Wizards’ Worlds (12 page)

She tried to raise herself higher on the bed.

“Is the child dead?” She believed that she had managed to ask that without betraying
the surge of emotion which tore her as sharply as had the pains earlier.

“No.” Now Dame Inghela did move. Hertha watched as the Dame stooped to lift from a
box-like bed a bundle that gave a sudden, ear-piercing squall, struggled against the
confinement of the blanket about it.

Not dead—then what? There was ill fortune in the way the Dame had met her question,
Hertha was sure. She held out her arms, willing them not to tremble, setting herself
to bear any evil.

The baby must be far from death. Its battling against the swaddling was vigorous.
Hertha grasped the bundle, resolutely turned back the coverings to look upon what
Gunnora had promised, a child to be wholly and only hers.

She looked down upon a small wrinkled, reddened
body of the newborn, and she knew! Revulsion, for only a moment, burned in her as
if she might still vomit forth the evil which must have lain dormant in her since
this new life had been conceived.

Evidence of her sin, her dealing with the powers of evil, ancient and strong evil,
only that lay now on this one, not on her. She stared down into the ill formed face.
The child stared back, its croaking cries still. Those bulbous eyes seeming to thrust
into hers as if already the small creature knew that fate had marked it. There was
the faint hint of brownish patches already staining its skin. The Toads—yes—their
mark!

Hertha cradled the child with fierce protectiveness, looked defiantly over its head
at the Dame.

Inghela’s hands moved in the signs of ritual against the Powers of Darkness, even
as her lips shaped words which were whispered too low for Hertha to catch. One of
her hands caught at the loop of prayer rings at her belt and fingers began to separate
one from the other.

“Changeling!” The maidservant, whom Hertha had hardly been aware of during her hours
of labor, crept from behind her mistress into the circle of lamplight.

That word aroused Hertha to greater awareness.

“This is,” she said slowly, distinctly, in that moment taking unto herself all which
might have misformed the child, all the burden of sin she had drawn to her in her
madness and her hate, “this is my daughter, Elfanor, whom I proclaim is truly of my
body, my fair child, and who rests within the name of my clan.”

Elfanor? Hertha wondered at that name, how had it come to her? It was one which she
had never heard before. Yet it seemed to her the proper one. As for the other formal
words of her acknowledgment of the child, they were empty. She had no clan, no family
name, no lord to raise the child in the central hall of a keep before all those of
his holding.

She was utterly alone, the more so now because of what had been laid upon this child.
Hearing the click of the prayer rings Inghela fingered, Hertha knew that already her
daughter had been judged, and she had been, too.

That same stubborn pride which had made her withstand the demands of a family line
she could no longer lay claim to, to court a certain revenge which had now recoiled
upon her in this vile fashion, that was her shield, and, perhaps, still her weapon.

“My daughter,” she repeated firmly, daring the Dame, the maidservant staring avidly
at what she held, to raise any protest.

“Changeling—” Once more that dread word held a cursed sound.

Dame Inghela turned swiftly, her authority plain to read on her round face as she
looked at the maid and issued a swift stream of orders. The girl fled, busied herself
hastily in gathering stained linen, pouring slops into a waiting bucket. Then she
scuttled from the chamber. Inghela had once more taken her place by the bedside. Her
steady gaze met Hertha’s defiant stare.

“The child—” she began slowly.

Hertha’s chin raised a fraction. She would never reveal now to this, or any other
living soul, the sorrow and the torment within her.

“Is cursed. Is that what you would say, Dame? If so, the curse is mine and mine must
be the answer.”

Dame Inghela showed no sign of affront at what might almost be considered blasphemy
when uttered in this place. Those who followed the Flame were taught, and taught,
that sin left its mark upon the sinner. In so much could Hertha’s words be considered
confession.

“Evil seeds itself when it is watered and cherished by the will,” she said slowly.
Yet the gaze which held Hertha’s so levelly did not condemn.

“You know my story,” Hertha replied harshly. Since
she had taken Elfanor into her arms the child lay quiet, the large, bulging eyes
were half closed, as if, young as the babe was, she heard and understood. “Yes, I
sought evil to draw upon my enemy, him who had defiled me. I sought an evil of the
Old Ones openly, willingly, because all which filled me then was hate. Still the full
evil did not come to fruit. He whom I sent to the Toads I fought for. He lives.”

“Yet he was not the right man, as you have also said,” Dame Inghela reminded her.

“That I did not know until after. I had already fought for him. Thus, this—” Her arms
tightened about the small body. “I do not know any of the ancient wisdom, the sorcery
of how any power could have reached within my body and changed new life I carried
into this. Elfanor is mine, upon me let the burden fall. And—” it might be ill for
her to speak so within this place, still that headlong need for defense, for the right
to nurse some small hope within her now, led her to do so—"perhaps what one power
had done to set awry, another can aid.”

Once more Dame Inghela swung her hoop of rings. “Your speech is not good. Here we
follow the true teachings. You have already had proof of what comes when one appeals
to that which is no belief of ours!”

“True.” Hertha repressed a shiver arising from cold within her, not in answer to that
rebuke. At the same time she reckoned—they can put no walls about my thoughts. There
are powers and powers.

She loosed one hand, her fingers found what lay upon her breast, the amulet of Gunnora.
Again she recalled how she had sought out that shrine, heavy with her child, seeking
what succor she could. Of how in dream—or perhaps more than dream—she had been made
welcome and one of her boons granted. For she was certain at this moment that Elfanor
had indeed no part of her father within her, that she was wholly Hertha’s own.

As days passed Hertha never spoke again of what she might do. She was well aware that
her child was the subject
of many whispers, that such congratulations upon her safe delivery as were offered
gave lip service only to custom.

Sudden warm winds came out of the south. The earth dried after the last of the snow’s
burden soaked into it. Spring was coming early. Hertha kept to her chamber much of
the time, her thoughts busier than her hands, though she nursed her daughter and cared
for her entirely, refusing any help from those who she knew looked upon the baby as
cursed.

At the fourth week she asked for formal audience with the Abbess, her plans made.

Carrying the child, she made her courtesy of ceremony in the inner parlor, thinking
fleetingly how different matters were since she had been previously received here.
Then she had come wrapped in what she knew now was a false contentment, having laid
upon another for a short space, the ordering of her life. At this moment she caught
at that straying memory fiercely, pushed it away. She had been a fool, and must now
pay for her folly, perhaps all her days.

“They say, Lady Hertha, that you desire to go forth from Lithendale.” The Abbess was
not a tall woman. Still the high-backed chair of age-darkened wood, all carven with
Flame symbols, enthroned her. Hertha’s first suspicion dulled. Perhaps she was a poor
judge of the motives and thoughts of others, but here she read no malice, no accusation,
only true concern.

“I must,” she replied, sitting on the very edge of the stool to which the Abbess had
waved her, Elfanor close against her. The baby never cried when Hertha held her so
In fact she would lie still, open eyes upon her mother’s face. Hertha had to keep
herself from ever searching those too-large eyes for some hint of the marsh fires
she had seen once in eyes so like them. “Your reverence, I—and mine—have no place
within these walls.”

“Has that been said to you?” The Abbess’s demand came, quick and sharp.

“Such does not have to be said. No, none has given me
any unwelcome word. But it is the truth. Through me a shadow of evil has come into
a place which should be at peace and holy.”

“Peace we may strive for. Holiness is not of our fashioning,” the Abbess returned.
“If you leave here where do you go? My Lord of Nordendale—”

Hertha made a swift gesture. “Your Reverence, he was good to me when he had every
right to draw steel across my throat. I brought him into such peril as perhaps none
of our kind has seldom faced. You know my story, how I prayed for vengeance to creatures
whose very nature is of black foulness, and later drew him into their net.”

“Then fought for him again,” the Abbess said slowly. “Did you not believe when you
so fought that he was still the one who shamed you?”

“Yes. But what did that matter? If I had turned my own dagger point upon him for a
clean death, that was my right, was it not?” Her old shame and hate clung for a moment
to memory. “But no man, no matter what his sin, should be given to old evil.”

“He did not hold your act against you. No, rather he did in a measure honor you for
trying to uphold your battle against shame. This Trystan spoke with me before he rode
forth, and, since then, have you not had twice messengers from him confirming that
he has accomplished his desires in part, that he has taken command of the leaderless
people of Nordendale, that he has brought peace and more than a small measure of hope
to others, that he wishes you to come in all honor as his lady. He is a strong man,
hard in some ways, but also, in his core, as good as the steel he carries. What of
him? Do you go to him?”

“To him least of all, Your Reverence. He is but new come into his lordship. Strong
and valiant a man though he may be, let him bring a bride with a ‘changeling’ already
at her breast, and trouble shall rise about him, as water rises about a rock fallen
into a swift flowing river which in time shall roll it over and over, doing with it
as the water wills.
No, I do not go to Nordendale. Also I beg this humbly of Your Reverence, that you
not send any message to Lord Trystan. If he or his messenger rides hither again you
will say that I have gone to my own people.”

“You have no people, so you have said,” the Abbess returned sharply. “Falsehood shall
not be uttered here either in a good or bad cause.”

“My Lady Abbess, I have by my own action set myself apart from those once my kind.
In truth I go to what perhaps is my own place.”

“The Waste? That means your death. To seek death willingly is also a sin.”

Hertha shook her head. “No, had I wished to travel that path I would have taken it
easily months ago. I do not go out to die, but to seek an answer. If that seeking
leads me into strange places, then that I shall face.”

“
Their
ways have never been ours. You imperil more than your body in such a search.”

“Lady, I imperiled myself so months ago. Now I have a battle before me. Do you believe—”
the girl’s face flushed, her eyes were bright, afire as those of a hunting falcon
ready for the death swoop, “that I shall not fight for this little one, who is wholly
mine? There are places of evil from the days when our people did not know this land,
but there are also places of peace and good. Is it not true of a healer that often
a small part of a dangerous herb may be given to counteract the illness that same
herb or its like seeded in the body? If it takes me a lifetime of searching, I will
seek healing.”

For a long moment the Abbess made no answer. She studied Hertha’s face, as if by the
very force of her will she could see through flesh and bone to the thoughts of the
mind within that skull.

“This is your choice,” she said slowly. “We do not use strange powers, but sometimes
the Flame grants
us
also a measure of foreseeing, even as a wise woman will look into her scrying cup.
I cannot tell why, but I believe that if
anything can be done to lift this curse, guidance will be given you.”

“And if the Lord Trystan comes?” Hertha had drawn a deep breath. She had never expected
such a response from a woman so deeply wedded to rituals which denied any dependence
upon other and older arts.

“He will be told the truth. That you bore one for whose future you must strive, and
that you have gone so to battle, we know not where. Whether such a man will accept
these statements, I do not know. That is a matter for him to decide. I cannot give
your search a blessing, but insofar as one vowed to our beliefs can well-wish another,
so do I you, Lady Hertha. You have courage, and your will is like a sword blade, worn
somewhat by this world’s battles, still sunbright and keen of edge.

“You have the mount which the Lord Trystan left for you; that I advise you to accept,
even though your pride may prickle. We shall also give you one of the baggage ponies,
for of those we have many, brought here by refugees, some of whom did not survive
and whose goods were left for kinsmen who never came. Supplies you shall have, with
what traveler’s gear you wish to select from our storehouse.

“And—” once more she hesitated. “I have given you well-wishing. I cannot add to that
any blessed charm, for where you go such could be a hindrance rather than an aid.
Nor will I ask in which direction you travel, though I will say do not ride the open
road, as this is a land in chaos and there are many masterless men to prey on travelers.”

“Lady Abbess, you have given me far more than I dared dream.” Hertha arose to her
feet. “Perhaps your greatest gift is that you have not said to me, ‘Go not, this is
a useless thing!’ ”