The Harrowing of Gwynedd (18 page)

“Dear God, he's got it!” Tavis murmured, looking up at Gregory and Evaine, then at Queron and Joram, with awe in his eyes and in his voice. “He was right here, practically in our reach, all this time.” He swallowed uneasily. “Sweet
Jesu
, I can hardly believe it. Shall we tell him now, or wait?”

Cautiously Joram rose from where he had been crouching beside Queron and the sleeping Aurelian.

“First, let's get the good Dom Aurelian bedded down for the night, shall we? He doesn't need to know anything else about this. No sense having to tamper with his memories any more than we've already done.”

“I agree,” Queron said. “I've already taken care of tonight's little incident. So long as nothing else happens to change his conditioning, he'll be fine, come morning.”

“I'll take him to a room, then,” Jesse said. “Unless you'd rather.”

“Do that, Jesse,” Joram replied, before Queron could reply. “Queron, if you don't mind, I'd rather you took charge of Ansel now. I know you'd like to observe Sylvan when he's brought around, but I think a Healer should stay with Ansel until we're sure he's out of danger—and Tavis is going to be a little busy. I'll send you a couple of men to help you get him to his room.”

Queron, after surrendering Aurelian's control to Jesse, stood back and gave a resigned nod as Joram helped Jesse get the groggy Healer to his feet.

“I'll see to Ansel, then, if that's where I'm needed most,” he said, watching Jesse walk Aurelian out. “The most important thing will be to keep him quiet and make sure he takes plenty of fluids for the next few days, to compensate for the blood loss. Fortunately, we have some medications that should speed that aspect of recovery. I'm sure Tavis is familiar with them.”

Tavis nodded his concurrence, though he had yet to take his eyes or his hand from Sylvan, who still lolled bonelessly in Gregory's arms.

“I promise to give you a full report, Queron,” he murmured. “I know how badly you wanted to be the one.”

Queron shrugged. “We are not always given all the gifts we desire.” He glanced up at the waiting Fiona. “May I ask your assistance, my lady? If we clean him up here, perhaps we can avoid tracking any more blood through the compound. I'm afraid young Jesse's already left bloody footprints in the Portal and landing of the Council chambers, when he came to get me, and Joram did not improve matters by standing in it.”

Joram glanced at the soles of his boots and grimaced, and Evaine gave the anteroom and its occupants a wistful appraisal.

“Let's
all
get cleaned up,” she said, rising, “and give Tavis a chance to gather his wits about him before we pursue this further. And
I
have
children
to put to bed!” she added, taking little Tieg's hand and glancing meaningfully at Rhysel, whose eager young face mirrored instant rebellion over her stack of towels. “None of you should have been here, you know—not even Camlin, who thinks I don't see him, hiding behind Joram—though I suppose, if he's willing to help scrub floors, he may stay.”

Camlin raised his chin with all the haughty indignation of any precocious twelve-year-old mistakenly presumed to be a child still by his elders.

“Do you think I'm too proud for that?” he asked. “It
is
Cousin Ansel's blood, after all—and he certainly cleaned up enough of mine, at Trurill. Besides, Saint Camber's blood flows in his veins—and was spilled for us tonight. Of course I'll scrub floors.”

“I want to help, too,” Rhysel chimed in. “May I, Mummy, please? I promise I'll go right to bed, when we're done.”

“Me, too, Mummy!” Tieg piped. “I help, too.”

“You're far too young—both of you.”

“But, Mummy, I'm nearly eight!” Rhysel protested.

“Rhysel, you were just seven in November.”

“So? That's big enough. Nobody
ever
lets me—”

“Rhysel—”

Fiona, smiling despite her efforts to keep a straight face, set her hands on Rhysel's shoulders.

“Why not let her help, Evaine?” she said. “She's seen worse—and she's old enough to fetch more water and towels. I'll see that she gets to bed when we're through. We can use the extra hands. And it's certainly easier than arguing.”

Evaine sighed. “Oh, very well. But Tieg
is
too young, and he's going to bed
now
.” She scooped up the indignant Tieg and braced him on her hip. “Gregory, why don't you take charge of Sylvan, while Tavis gets changed, and we'll all meet in the chapel in half an hour.”

As she carried the squirming and protesting Tieg out of the room, Gregory glanced up at Tavis, over Sylvan's head lolling against his chest.

“Do you want to block him again, before I take over? It might be easier, all around.”

Tavis almost flinched physically at having to let Sylvan go, now that he had found him, but he triggered the block and turned over control to Gregory without comment, forcing himself not to think about Healers at all as he watched Gregory rouse Sylvan and take him out.

He thought about blood instead as he shed his bloody mantle and outer tunic and tugged off his bloodied boots, leaving all in Camlin's charge. He doubted the felted soles would ever come really clean—but at least he left no more bloody footprints as he took his leave and padded toward his own quarters in stockinged feet, to wash and change into clean clothes.

He had left bloody footprints aplenty in Valoret, though. So had Ansel. And by now, the regents' soldiers would have followed that bloody spoor directly to the only Portal in the castle that Tavis still dared to use—and that would confirm that Deryni had been in the castle.

Please God, that bloody trail would not lead also to Prince Javan. Tavis knew there was no physical evidence to link Javan with the Deryni intruders, but he was willing to bet that some way would be contrived to lay young Giesele MacLean's death at the feet of same. And if, on their return, the regents should set their Deryni sniffers to questioning Javan, along with everyone else left at Valoret Castle tonight …

And that raised another question. What an interesting coincidence—if coincidence it had been—that all the regents and their assorted Deryni sniffers had been conveniently away from Valoret tonight. A most convenient coincidence, indeed, given the fate of Giesele MacLean. With Giesele dead, her sister Richeldis was now sole heiress to lands that the regents wanted very much for their own.

But these were questions for which Tavis had no answers—at least not yet. All the speculation in the world would not bring answers when he was not yet even sure of the questions. The important thing for now was that another Healer had been found who could block Deryni powers—and that raised its own set of questions, rather apart from all the ones concerning the regents.

As Tavis went into his cell and began stripping off his bloody tunic to wash, he found himself thinking about Sylvan O'Sullivan, and wondering how Sylvan was going to take to the whole idea.

Evaine also was wondering about Sylvan as she carried Tieg toward his room—or she was trying to wonder. For though Tieg had stopped wiggling once they left the bloody Portal chamber, he had begun crying instead, and that was almost worse.

“Tieg, this isn't making things any easier for Mummy,” she said.

“Don't care!” Tieg sobbed. “Put Tieg
down
! Don't
want
to go to bed. Why you don't let Tieg help?”

Evaine shook her head as she pushed open the door to the cell that Tieg and Rhysel shared for sleeping quarters, conjuring handfire so she could see to light the little oil lamp set on a small table between the children's two pallets. Tieg continued to wiggle and whine until she plopped him onto his bed.

“Now, that's about enough of that, young man,” she said, as she pulled his sleeping furs from under him and pushed him back against the pillow. “You're too young to stay up any later, and that's the end of the discussion.”

Lower lip protruding in a teary pout, the hazel eyes still stormy, Tieg flounced onto his side and turned his freckled little face to the wall, curling into a ball and scrunching a wad of fur coverlet under his chin.

“
Not
too young!” he muttered. “Don't
want
to go to bed yet!”

“I know you don't, darling, but we can't always have exactly what we want.” She sat down beside him on the pallet and began stroking the rigid little head and back. His hair was silky and blond like hers, but reddish where hers was sun-golden—the legacy of his Healer father.

“Listen to me, my love,” she went on. “I know you're upset. I know it must have been very frightening to see Cousin Ansel so badly hurt, but you were very brave. That makes Mummy very proud and happy.”

Tieg snuffled, unstiffening not a whit. “Tieg wanted to help.”

“But you
have
helped,” Evaine replied, patiently continuing to rub his back. “You were a very big help, just by being there with me while we helped Tavis and the other Healers make Ansel well.”

Tieg snuffled again, though this time he turned his face slightly toward his mother.

“Tieg helped?”

“Yes, of course, darling.”

She could sense him mulling that as he rolled onto his back to look her in the eyes. After studying her gravely for several seconds, he finally allowed himself a wry little smile.

“Funny.”

“What's funny, darling?”

“Uncle Ansel was clear.” His little brow furrowed. “Why he clear, Mummy?”

Evaine breathed out with a sigh. She had been hoping Tieg would not remember that. How could she explain to a three-year-old about blocking Deryni powers, when he scarcely knew what powers were?

“Does that worry you, that you couldn't see him except with your eyes?” she asked, trying to fathom what he might really be asking.

Tieg scrunched up his face even more, trying to understand.

“Did it hurted Ansel to be clear?” he asked.

“Noooo,” Evaine replied honestly. “Tavis made him clear so that he and the other Healers could work on him more easily. Ansel's leg was hurt, but what Tavis did didn't hurt him.”

“Hmmm, good.” Tieg nodded sagely, then broke out in an impish smile that turned into giggles.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. But Tieg can do that, too,” he announced.

Evaine's heart leaped into her throat.

“Can do what?” she whispered.

“Make people clear.” He pursed his lips at her little gasp. “Mummy not believe Tieg?”

“Darling, it isn't that I don't believe you, but I don't know if you understand what you're saying,” she murmured. “Making people clear is very hard.”

Tieg shook his head confidently. “Not hard. Tieg can do.”

“But—”

“Tieg can do!” he insisted. “Show Mummy?”

“You mean, make Mummy clear?” she breathed.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded.

“Tieg, it isn't a game, you know.”

“No game. But Tieg can do.” And before she could make further protest, he touched a chubby hand to her cheek, cocked his head and blinked—and she was Blind.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Therefore night shall be unto you, that ye shall not have a vision; and it shall be dark unto you, that ye shall not divine
.

—Micah 3:6

Evaine gasped in the first shock of it, reeling from the sudden psychic jolt of being all at once stripped of power while still retaining her awareness of precisely what had happened.

Dear God, Tieg had said he could make her “clear,” and he had! Little Tieg, who would not be four until August, had done what only a very few highly trained adult Healers could do—as casually as an ordinary child his age might recite his prayers or show his mother how he could turn a somersault or hop ten times on one foot and not lose his balance. Could he have any inkling what it meant?

Still hardly able to comprehend it herself, much less believe it, Evaine could only stare at him aghast, unsure whether to be horrified or elated. She knew she ought to reassure him that she was all right—but she was
not
all right! She was psychically Blind! Who would have thought that
Tieg
—

“Mummy clear now,” Tieg said, very matter-of-fact, too pleased with himself to be anxious quite yet. “Clear like Cousin Ansel, see?”

“Yes, darling, I do,” she answered automatically.

Something in his tone made her suddenly think of Rhys. She had let him block her many times in those early days after he first discovered the ability, while they worked to understand its potential uses and limitations. Being blocked was still one of the most disconcerting sensations she had ever experienced, in a lifetime of awareness augmented as only Deryni could do. Perhaps she should have expected that the ability might manifest in Rhys' Healer son—though the notion of a three-year-old child being able to use it instinctively, without any notion of the ultimate consequences, was appalling.

But was it any more appalling than Tieg's early manifestation of his Healer's powers, so strongly realized that Evaine, not a Healer herself, had been able to channel those powers through her own experience and direction and use them to Heal the crucified Camlin, in the ruins of Trurill? No, of course not! Lack of
control
over such power was appalling—not the power itself.

No, the discovery of Tieg's ability simply meant that they now had
three
Healers who could block Deryni powers—though it must be many years before Tieg had the training, experience, and judgment to put his ability to practical use. In fact, perhaps she ought not even to tell the others just yet, lest desperation one day suggest to one of them that Tieg should become involved prematurely in the work with Revan and the baptizers. Yes, best simply to have him restore her, and then broaden the already existing controls that she and Rhys had planted long ago, to include prohibitions against using this new talent unless specifically directed to do so.