Tennice spoke up. “We’re seeking the owner of this place.”
“Why?” said the girl.
“We have business with her.”
“You may tell me of your business.”
“No, young lady, this is private business.”
“The owner does no private business with strangers.” The girl’s words snapped like dry sticks.
Tennice whispered to me, “Speak to her, Seri. You know I’ve never been adept at handling women.” An understatement to be sure. Though neither kings nor dukes nor judges could faze Tennice, a timid serving maid could throw him into a fluster.
I started again. “Perhaps, if you’d be so kind, you could give the owner a message from us?”
“I might.”
“Tell Kellea that we were recommended by a friend. He says this is the only place to buy a rare herb to treat the gout. We would appreciate a word with her.”
The girl looked at us strangely. “What word would you have with Kellea? If all you want is mycophila, then I can get it for you.”
“Please, we wish to consult Kellea on a confidential matter. You understand. A bit embarrassing to talk about… Is there a time when we could find her here or perhaps a place where we could meet her? Our friend recommended her especially.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders. “You’re speaking to her already. I’m Kellea.”
No, no, no. The girl was too young. It had been almost twenty years since the destruction of Avonar. “There must be some mistake. Is there someone else by the same name? Your mother, perhaps? Or perhaps another herb shop? We were expecting an older person.”
“There’s no other Kellea. My mother had a different name and is long dead, anyway, and this is the only herb shop in Yurevan. What’s your business? Tell me the name of your friend.”
Tennice and I looked at each other in confusion. “I must have been wrong,” he said.
“Kellea!” called a croaking voice from beyond a narrow doorway.
“What is it, Grandmother?”
“Tea, dear heart. Could you bring me a cup of nine-leaf tea?”
“I have customers who are just leaving. As soon as they’re off, I’ll bring it.”
I looked sharply at the girl. “Your grandmother. Is her name perhaps the same as yours?”
“I told you, I’m the only Kellea. If you have business with me, state it.” She folded her arms tightly across her breast, her hostility shoving us out the door before our feet had moved.
I hated abandoning our only clue. Kellea was the only one of the four—Then it struck me. The herb shop, shelves laden with medicines. The names. “Kellea,” I said, scarcely restraining my excitement, “what is your grandmother’s name?”
“This is ridiculous. What could you possibly—?”
“It would be a great kindness. It’s very important.”
I might have been dragging the answers from her with red-hot pincers. “Her name is Celine.”
Context. How is it we can stand in two different rooms, hear the same combination of letters and sounds, and our minds construct such differing images? Tennice had spoken four names, but I hadn’t listened in the proper context. “Celine” was not a vanished stranger, one more unmarked name in a list of the uncountable dead. I knew her. “Please, Kellea. May I speak with your grandmother? My information was in error, and she’s the one I need to see.”
“My grandmother sees no one. She’s quite feeble.”
“I swear to you that I mean her no harm. I’m a friend of her friends. Take her the message I give you, and if she commands us go, we’ll go.” I took a deep breath and reached backward. “Tell her I knew a student of hers from long ago. He learned many lessons from her, but the most important one was to look at the whole person before judging the worth of their gifts.”
As rigid as an iron spike, the young woman disappeared into the back room. She returned quickly. “She’ll see you. But only for a moment. You mustn’t tire her. She turns ninety next month.”
Tennice and I followed Kellea into a tiny room that smelled of lavender and mint. A sunny window flooded the room with light and air and myriad other scents from a courtyard crowded with planter boxes and baskets of herbs and flowers. In a chair by the window sat an old woman, so withered and dry that it looked as if the slightest breeze could swirl her away like dust. Her head nodded continuously in the way of the very old, but her blue eyes blazed with curiosity. “Who is it speaks of long ago?”
“My name is Seri, madam, and this is my friend, Tennice of Verdillon. I cannot say how honored I am to meet you. Never did I believe I would have that privilege.”
“That’s all very nice, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“My husband was your student. His name was Karon, eldest son of the Baron Mandille, Lord of Avonar.”
Celine showed no fear. No hesitation. But she was listening, surely, awash in stillness. Even her head had stopped its bobbing for the moment. “And what has this to do with me?”
“He told me of his mentor whose name was Celine, and of how she took a frightened and awkward boy and taught him the beauty of his calling. And when he became cocky, as young men do, she taught him the grace to look for the gifts in everyone. He told me of your candlemaker and your sons, and how, whenever he had a problem, he would think first, ”What would Morin do?“ ”
The old woman extended her hand, her head nodding again as if I had recited my lesson correctly.
“Grandmother!” said Kellea.
But the old woman’s handclasp was firm, and she examined me with unclouded eyes. “Karon. Such talent he had— and the heart to match his skill. Lifegiver, we called him. I didn’t know he lived past the dark day. But I see in you that he has gone the way of the rest of them.”
“Ten years ago. He was discovered.”
“I was old when he came to me. Who would have thought I would outlive him? I suppose I’ve outlived them all.” How familiar was her speech. Not querulous or sad, but only wondering at the mysterious ways of life, rejoicing, even in grief, at the interleaving of joy and sorrow and pain and beauty. “And you were his wife. You were not of Avonar?”
“No. We met several years later.”
“You knew what he was?”
“Yes.”
“It’s no easy thing to love a Healer—to share with a thousand others what should be yours alone.” She touched my cheek with her warm, dry finger. “You laughed with him?”
“Very much.”
“Good.” Celine settled back in her chair, shaking her head solemnly. “No. No easy thing to walk the Way with a Healer.”
Kellea stood watching like a new-honed knife, ready to slice the first thing that came in its path.
“So this is your granddaughter?” I said, wanting to leave the past behind and get to our business.
“Great-granddaughter. Morin’s granddaughter, newborn only a week before the dark day. On the day the Leirans came, I had taken her for a walk in the hills to give her mother a rest. I watched from the hilltop as the soldiers burned Mandille and Christophe and Eduardo and everyone else of the J’Ettanne, and they put my Carlo and Morin and the rest of the people of Avonar to the sword. Now, why are you here? Not to reminisce. Not after so many years.”
“We found you through Professor Ferrante.”
“I’m surprised at that. He was sworn. Why?”
“The story is so long. I hate to tire you with it.”
“I’ve nothing better to do. Kellea runs the shop. I sleep here in the sun or watch the flowers bloom. Soon I’ll be in L’Tiere and have all the sleep I’d ever want. Keep me awake for a while.”
Through the long afternoon I sat at Celine’s feet and told her the story of D’Natheil and Baglos, and the reason I sought a J’Ettanni survivor. Whenever the bell on the shop door rang, Kellea would disappear and tend to her customers, and then she would return to her post at Celine’s doorway. At every half hour, she would tell me that Celine needed to rest.