"Yes."
Lessons continued as they rode, but Welstiel's thoughts drifted often to the icebound castle, to the new scroll-filled hall, and to the calm stillness he had felt as he looked upon the iron-barred doors.
He started from his wandering thoughts, as he thought he heard a whisper on the cold wind.
The sister of the dead will lead you.
Chapter Six
Hot baths were almost a vague memory, until Magiere slipped into one beside Wynn, listening to the sage's embarrassing groans of pleasure as they washed. Once finished, Magiere pulled on the elven clothing made of felt and raw-spun cotton. Her skin smelled of honey and fennel from the soap. Leesil had his turn, complete with grumbling about soapy water that hadn't drained completely for his own fresh bath.
Magiere spent the rest of the evening sitting cross-legged in the outer room with her hosts. Leesil sat on her left with young Leanalham on his far side. The girl studied Leesil with brief glances, thinking she went unnoticed, peering at his ears, eyes, and the shape of his face-until suddenly aware of Magiere watching her. Magiere didn't really mind the girl's interest in Leesil, or shouldn't have.
Leanalham was overwhelmed that someone else in this world shared her differences from her own people. Magiere understood being different, constantly reminded of it when anyone looked closely at her.
Still, Leanalham kept staring at Leesil.
How had this mixed-blood girl survived in a land where Leesil wasn't even welcome? And how could she possibly be related to Sgaile?
Magiere turned her attention elsewhere, seeking any distraction.
"Tell us about these Shapers," she heard Wynn say to Gleann.
"Some of our people are born with a heightened awareness," Gleann began, and his gaze slipped once to Sgaile. "They sense what you call the Spirit element of things. Given time and training, they can become Makers or Shapers… and a few healers."
It seemed Makers worked lifeless materials. When Wynn called them thaumaturges, Gleann made an effort not to grimace. They called Spirit into inert substance where they sensed accepting emptiness, making wood, stone, and metal pliable for fashioning by will, hand, and tool. Not in pieces but as a whole, like the rainwater barrels in the washroom.
Shapers took a separate path, plying living things that still held their natural Spirit at its fullest. They guided, nurtured, and altered living growth, like the trees and other plants shaped over years into useful things. Some learned to make a tree or plant grow part of itself into a separate piece that still lived. Patience seemed an absolute for a Shaper. And among them were the few like Gleann, who turned to the care of the sick and injured. Flesh as well as living wood could be guided by those with enough skill and training, and healers learned herb lore, medicines, and more common skills as well.
Magiere followed most of this, though some of Wynn's questions left her baffled. Gleann often answered the sage in Elvish, and then returned to Belaskian with a less lengthy reply.
Gleann spoke Belaskian well, despite his strong accent, and he'd taught Leanalham in turn. Strangest of all was that Leanalham was a quarter human. His strong love of the girl was surprising, as their people despised and feared anything foreign.
"You called Sgaile your uncle," Wynn said to Leanalham. "But your grandfather referred to him as your cousin?"
Leanalham grew shy, mustering a response, but Gleann answered in her place.
"Her grandmother was my sister by bonding, having married my elder brother. I believe, by your culture, this makes her Sgailsheilleache's… second cousin? But he is a generation older than her, so…" He shook his head in resignation. "Our familial titles and relations do not translate well into your language."
"But would not her maternal grandmother be human?" Wynn asked bluntly. "I do not understand how her mother was half-human.And what of her mother-and her father?"
Gleann's expression grew tight and closed. "It is a family matter we do not discuss often."
Magiere glanced at Leanalham and suspicions began to form. A marriage didn't mean both parents were involved in the making of a child. Nor that the mother was a willing participant. Magiere's own mother had been given no choice in her conception.
"Tell us of crossing the Broken Range," Gleann asked quickly.
"It took nearly a whole moon," Wynn began, "before we found a way…"
Sgaile lifted his eyes from pouring herb tea and fixed on the sage. All Magiere's senses sharpened in warning.
"In a blizzard, we were caught in a snow-slide…" Wynn continued.
Leesil shifted uncomfortably, bumping shoulders with Magiere. He too spotted Sgaile's rapt interest, and yet Wynn kept babbling.
"…we lost nearly everything, and then Chap-"
"That's enough for now," Leesil cut in, a blink before Magiere did so herself. "It's getting late."
Sgaile's narrowing eyes shifted to Leesil. It was only a brief instant, but enough for Magiere to catch his too-eager interest.
How they'd found the elvenTerritories was a story best kept to themselves.To Magiere's knowledge, no one before had ever returned from such a journey. Should they have a chance to use a way out of this land, she didn't want the Anmaglahk to know it.
"Maybe some tea first?" she suggested. "To cut the weight of fatigue."
Gleann gazed among his guests with concern before returning to Wynn. "At least I can assist with your scholarly losses."
He rose and climbed the stairs to the upper level, disappearing from sight. Sgaile held out a baked-clay cup of herb tea to Magiere. She shook her head, and he passed it on to Leesil.
She didn't care for this herbal stuff, too different from the true tea that Wynn had lost to a skulking tashgalh. And she trembled inside, as though she'd already had too much real tea.
Gleann returned with a drawstring bag of olive-colored suede. He settled on the felt rug and opened it as Wynn curiously leaned his way.
Out came a roll of off-white single sheets with mottled grain from whatever plant fibers were used to make them. Next were pearl-white ceramic vials, which Gleann explained were filled with black, red, and green ink. Lastcame a strange form of quill.
Its dark wood shaft was long and narrow, but the bottom widened bul-bously above the head. The quill tip was made of a metal Magiere recognized immediately. It had the same brilliant sheen of Leesil's old stilettos and those of the Anmaglahk.
"No," Wynn protested, studying the gifts with painful eagerness. "This is too much."
"Take them," Gleann insisted with a chuckle. "Beneath the quill's head is a pocket of sponge-weed fibers. It will draw ink deeply, and needs to be replenished less often."
Wynn was still politely reluctant, but eyed the quill's bright metal head. "Such a stylus… I have nothing to trade for something so dear."
Gleann rolled his large elven eyes. "How else will you record your travels and what you learn?"
"Grandfather!" Sgaile's expression darkened in alarm. "I do not think that wise. Some might not want-"
"By 'some' you mean your Most Aged Father." Gleann snorted, but then paused before turning back to Wynn. "Be discreet and save these for when you have privacy."
Sgaile spoke low to Gleann, but the old man flicked the words away with his hand, and patted Sgaile's shoulder like a patronizing grandfather. Sgaile swallowed any further argument as Gleann slid the pile of gifts in front of Wynn.
"Thank you…" Wynn said, "so much."
Any spell of the evening's lingering ease broke as Sgaile stood up abruptly.