Shadow Magic (17 page)

     A quick lift of one shoulder was her only answer. Though now she pondered the implications of his words, he knew she would have a hundred questions later.

              As they climbed the slight rise in the road, Egann searched ahead, looking for some sign, however small, that anyone remained.  He found nothing.

             
Indeed, once they reached the rock-strewn area that seemed to have been a brief stopping place, only the blackened ashes and glowing coals of still warm fire pits remained.

             
“Those accursed fools,” he let himself rage.  “If indeed these are the ones who have stolen the amulet, they demean it by their petty use of it, and don’t even realize the amount of its power.”

             
He paced the camp, seeking any hint, any trace that magic, foul or otherwise, had been used there this eve.  Oddly enough, he found only emptiness.  This told him that cloaking spells of great strength had been used.

             
Wandering slowly behind him, Deirdre said nothing.  A great sadness seemed to have come over her, from the slight rounding of her shoulders to the downcast turn of her head.  Egann felt compelled to go to her, so he did, though he was careful not to touch her.  After all, he had no idea if the enchantment that followed them would grow more compelling, here in the place where serious magic had so recently been used.

Deirdre stopped, stiffened.  Glancing at her, he saw that all of her attention was fixed on a bundle of charred cloth that lay near the still smoldering fire-pit, partially covered with a handful of stones.  She moved forward to inspect it.  The bundle wiggled.  She jerked away, looking back at Egann. 

              “It lives,” she whispered.  “Though I know not if the creature has been injured or if it suffers inside its cloth tomb.”             

             
Though he sensed no threat, Egann held up his hand to stop her when she meant to reach for it. 

             
The bag squirmed again, dislodging several rocks.  This moved it a bit further from the heat and danger of the live coals. 

             
As he reached out to take it, the sack made a noise.  A strange sort of sound, an odd mixture of a growl, a mewl and a moan. 

             
Perplexed, Egann glanced at Deirdre again, raising one brow in question.  She frowned, then her forehead cleared and she flashed him a smile.

             
“What is it?”

             
“It sounds like a kitten.”  Pushing past him, she scooped up the bundled cloth and began to untie it.  “I only hope whoever trapped the creature thus was not cruel enough to injure it also.”

             
As she unwrapped the bindings, a tiny head appeared, with diminutive pointed ears and glowing amber eyes.  A kitten it was, though the strangest looking kitten Egann had ever seen.  Tufts of singed hair decorated its striped ears and the soot-covered whiskers of its face were curly and short rather than long and straight.

             
As Deirdre pulled the cloth away, the remainder of the small cat appeared.  Equally odd-looking, the orange colored fur was dotted with black stripes and swirls. 

             
Holding the squirming kitten firmly, Deirdre lifted it in the air and inspected it as it began to mew.. 

             
“She is unharmed,” she pronounced.  “Though she does sound hungry.”

             
How she knew this, Egann could only guess.  Shrugging, he glanced around the deserted campsite.  “Let her go.  She is large enough to hunt and all cats are fine hunters.  I am certain she will find both food and water with equal skill.”

             
“Let her go?”  Staring at him as though appalled, Deirdre brought the small creature close to her chest, wincing as it dug its claws into her left shoulder.  “I cannot turn her loose. She is too young, and we are all she has now.”

             
“All she has?”

             
“To look after him.”

             
Egann could only stare at her as she cuddled the small animal close.  “We don’t have time for this.”

             
She shifted from foot to foot, still stroking the now-still kitten with one hand.  “Time?  This small animal will not be any trouble.”

             
The words he wanted to say, that he did not need one more thing to look after, to protect, died on his lips.  He found himself watching as her delicate fingers threaded through the kitten’s fur, caressing the beast so lovingly that it made his chest ache. 

             
“Have you never had a pet before?” he found himself asking quietly. 

             
“Nay, I have not.  The people of the cliffs believed such things would distract me from my purpose.”

             
“Your purpose?”

             
“The rituals, the dance, the calling forth of blessings upon their crops.  All these things I did for them and more.”

             
She sounded so matter-of-fact, so forlorn that he knew in that instant that he would have to let her keep her tiny cat.  So little had she been allowed, how could he deny her this small pleasure?

             
“Very well.”  He pulled from his pouch a bit of dried meat and handed it to her.  “Give him this to ease his hunger.  `Twill make him less restless once his belly is full.”

             
While she fed her kitten, he walked the perimeters of the deserted camp.  Though he doubted his luck would be so good, he hoped to find tracks, a sign, some hint or clue as to the direction the nomads had gone.

             
As he had feared, he found nothing.

             
“Listen,” she said abruptly.  “In the distance, that way,” she pointed north.

             
Straining, holding his body perfectly still, Egann heard nothing.  He sent his mind north, traveling with his powers and listening all the while.  Still, he could not – Ah, now he heard it.  Very low, very faint.  The exquisite cry of the amulet, calling to him to follow.

             
Moving blindly, he started forward, his chest aching with unnamed sorrow.  Shuddering, he took a breath, the cool night air searing his lungs.  Through the roar in his head he knew dimly that Deirdre followed him, the young kitten cuddled in her arms. 

             
“The Amulet of Gwymyrr,” he heard himself say, then repeated it twice more, like a chant or a litany.  Its song soared, keening like the wind, touching his ears and his heart and his soul.

             
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. 

             
The utter lack of sound caused him to stagger, a sharp sense of loss twisting and turning inside of him.  Blinking, it took several heartbeats to clear the fog from his eyes, a second more before he became aware of Deirdre, her beautiful face wearing a quiet expression of dismay.

             
“`Tis gone,” he said simply.

             
She nodded.  “But at least we now know in which direction we must travel.”

             
Her soothing voice felt like a balm to him and he wondered how much of his riotous emotion she had been able to discern.  Carefully schooling his face into a mask of nonchalance, he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. 

             
“We have much of the night ahead of us.  Let us go with all haste.”

             
Deirdre crossed the small space between them, lifting her free hand to brush back the hair from his face.  Stunned at the tenderness of her action, he could only stand frozen, the slow pounding of his heart a steady thump in his chest. 

             
“Thank you,” she told him softly, a sweet smile curving her lips.  “I will treasure my pet always.” 

Not trusting his voice, he inclined his head in a brusque motion, then started forward.  He heard Deirdre sigh as she moved with him, the ridiculous kitten asleep in her arms. 

                                                                      * * * *

             
Carrying her new companion proved rather easy, especially once the animal hooked her tiny claws in the folds of her gown and slept there, with Deirdre’s arm underneath  for support. Instead of thinking about the torment she’d seen on Egann’s face, she focused on the softness of the kitten’s fur, relishing the way it purred so loudly, the quiet vibrations pleasing and soothing against her chest.  

             
Still, she could not help considering what had just happened.  She too had felt the amulet’s grief.  She also knew its sense of loss, recognizing Egann’s own sorrow in the amulet’s cry, though he would not admit it.

             
Perhaps the amulet could only be worn by Rune’s one true king.  And if that king was Egann, unless he accepted this fact, would the amulet ever cease to mourn?

             
But she voiced none of her thoughts, knowing that Egann struggled enough with the choices he had made.  Such a thing, were it to turn out to be true, would be something best learned on his own.

             
They would recover the amulet – of this she had no doubt.  Whether or not Egann would decide to become Ruler of his people, she could not say. 

             
Of her own future, she felt much more uncertain. 

             
Why had the fates decreed that Egann would enter her world?  All her life she had longed for something more than her simple life among the people of the cliffs. More than anything she had wanted to feel the warm kiss of sunlight upon her pale skin.  Her yearnings had been foolish and impossible; for craving sunlight was to those of her kind the same as wishing for death. 

             
Yet desire this she had and, truth be told, still did. 

In Egann’s golden brightness, she tasted a hint of the yellow luster of day, a heady suggestion of what could be, were she able to reach out and grab it without dying. 

              Perhaps somehow Egann’s magic, or that of his mysterious amulet, might be able to make it so.  She dared, but for a moment, to dream of such a thing, then put the thought firmly away. 

             
“Hold.”  Egann’s low-voiced command brought her from her reverie.  “I sense—”

             
She felt the sensation of time slipping, the stir in the air filling her senses, telling her that some sort of magic occurred.  Egann grasped her hand, pulling her closer.

             
A blur of white circled them. 
Hoo-Hoo
came the cry of an owl.

             
Then Fiallan stood on the path in front of them, his white robe glowing.

CHAPTER NINE

     “I have heard the cry of the Lady.”  Fiallan’s voice sounded harsh, accusatory.  “I have heard this in the sorrowful voice of the Amulet of Gwymyrr.”

              Instantly Egann remembered the old fable, of a Queen named Gwymyrr and her lament and great grief.

             
“So it was this song,” he asked slowly, ever conscious of Deirdre’s slender fingers gripping his, “that we heard just now when the amulet mourned?”

             
Fiallan’s cobalt gaze seemed to pierce him, and Egann wanted to cross his arms in self-defense. Only Deirdre's hand in his prevented him.

             
“Do you not recognize it?” 

             
Egann felt a flash of annoyance.  “How could I, when I have never before heard its tune?”

             
With a regal nod, Fiallan conceded the point.  “True, but it does call your name.”

             
“This I knew.”  Now Deirdre spoke, still clutching Egann’s fingers, but facing the Wise One of Rune bravely just the same.  “Even when I heard the lament in my dreams, I sensed that the amulet called to Egann.”

             
“In
your
dreams?”  Fiallan stepped forward, focusing on Deirdre with the predatory glare of one who hunted.

             
Egann tensed, not certain why he did so. 

             
“Yes.”  Deirdre’s soft voice sounded sad rather than afraid.  “I have dreamt of this talisman more than once.  Always it has seemed to me that it called to Egann.”

             
“Do you know where it is?”

             
Deirdre did not answer.  Glancing down at her, Egann saw that she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. 

             
“Do you know where it is?”  Fiallan repeated the question, his harsh voice ringing out in the stillness of the night.