here in Ridgemere. It’s like two different worlds.”

As if to prove his point, Faulk placed a Tremellian glass in front of her. Anlin knew how costly and fragile they were. “You forgot to get some wine,” Faulk said and turned to fill a plate of his own.

“It is a different world,” Anlin said, “and it must cost a great deal to support this luxury. This might be the cause of the poverty of the rest of the country.”

Faulk seated himself and began to eat. “But why would they do such a thing? The Seerin and the Shamans could live very well without building a whole city around them.”

“I think this entire place is designed so the Rennish can breed more powerful magic,” she said.

Faulk nodded. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that powerful magic. Callip touched me and I thought I had burst into flame. But that makes no sense since we’ve long thought that the Rennish hated magic of all kind. And I can’t figure out how they could ‘breed’ for magic anyway.”

Anlin raised a cynical eyebrow. She was quite sure Faulk understood the concept of the breeding part. “Well, I think the rumor they hated all magic is just misdirection so Fallucians didn’t look too closely at what is happening just over their borders. And I think they truly do hate Fallucian magic…”

“Sky magic is what Callip called it,” Faulk said.

“Really? Sky magic? How strange.”

“And they think their magic is earth magic, although it seems to me that magic is magic.”

“Maybe that’s because neither of us has any type of magic,” Anlin said. “Maybe if you wield it, there is a difference. Whatever type of magic the Rennish possess, however, they’re trying to strengthen it by mating those who have it. That’s where the selected husbands and wives come from. They’re chosen for their magical ability, and it’s evidently the hope of the Seerin and the Shamans that the children of these pairings will have even more concentrated magical Talent.”

Faulk started to laugh. “Then this whole elaborate set-up, the entire city of Ridgemere, is really just a brothel. Oh, Sweet Cheelum, the sign ‘Holy duties bring joy’ now makes sense.” He continued to laugh until he had tears in his eyes.

Anlin failed to see what was so funny. There was nothing humorous in the attitudes of the Rennish. “The women here are wives,” she said more tartly than she wanted. “If there are any whores in Rennic, they are the slaves who certainly never have such comfortable surroundings. I found the philosophy so calmly espoused by Seerin Krisla to be disgusting.” Then she told Faulk everything she’d learned in her discussion with the Seerin and what she’d overheard of the argument in Faulk’s cell.

By the time she finished, Faulk had pushed his plate away and had poured them both more wine. “Drink some wine,” he said. “It’s quite good and from what you overheard, it seems we may have reason to celebrate. I think if Seerin Krisla and Callip disagree, Krisla will prevail. She was the one standing when Callip was on his knee.”

He raised his glass in a salute, but his face remained serious. “I don’t understand why the Seerin feels she has been dishonored because I was given to my uncle instead of being raised by Lord Tarn. I suspect that life would have been even more onerous. And I wouldn’t have been rescued by Lealand if I’d been with Tarn. I doubt the Seerin realizes that she’s given me a real gift by telling me that Abbot Jezrel is not my father. That’s what I’ve long believed. Not that the having Lord Tarn as my father seems much better. I never really knew him, but his sons, who, Sweet Cheelum, are my half-brothers, are not men I admire.”

Faulk smiled into his wine glass. “At least Tarn wasn’t afflicted with the madness that often goes with a surfeit of magic in Fallucian males. Abbot Jezrel, I realized when I was grown, was quite mad.”

Anlin had no idea what the Tarns were like, but she doubted Faulk’s life would have been worse with them. She’d seen the ruin of Faulk’s back. “Seerin Krisla must have promised your mother you’d have an easy life and feels guilty that you didn’t. She evidently felt a bond with your mother, who must have had a great deal of magical ability to impress Krisla.”

“And since I had none, I was given away as worthless.” Faulk sounded more resigned than bitter.

Anlin didn’t correct him. To be thought worthless was bad enough, but to be considered soulless, as Seerin Krisla believed those without magic to be, was worse. Anlin looked forward to leaving this cursed country, especially if Telm, no matter how reluctant, accompanied her.

She felt she could bring Telm back to her side, given time. If he were with her in Fallucia, she could rekindle all the old feelings that had been between them. She would make a happy life for him. She would! And she now believed that she would be taking him home with her.

There was a soft knock. Anlin came to her feet, but Faulk went before her to open the door. The younger Seerin stood there. “Seerin Krisla sends word that she will not be able to meet with you until tomorrow morning. You should be ready to travel then. I will bring more food and anything that will add to your comfort.”

Anlin felt the blood drain from her face. “They’re not going to let Telm go with me, are they?” She gripped the edge of the table as if it kept her from sliding into a dark abyss.

“I am not privy to Seerin Krisla’s decisions.” The young woman said and began to close the door.

“More wine.” Faulk’s voice stopped her motion. “This wine is very good, and I’d like more of it since we have no choice but to remain here.”

“Of course,” the woman said, fading back into the hallway.

Anlin looked at Faulk and rephrased the unanswerable question as a statement. “They’re not going to let me have him.”

“We don’t know that. We have no idea what Seerin Krisla has decided. It’s useless to worry about what might happen. We know we’ll be leaving tomorrow, and there have been times when I wasn’t sure even that would happen. I choose to believe Telm will be returned to you.”

Anlin felt sick. She didn’t share Faulk’s optimism. They would leave tomorrow, and she and Faulk would be going alone. Telm, her child, her baby, would disappear forever. More scars would be added to his face, and he would become a man who could feel nothing but loathing for a Fallucian mother.

She would never know what happened to him. It was as if he’d been taken from her again, screaming “Mama, mama,” as Nerth rode away. It hurt. It hurt so badly. She sat back down, folding around the incredible pain in her gut.

She felt Faulk’s hands on her shoulders, pulling her upright in the chair. “Do not despair. It is a foolish knight who concedes the battle before it is even fought. We found Telm, and I wasn’t sure even that would happen. You need to have confidence that he will return home with us.”

Anlin shook her head in negation. In response, Faulk pressed the smooth, cool wine glass in her hand. “Drink some wine. Think of pleasant things. You’re feeling down because you’re tired. You didn’t sleep last night since you were riding here.”

“At least I rode. You were slung over a horse like a dead body.”

“My point entirely.” Faulk chuckled. “I’ve had a lot more sleep.”

Anlin knew what he was doing. Faulk was trying to make her think of other things, and he was willing to make light of all that had happened to him to do so.

She couldn’t find the energy to resist him. She drank her wine and listened to Faulk talk about inconsequential things, about the advisability of putting sheep in the upper pastures, about his plans to build stone walls around the White Ford manor to make it more secure. His voice rolled over her, filling the emptiness inside her. Until she surprised herself by yawning.

“Come, lie down. You should rest a while,” Faulk said, and she let him lead her to the huge bed. She was amazed by the softness of the fur cover that was spread on the bed. It felt like resting on a cloud—a cloud on which she slowly floated away.