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| Chapter 58. Strange Bedfellows | |
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cup of juniper wine had made Pendaran forgetful of his aching body, but when it wore off, it took the rest of his stamina with it. Halfway through the third dance his fondest wish was to lie down and sleep. Through an act of will he managed to keep up as the reel demanded a quick switching of partners and several promenades. Finally he was back with Isabeau once more, out of breath and ready to collapse. She squeezed his hands as the music faded and a cheer went up from the dancers. “Are you alright?” “I need to sit down,” he said apologetically. “We should call it a night. We walked several leagues today and it’s getting late. I need to check on Micah, too.” “Thanks. I enjoyed dancing with you.” “I enjoyed dancing with you, too. Hopefully we’ll get to do it again sometime.” The worn trestle tables and benches had been pushed against the walls to clear the floor for dancing. Isabeau walked with him to the table where Brigit’s family and her closest friends were gathering over food and drink. They sat in a cluttered line on a single bench, their backs pressed against the roughhewn wall of the longhouse. Brigit was squeezed up against Armand and rosy cheeked from the heady brew. Sister Lemony was already in full swing, singing in her usual off-key way with an empty plate pushed aside in favor of a large stoneware stein full of dwarven ale. “I hope they play the Mad Ettin Waltz,” she announced, smiling up at Pendaran, “Give the lady a kish! You haf to during the chorush!” “No more dancing,” he told her, trying to remain dignified as Brigit and Isabeau giggled, “I’m off to bed. I understand I was to stay with Maeve?” “Yeah, I’ll take you. Army, would you help Isabeau and Micah get settled while I’m taking care of Pen?” Brigit asked, gently extricating herself from Armand’s grasp. “Sure,” the man said, eying Pendaran thoughtfully. “Come on, Lem, you should probably turn in, too. That aged dwarven stuff is pretty wicked. You’ll be sorry if you drink too much,” Brigit said, moving the empty stein aside. The little monk wobbled precariously as she stood up, then made a valiant attempt to join them. The air outside the muggy warmth of the longhouse was bitterly cold. Brigit procured a lantern near the door and held it before them as Pendaran quickly shrugged into his fur-lined coat and adjusted his scarf. Lemony listed and slipped on the ice with a surprised giggle, at which point Pendaran offered her an arm and they continued down the frozen path. “So how are you holding up?” Brigit asked, “I’ve been thinking about you.” “As well as might be expected.” “You poor thing. I’d be a wreck if anything happened to Army. I’m glad you were having fun with Isabeau.” “Yes, I enjoyed it.” Pendaran sensed Brigit was leaving something unsaid. His wife, Teleri, had been friends with Brigit. He wondered if she were annoyed at him for not acting more the bereaved widower. Indeed, he even felt guilty about it. Teleri was not even a year dead and he was already fawning over another woman. He felt foolish and unfaithful. “I miss Teleri,” he said finally, “I miss her all the time.” “She would want you to be happy, Pen. It was good to see you dancing and smiling again.” “Thanks.” “But there’s lots of time, right? No reason to rush into things,” she said quickly, blushing. “Of course,” he replied, strangely flattered by her concern for him. “Here we are,” Brigit announced as she opened a gate into a little garden nestled beside a cottage, “And don’t mind Maeve. She’s quiet and all and a little odd at times, but she’s a good person.” “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Brigit.” “Shooda kished Ishabeau good night!” Lemony announced as Brigit climbed the steps to the door and knocked once. Pendaran and Brigit laughed as the little monk tottered mechanically up the steps. “Good evening,” came Maeve’s voice through a crack in the door. “Just dropping off a drunk monk and a bonny lad,” Brigit said slyly. “Come in. I have a bed ready and your things have been delivered here.” They all said good night to Brigit and then Maeve gestured toward a door at the far end of her parlor that led into a very small room. A bed was shoved up against the far corner with very little space left over. Pendaran saw his traveling chest and Lemony’s smaller chest sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. “It’s a bit cramped. If you would prefer to sleep alone, I can bring some blankets out to the hearth,” Maeve said apologetically. After nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground, he could not refuse the offer of such a nice bed. The mattress beneath the fluffy down quilts was no doubt stuffed with the same soft feathers. There was room enough for both he and Lemony. She was small, after all, and once he drifted off, he would hardly notice she was there. “No, this is nice, thank you. I’ll just change into my night clothes if you two would like to sit up and chat,” he said. He wanted to claim the side of the bed against the wall. Lemony had imbibed a lot of beer and he imagined she would be up and down a lot during the night as a result. He felt Maeve’s eyes upon him. She seemed disappointed he intended to go straight to bed. He stifled a yawn, hoping she would let whatever it was she wanted to discuss wait until morning. Maeve relented and guided the now loudly singing Lemony back to the parlor, politely closing the door behind her. He moved quickly, shucking off his traveling gear and donning his shift. After performing his usual evening ablutions, he crawled under the blankets and sighed contentedly. It was like lying on a cloud as he curled under the heavy quilts. Pendaran drifted off, surfacing briefly when Lemony crawled into the bed beside him. Cat-like, she curled into a ball and shivered for a moment in the darkness. “Penny?” she whispered, “You ashleep?” He debated responding, his eyes still closed and his body warm within its hollow of quilt and mattress. She was still drunk and that meant she would be garrulous and keep him awake when he very much wanted to rest. In the end he simply remained still and pretended to sleep. “Jush ash well,” she announced with a sigh of relief. To his horror there was a horrendous rumble beneath the blankets. His eyes snapped open and he instinctively held his breath. All sense of contentment abandoned him as a staccato volley roared from her tiny body, entirely out of proportion to her size. “Lemony!” he gasped. “Oh gods, shorry, Pen!” she piped, and then began giggling helplessly. “I’m sleeping by the hearth!” he announced, although he doubted she heard him as he struggled free of the blankets and rushed out of the room. He closed the door on Sister Lemony’s inane drunken laughter and approached the parlor with what little composure remained to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer to sleep by the hearth,” he said as Maeve looked up from a book she was reading beside the fire. “Your friend is a little drunk. I tried to delay her.” “Probably just as well you didn’t.” “I’ll get some blankets. If you’d like, you can sleep in my bed tonight and I’ll sleep here.” “No, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m heading home in a day or two by sigil.” “Yes,” she said, her gray eyes boring into him for a moment. Her mind was a tightly focused knot of gold, almost painful for him to study too closely. Pendaran mentally withdrew, unable to shake the feeling that she wanted something from him. She gestured toward a comfortable maple wood rocking chair beside the fire and he sat while she vanished into a neighboring room. A few moments later she returned with a thick bundle of blankets and began to arrange them, waving him away when he started to rise from his chair. “I’m grateful you helped me. I never got a chance to thank you in person.” “It was nothing, really,” she replied as her glossy waves of raven hair fell forward and concealed her face, “You would not have returned if you had not wished it.” “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked after a long moment of silence. She hesitated in her work before staring at him intently. Maeve was beautiful. Her lips were full and rosy in the candle light, emphasized by the heart-shaped sweep of her high cheekbones and delicate jaw. “Master Bei indicated that you have had some training with the ethers.” “Yes, but my knowledge is limited and I still have much to learn.” “Have you ever opened a portal to another human being by using a strong emotional attachment?” The color drained from his face and his mouth became dry. Gods, he hoped she did not wish him to perform the Rite of Vengeance. “I have,” he croaked, “but I did not do so alone and not without a ritual.” “Of course,” she replied, “Nevertheless, you have performed such a working and so you are capable of it.” “In a manner of speaking,” he replied, hoping she would let the matter drop. “I need to find Mog,” she continued evenly, “I need someone like you to help me. You have parted the ethers, you have learned to read their pattern.” “Lady, I… I can’t do these things…” and then his rambling stopped as her words sank in, “You wish to find Mog?” She seemed perplexed by his momentary fear and he blocked her, not wishing to reveal the deed he had performed at midnight as his first test under Zhou’s tutelage. “Yes. How much do you know about Mog’s past?” she asked him after a long silence. Pendaran looked away from her and stared into the fire. He had not spent much time contemplating the events of last spring. They seemed far away now and he preferred it stay that way. “Not a great deal. My family was from Rin, so we knew of the Simagh clan. Since my father did not answer to Lord Simagh, I had little reason to pay attention to Mog’s people.” “Did you know of the Temple of the Sacred Twins?” He remembered the temple with great fondness for there were summer evenings when the plangent sound of temple bells had carried on the night breeze. Many times as a boy his parents had taken him there to enjoy the abundant festivals -- such music and spectacles to delight the senses. He missed that place for it was tied up with his fondest memory of home. “Yes, of course.” “Mog was a made a priest of Lyssa there. Did he ever mention that to you?” “No. Beyond exchanging pleasantries and idle chatter, I have not had an opportunity to learn much about him. I would never have guessed he was a holy man.” “He and I share a very special bond because of our sacred roles in the temple,” she said, anxiety causing her voice to pitch upward, “Because of that I know that he clings to life by a thread. I can use my bond to find him, but I need someone to open the way for me. Do you understand?” “I think I do,” Pendaran said grimly, “You do realize that if I open a portal on your behalf, you will not be able to return by that route?” “Yes, I know that.” “Really?” he continued, his hands tightening over the arms of the rocking chair, “Grenth’s hand is upon him, yet you will go there knowing not what endangers him?” “I lost him once already,” she said quietly, her voice husky with emotion, “I will not let him go again. If my fate is to die beside him, so be it. That would be better than spending the rest of my life grieving.” “I know what it is to lose a loved one. You are in pain and that makes you reckless.” “Master Bei said you would help me,” she replied coldly, her visage harsh with anger and desperation, “It is within your power to make the sacred bond between Mog and I whole once more. Help us or suffer the eternal rage of Lyssa.” “If Mog is dead and I open a portal to his spirit, you will die and become a ghost. Are you willing to risk that?” Pendaran demanded, standing now, his body shaking with anger and horror, “Do you want to be a ghost? Do you know what that means?” Maeve looked up at him, her eyes glistening with barely contained tears. “I am a ghost in all but flesh. Is that what you want?” Pendaran sat down again, his head aching with the intensity of her sorrow and need. What would his master do in this situation? He felt so inadequate to the task, torn between protecting her and giving her what she desperately wanted. If she were killed, did that not make him at least partly responsible? “Please,” she whispered, “I beg you to do this thing. It is my choice.” But if Mog died because he did nothing, was he not equally accountable? Pendaran sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ll do it, but on the condition that the preparations for the Celestial Sigil are completed.” “They are.” “Take me there. I will set the sigil, and then I will open the way for you.” |
