A Time of Omens

“It’s got everything to do with her. That’s what you don’t understand. You’re just like Nevyn, Jill. As cold and nasty hearted as ever the old man was.”

  “Don’t you say one word against Nevyn.”

  The snarl in her voice frightened even her. He stopped in midreply and stepped back against the wall as if she were a thief come to murder him.

  “You spoiled stinking mincing little fop,” she went on. “Have it your way, then. My curse upon you!”

  She slammed out of the inn, strode across the courtyard, slammed out of the gates, and stomped off for a long walk round the town. Wildfolk clustered round her like an army, and whether it was her rage or their unseen but bristling presence, she didn’t know, but no one, not one single thief or drunkard, so much as came near her all during that long aimless trek. Through the muddy streets of Injaro, out into the surrounding cleared land along a rutted road—only the light from the Wildfolk of Aethyr kept her from breaking her neck and ending that particular incarnation then and there. All at once she realized that she’d gone dangerously far from the town, no matter how much dweomer she had, and turned back. For all that she’d walked herself exhausted, she still was too angry to judge Salamander fairly.

  Toward dawn her wandering brought her back to a small rise overlooking the harbor, where she paused among a tangle of huge ferns, as big as trees, to catch her breath. Down below, out at the end of a long jetty, a boat lay at anchor in a pool of torchlight. Like ants the troupe moved back and forth, hauling their personal goods for the sailors to stow below. At the landward end of the jetty, Salamander was supervising while a pair of stevedores unloaded the troupe’s props and stage from a wagon. Jill swore aloud. She’d forgotten how early the tide would turn for their journey out. Fortunately there was still plenty of time left. She could trot right down, tell Salamander that she was going back to the inn for her pack and suchlike, then return to the coaster before they sailed.

  For a long time she stood there, leaning against one of the tree ferns, and wondered why she wasn’t hurrying. Already out to the east the sky was beginning to lighten to the furry gray that meant dawn coming. Her gnome appeared to grab the hem of her shirt and pull on it as if he wanted to lead her to the ship. She picked him up in her arms and made sure she had his attention.

  “Go tell Dallandra it’s time. Find her among the Guardians. She’ll know who sent you.”

  In a puff of moldy air the gnome vanished. Jill watched the bustle at the pier. It seemed that everyone was on board, but Salamander lingered on land, looking up the road into the town, pacing back and forth, pausing to stare again. When the captain left the ship and walked over to argue with him, Salamander waved his arms in the air and shook his head in a stubborn no. The sky was all silver now, and already the heat of day was building in the humid air. Jill had one last stab of doubt. Was she simply being stubborn? Was she deserting a friend, and him one she’d known for years and years? Yet with the cold intuition of the dweomer she knew that she was doing the right thing, that she could no more force him to take up his Wyrd before he wished than Nevyn had been able to force her, all those years ago.

  At last, Salamander flung both hands into the air, shook his head, and followed the captain on board. Just as the ship was pulling away from the jetty, the gray gnome appeared, all grins and bows. Jill picked him up again and held him like a child clutching a doll as she watched the ship sail away, heading south on a rising wind, until it disappeared into the opalescent dawn. In the day’s fresh heat, sweat trickled down her back.

  “Well, we can hope, at least, that the Elder Brothers found themselves a better island to settle than this one, but somehow or other, I have my doubts.”

  The gnome mugged a mournful face, then disappeared.

  The ship had sailed some miles down the coast before Marka realized that something was wrong with Salamander. She was standing in the stern of the boat, watching the wake and chatting with the helmsman, when a grim Keeta made her way back through the piles of trunks and boxes.

  “Marka, you’d best tend to that husband of yours. He’s up in front.”

  When she hurried forward, Keeta followed, but she hovered a respectful distance away, back by the mast. At the prow, Salamander was leaning onto the wale as if he were a lookout, but she could tell that he was staring off toward nothing and seeing nothing as well.

  “Ebañy?”

  He neither moved nor seemed to hear. For a moment she felt paralyzed by a sudden mad fear, that no words of hers would ever reach him, that if she tried to touch him her hand would pass right through his arm, that never again would he hear when she tried to speak. As if a waking nightmare had dropped over her like a net, the light turned strange, all blue and cold for the briefest of moments. She could not speak, knowing that he would never hear. She caught her breath in a sob, and he spun round, masking his face in a smile.

  “Well, we’re under way nice and early, aren’t we?”

  The illusion shattered. Ordinary sunlight danced on the sea and fell warm on her skin and hair. Yet, when he went on smiling, she felt as if he’d slapped her, that he would hide his hurt this way.

  “I thought something was wrong.”

  “Oh, no, no. Just thinking.”

  In her sudden misery she could only study his face and wonder if he still loved her.

  “Salamander?” Keeta strode forward. “Where’s Jill?”

  “Oh, she’s not coming with us. There’s really nothing she wants in these stinking islands, so she’ll be catching a ship back to Orystinna.”

  “Really?” Keeta raised one eyebrow.

  “Just that.” Ebañy smiled again, easily and smoothly. “She’s got her work to do, you know, and she could see that she’s not going to find any rare books in these rotting little towns.”

  “Well, that’s certainly true enough.” Keeta hesitated, on the edge of asking more. “I always wondered why she came out with us in the first place. But do you think she’ll be all right?”

  “My dear woman!” Ebañy laughed aloud. “I’ve never known anyone better able to take care of herself than Jill.”

  Keeta nodded, considering, then smiled herself.

  “Well, that’s most likely true, too. Just wondering. I’m surprised she didn’t say good-bye, but then, she’s not the kind of woman who likes a long drawn-out parting. You can see that.”

  Ebañy kept smiling until she wandered off, picking her way through the deck cargo in search of Delya; then he flung himself round and leaned onto the wale again, staring out as if he were struggling not to cry. Marka could think of nothing to do but lean next to him and wait. Ahead the sea stretched out like a road, green-blue and flecked with brown kelp. Gulls darted and shrieked in the rising sun.

  “Ah, well,” Ebañy said at last. “Even old friends must part, sooner or later, I suppose.”

  “Are you going to miss Jill?”

  He nodded a yes, staring off to sea.

  “Well, darling.” Marka felt like sobbing in relief, just from finding something to say. “If the show keeps doing so well, maybe we can go to Deverry someday and see her again. If she’s at this Wmmglaedd place, we’ll know where to find her.”

  He turned to look at her, and this time his smile was genuine.

  “Maybe so. Somehow I managed to forget that.”

  “Silly.” She laid her hand on his arm. “My beloved idiot.”

  “You do love me, don’t you? Truly, truly love me?”

  “What? More than my life.”

  “Don’t say that.” He grabbed her by the shoulders so tightly that it hurt. “It’s ill-omened.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “But do you love me? Oh, by the gods! If you don’t love me, I’ve—” His voice caught in a sob. “Of course I love you. I love you so much I can’t even say.”

  “I’m sorry.” He let her go, caught her again, but gently this time. “Forgive me, my love. I’ll admit to having had days when I’ve been in better humor.” He kissed he
r mouth. “Why don’t you leave me to my fit, sulk, temperament, or whatever this may be?”

  All morning he stood there alone, brooding over the sea and sky. Mama had a sudden premonition that had nothing to do with dweomer, that even if their marriage lasted for fifty years or more, she would never truly know her husband, realized it then, when by every law in Bardek and Deverry both it was far too late to change her mind. She also remembered the old fortune-teller in Luvilae. The knave of flowers, she thought. That’s who it was: Ebañy. I’ve married the knave of flowers, and I’ll never be the princess now.

  After she watched the ship sail out of sight, Jill returned to the inn, paid off the bills that the troupe had left behind them, then gathered a pack’s worth of possessions: her clothes, the various maps and bits of manuscripts that she’d found in the archipelago, a judicious selection of herbs and oddments, then in a fit of thrift stored the rest with the innkeep, just as if she might come back again someday. Laden like a peddler she strolled out of town by the west gate and followed the road, keeping more on the solid shoulder than the mucky middle, for about a mile. As soon as she turned off into the tangled forest, she saw Dallandra, waiting for her between two trees. In the sunlight the elven woman seemed as insubstantial as a wisp of fog caught in branches.

  “You’re ready?” Dalla said. “Now remember, Time runs differently, even on our borders. We won’t seem to be in the Gatelands very long, but we might come out again years later or suchlike. We have to travel fast.”

  Together they walked through the dappled shade and between the enormous trees. At first Jill thought that nothing had happened, but then she realized that the thick jungle foliage was so intense a green that it seemed fashioned from emerald. When she took a few steps, she saw ahead of her windblown billows of grass. She spun round and found the jungle gone, swallowed by a mist hanging in the air, opalescent in a delicate flood of grays and lavenders shot through with pinks and blues. As she watched, the mist swelled, surged, and wrapped them round in welcome cold.

  “There,” Dallandra said. “You’re not truly in your body anymore, you see.”

  Jill felt a weight round her neck and found, hanging from a golden chain, a tiny statuette of herself carved from obsidian. Dallandra laughed.

  “Mine’s of amethyst. That’s rather rude of Evandar, to use blackstone for you. It’s so grim.”

  “Oh, it suits me well enough.”

  Ahead three roads stretched out pale across the grasslands. One road led to the left and a stand of dark hills, so bleak and glowering that she knew they had no part in any country that Dallandra would call home. One road led to the right and a sudden rise of mountains, pale and gleaming in pure air beyond the mist, their tops shrouded in snow so bright that it seemed as if they were lighted from within. Straight ahead on the misty flat stretched the third. Dressed in elven clothes, a man was walking to meet them down that middle way, whistling as he came, his hair an impossible yellow, bright as daffodils. When he drew close Jill noticed that his eyes were an unnatural sky-blue and his lips red as cherries. She felt magical power streaming from him as palpably as she felt the mist.

  “Good morrow, fair lady.” He spoke in Deverrian. “My true love tells me that you wish to hurry on your way and not linger here in my beloved land. What a pity, for I’ve many a marvel to Show you.”

  “No doubt, and truly, I’m honored by your invitation, but I’ve another kind of marvel to find. If I remember the tales about you rightly, it’s one that I think you’d find interesting yourself, the island refuge of the sea elves.”

  He grinned, revealing teeth that were more than a little sharp.

  “And someday, perhaps, I’ll come visit you there.” He turned to Dallandra. “I’ve found the road we want. Shall we travel it?”

  For an answer she merely smiled and caught his hand. Jill walked alongside as they sauntered off down the middle road, as casually as a lady and her lover taking a stroll through the park lands of his estate. All round the mist hovered, parting directly ahead in swirls of watery sunlight to reveal dark mounds of trees. Off to her right she could hear a distant ocean crashing big waves onto some unseen shore.

  “Those three roads you saw at first? They’re the mothers of all roads,” Evandar remarked. “Men and elves, every thinking creature under all the suns everywhere—they like to think they’re following a road of their own building, don’t they? But all those earthly roads are just the daughters of one of these three.”

  “Indeed?” Jill said. “I won’t argue with you when you could well be right, for all I know.”

  “And since the three are the mothers of all earthly roads, all those earthly roads start and end here. You can move from one to another and come out where you choose, providing, of course, that you know how to get here in the first place.”

  “I see.” Jill allowed herself a smile. “That’s the trick, is it?”

  “Just so.” He smiled in return. “And not so easy a trick to learn.”

  “I well believe that.”

  “Now, of course, I could show you that trick, if you’d care to stay and learn it.”

  Jill felt a pang of temptation as strong as a stab of pain, but she merely laughed and shook her head no.

  “I’m grateful for the offer, mind. But I’ve got a bit of work on my hands just now.”

  “Your choice, of course.” Evandar bowed, a half-mocking sweep of his arm. “Now, it does take a bit of learning to untangle the roads from their mothers. It’s rather like a tapestry weaver’s remnants, a big basket of yarn of all colors, all tangled up together, and pulling just one strand free without knotting it round the rest isn’t such an easy thing to do. Which is why we’d best stop for a moment and let me think.”

  They had reached a low rise, dropping gently down in front of them to another wide and grassy plain, crisscrossed with tiny streams and dotted with thickets of trees. Off on a far horizon in a gathering mist Jill could just make out a rise of towers, all white stone flecked with the occasional glint of gold, as if some mighty city stood there. Although Evandar had talked of many roads, she could only see one, meandering through the plain like a stream. He seemed to hear her thought.

  “It’s all in the walking, which road you end up traveling. They all do look alike at first. Come along, we’ll just head down past those gray stones, there.”

  Now that he pointed them out, Jill could indeed see the boulders, shoving themselves clear of the earth about halfway down the rise. As they strolled past, she noticed that the stones seemed worked, shaped into flat slabs with some crude tool, and arranged into a roughly circular ring.

  “We turn here, I think,” Evandar said.

  The sun turned brighter by a sudden streamside, all dappled with coins of gold light and bordered with a spill of yellow wildflowers. Even though it seemed they had traveled a long way, Jill could still hear the mutter of the invisible ocean.

  “And what of the sea roads? Do all ships sail on that sea I hear over there somewhere?” She waved vaguely in the direction of the sound. “Is there a harbor where all sailors come to port?”

  “There is, truly. Again, if they can find their way to it. If. Your ancestors sailed that sea when Cadwallon the Druid brought them free of slavery and defeat in the land they called Gallia. But, of course, you know that.”

  “What?” Jill stopped walking and turned to him. “I don’t know in the least. What are you saying?”

  Evandar tossed his head back and laughed.

  “Cadwallon was a splendid man, if a bit dour at times. I knew him well, my lady. Now, if only you’d come take the hospitality of my hall, there’s many a tale I could tell you.”

  When Jill wavered, Dallandra intervened, shooting a scowl in his direction.

  “Don’t listen to him, Jill. You’ve not got years and years of idle time to waste over a goblet of mead.”

  “You are a harsh one, my love.” But Evandar was laughing. “Unfortunately, you speak true, and it would be too unscr
upulous even for me to tempt our guest further. Look, see where the sun’s breaking through? I think me that it shines on the island you’re looking for.”

  The mist ahead opened like a door and let through sunlight in a solid shaft. As they came close Jill felt the steamy heat of a tropical day streaming out to meet them.

  “A thousand thanks, Evandar. Dalla, will I see you again?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I was thinking of coming with you, just for a little while.” She glanced at her glowering lover. “To you it’ll be but moments.”

  “So it will, and go with my blessing, as long as you come back.”

  “Oh, that I will.” Dallandra flashed a wicked smile. “This time.”

  Before he could protest further she dropped his hand and strode forward into the shaft of sun. When Jill hurried after, the light was so strong that it burned her eyes and made them blink and water. Blind and stumbling, she stepped forward and fell to her knees in soft sand.

  “Ych, this is awful,” Dallandra remarked from nearby. “I feel like I’m made of lead, and I’ve tripped over some driftwood or somewhat.”

  Finally, after a lot of swearing and muttering, Jill got her sight back and realized that they were kneeling on a beach under a blazing sun that lay halfway between the zenith and the horizon—whether it was setting or rising, Jill couldn’t know. Off to her left the ocean stretched glittering; to her right, cliffs of pale sandstone rose up high; ahead the white sand ran on and on. Wildfolk swarmed round, climbing into their laps, patting their arms with nervous paws. Dallandra rose to her knees and shaded her eyes with one hand to frown up at the clifftops. Her figurine was gone, and when Jill automatically laid a hand at her own throat, she found that hers had vanished as well. She also realized that she could feel her pack on her back again; it had seemed to weigh nothing at all in the misty lands of the Guardians. For a moment Dallandra stood, looking this way and that, chewing on her lower lip in hard thought.

  “Wait! I can just see … a long ways down the coast there. Look at those black dots wheeling round in the sky.”