Here Begins the Adventure of Joisan, Maid of
Ithkrypt in Ithdale of High Hallack.
I, Joisan of Ithkrypt, was wed at harvest time in the Year of
the Spitting Toad. By rights that was not considered a year for new
beginnings; but my uncle, Lord Cyart, had the stars read three
times by Dame Lorlias of Norstead Abbey (she who was so learned in
such matters that men and women traveled weary leagues to consult
her), and her report was that my wedding was written as a thing
needful to my own fortune. Not that I was aware of much more than
the stir the question caused, for I was thereupon the center of
long and tiring ceremonies that brought me close to tears for the
very tiredness they laid upon me.
When one has no more than eight years, it is hard to judge what
occupies most the thoughts and plans of those in the adult world. I
can remember my wedding now mostly as a bright picture in which I
had a part I could not understand.
I remember wearing a tabard stiff with gold-thread stitchery
that caught up a pattern of fresh-water pearls (for which the
streams of Ithdale are rightly famous). But I was more occupied at
the time with keeping to Dame Math's stern warning that I must not
spot or wrinkle my finery; that I must be prudent at the feast
table lest I spill and so mar the handiwork of long and patient
hours. The robe beneath was blue, which did not please me over-much
as it is a color I do not fancy, liking better the dark, rich
shades such as hue the autumn leaves. But blue is for a maiden
bride, so it was mine to wear.
My new lord was not present to drink the Life Cup and light the
House Candle with me hand to hand. In his place stood a man
(seeming ancient to me, for his close-cropped beard was
frost-rimmed with silver), as stern as my uncle in his look. His
hand, I remember, bore a scar across the knuckles that had left a
raised banding of flesh of which I was acutely aware as he clasped
my fingers in the ceremony. And in the other hand he held a massive
war axe that signified my true lord who was about to twine my
destiny with his—though that lord was at least a half-dozen years
or more away from being able to raise that axe.
"Lord Kerovan and Lady Joisan!" the guests shouted our names
together, the men unsheathing their knives of ceremony so that the
torchlight flashed upon the blades, vowing to uphold the truth of
this marriage in the future, by virtue of those same blades, if
need be. My head had begun to ache with the noise, and my
excitement at being allowed to attend a real feast was fast
ebbing.
The elderly Lord Nolon, who stood proxy at the wedding, shared a
plate with me politely throughout the feast But, though he asked me
with ceremony before making a choice from all offered platters, I
was in too much awe of him to say "no" to what I liked not, and his
choices were mainly of that nature. So I nibbled at what my taste
rebelled against and longed for it to come to an end.
It did, much later, when the women with great merriment laid me,
wearing only my fine night shift, in the great, curtained bed. And
the men, headed by my uncle, brought in that awesome axe and bedded
it beside me as if it were indeed my lord. That was my wedding,
though afterward it did not seem too strange, just one of those
things difficult for a child to understand, something to be
dismissed to the back of one's mind.
Only that axe, which was my partner in place of a
flesh-and-blood bridegroom, was a stark prophecy of what was to
come — not only to me but to all the country that was my home: High
Hallack of the many dales.
After the departure of Lord Nolon, life soon returned to what I
had always known, for by custom I would continue to dwell under my
birthroof until I was of a suitable age for my lord to claim
me.
There were some small changes. On high feast days I sat at the
left hand of my uncle and was addressed ceremoniously by my new
title of Lady of Ulmsdale. My feast-day tabard also no longer bore
only one House symbol, but two, being divided in the center
vertically with a ribbon of gold. To the left, the leaping Gryphon
of Ulmsdale was worked in beads that glittered like gems. On the
right was the familiar Broken Sword of Harb, that mighty warrior
who had founded our line in High Hallack and given all his kin fame
thereafter when he had defeated the dread Demon of Irr Waste with a
broken blade.
On my name-day, or as near to that as travel conditions
permitted, would come some gift sent by my Lord Kerovan, together
with proper greetings. But Kerovan himself was never real to
me.
Also, since my uncle's lady was dead, he looked to his sister
Dame Math for the chatelaine's duties in Ithkrypt. She took over
the ordering of my days, to secret sighs and stifled rebellion on
my part. This and this and this must be learned, that I be a credit
to my upbringing when I indeed went to order my lord's household.
And those tasks, which grew with my years, induced in me sometimes
a desire never to hear of Ulmsdale or its heir; a longing in all my
being to be unwed and free. But from Dame Math and her sense of
duty I had no escape.
I could not remember my uncle's lady at all. For some reason,
though he lacked an heir, he made no move through the years to wed
again. Perhaps, I sometimes thought, even he dared not think of
lessening in any part Dame Math's authority. That she was an able
chatelaine, bringing peace and comfort to all she had dominion
over, could not be denied. She kept those about her in quiet,
sobriety and good order.
In her long-ago youth (it was almost impossible to think of Dame
Math as ever being a maid!) she had been axe-wed in the same
fashion as I to a lord of the south. But before he could claim her,
the news came that he had died of a wasting fever. Whether she
thereafter regretted her loss, no one ever knew. After the interval
of mourning she retired to the House of Dames at Norstead, an
establishment much-revered for the learning and piety of its
ladies. But the death of her brother's lady had occurred before she
took vows of perpetual residence, and she had returned to the
mistress's role at Ithkrypt. She wore ever the sober robe of Dame,
and twice a year journeyed to Norsdale for a period of retreat. As
I grew older, she took me with her.
My uncle's heir was still undecided, since he had made no
binding declaration. He had a younger sister also — one Islaugha,
who had married and had both son and daughter. But since that son
was heir to his father's holding, he was provided for.
I was the daughter of his younger half-brother, but not being
male, I could not inherit save by direct decree. My dowry was such
to attract a husband, and my uncle, should he wish, had also the
right — no, even duty, to name that husband heir, but only when he
declared it so would it be binding.
I think Dame Math would have liked to see me in the House of
Dames, had the marriage with Kerovan not been made. And it is the
truth that I did find my visits there pleasant. I was born with an
inquiring mind and somehow attracted the notice of Past-Abbess
Malwinna. She was very old, but very, very wise. Having talked with
me several times, she directed that I be given the right to study
in the library of the House. The stories of the past which had
always enchanted me were as nothing to the rolls of chronicles and
travels, dale histories, and the like, that were on the shelves and
in the storage boxes in that room.
But what held me most were the references to the Old Ones, those
who had ruled this land before the first of the dalesmen came
north. I knew well that such accounts as I found were not only
fragmentary, but perhaps also distorted, for the larger numbers of
the Old Ones had already withdrawn before our forefathers arrived.
Those our ancestors had contact with were lesser beings, or perhaps
only shadows, left as one would discard a threadbare cloak.
Some were evil as we judged evil, in that they were enemies to
humankind — like the demon Harb had slain. There were still places
that were filled with dark enchantment, so that any venturing
unwisely into such could be enwebbed. Other such beings could grant
prayers and gifts. Such was Gunnora — the Harvest Mother — to whom
all women were loyal, and whose mysteries were as great in their
way as the Worship of the Cleansing Flame to which the House of
Dames was dedicated. I myself wore an amulet of Gunnora — her
sheath of wheat entwined with ripened fruit.
Yet others seemed neither good nor ill, being removed from the
standards of humankind. At times they manifested themselves
capriciously, delivering good to one, evil to another, as if they
weighed men on some scales of their own and thereafter dealt with
them as they saw fit.
It was chancy to deal with any of the Old Ones save Gunnora. The
accounts I found at Norstead were full of instances where humans
had awakened from long slumber powers that never should have been
disturbed. At times I would seek out Abbess Malwinna in her small
garden and ask questions, to which she gave answers if she could.
If she could not, she admitted her ignorance frankly. It was on my
last such meeting with her that I found her sitting with a bowl
upon her knee.
The bowl was of green stone, wrought so finely that the shadow
of her fingers about it showed through the substance. It had no
ornamentation but its beauty of line, and it was very beautiful
indeed. Within was enough wine to cover the bottom and come a bit
up the sides.
I knew it was wine, for the heady smell reached me. The warmth
of her fingers about it was releasing the scent of the grape. She
turned it slowly around and around, so the liquid washed back and
forth, but she did not watch it. Instead she looked at me so
searchingly that I felt discomfort, as if I had been found wanting
in some necessary quality. I searched my conscience hurriedly for
any fault I might recently have shown.
"It is long," she said, "since I have tried this, Joisan. But
this morning I awoke with the need for doing so, and for you. In my
youth I had the gift of farseeing — for gift it is, though some
shrink from it. They are afraid of that which they cannot touch,
see, taste, hear, or otherwise clearly perceive. It is a gift that
cannot be controlled. Few who have it can summon it at will; they
must wait until the time it draws them to action. But if you are
willing, this day I can use it for you — for how much or how well,
that I cannot tell."
I was excited, for of farseeing I had heard. The Wise-women
could use it — or some of them could. But, as the Past-Abbess said,
it was not a talent that could be sharpened for use and then put
ready to hand like a man's sword or a woman's needle — it must be
seized upon when it came, and there was no use in trying to control
it. However, with my excitement there was also a tiny chill of
fear. It was one thing to read, to listen to, stories of the Power.
It was, I understood now, another to see it in action, and for
one's own self. Yet at that moment I do not think even panic would
have kept me from saying "yes" to her offer.
"Kneel before me, Joisan. Take this bowl within your two hands
and hold it level and steady."
I did as she bade, cupping my palms, one on either side of the
bowl, holding it as one might hold a firebranch that might be
ignited at any moment. Then she leaned forward and touched the
fingers of her right hand to my forehead.
"Look upon the wine; think of it as a picture — a picture — "
Oddly enough her voice sounded farther and farther away. As I
looked down into the bowl, I was no longer seeing only dark liquid.
It was rather as if I hung suspended in the air above a wide,
borderless expanse of darkness, a giant mirror with none of the
brilliance a true mirror possesses.
There came a misting, a change on that surface. Tendrils of the
mist became shadow forms. I saw a round ball that glinted and,
entombed in that, a form familiar to me — that of a gryphon
gleaming white.
At first the ball was very large, near filling the whole of the
mirror. Then it shrank swiftly, and I saw it was fastened to a
chain. The chain swung from a hand, so that the ball revolved. The
gryphon in it sometimes faced me, sometimes faced away. But there
grew in me the knowledge that this ball was of great
importance.
It was very small now, for the hand that dangled it was also
shrinking. The arm to which it was attached, and then the body
belonging to the arm, appeared. Now a man stood there. His face was
turned from me, hidden. He wore war mail, the hood drawn up about
his throat. There was a battle sword girded to him, and over his
shoulder I saw the arch of a crossbow. But he wore no House tabard,
nothing to identify him, only that swinging ball. Then he left,
tramping away as if he had been summoned elsewhere. The mirror was
dark and empty; nor did any more shadows gather there.
Malwinna's hand fell from my forehead. As I raised my eyes to
blink and blink again, I saw a woeful pallor on her face. So I
quickly set aside the bowl and dared to take her hands within mine,
striving to help her.
She smiled weakly. "It draws the strength — the more when one
has little strength left. But it was laid on me to do this thing.
Tell me, my daughter, what did you learn?"
"You did not see it, then?" I was surprised.
"No. It was not a farseeing for me, that I knew. It was yours
only."
I told her what I had seen: the gryphon englobed and a man in
battle dress holding it. And I ended, "The gryphon is the badge of
the House of Ulm. Did I then see the Lord Kerovan to whom I am
wed?"
"That may be so," she agreed. "But it is in my mind that the
gryphon is that which is of the greatest importance to your future.
If such ever comes to your hand, my daughter, do you guard it well.
For it is also to be believed that this is a thing of the Old Ones
and a focus of some power they once knew. Now, call Dame Alousan,
for I have need of one of her strengthening cordials. But speak not
of what we have done here this morning, for farseeing is a private
thing and not to be talked of lightly."
I said naught to any of the Dames, nor to Math. And the
Past-Abbess allowed them to believe that she was merely a little
wearied, so they fussed about her, for she was greatly loved. No
one paid any attention to me. I had taken the bowl with me into the
guesting room and put it on the table there.
Though I continued to look into it now and again I saw nothing
but the wine; no dark mirror, no shadows moving. Yet in my mind was
so vivid a picture of that I could have painted it, had I any skill
in limning, in every small detail. And I speculated as to what it
might mean. The gryphon so enclosed had differences from the one
that appeared as Ulm's badge. A gryphon by rights had the wings and
forepart of an eagle: its front legs end in a bird of prey's strong
talons. But the rear, the tail, the hind paws are those of a lion,
one of the beasts known to the south alone. On its bird's head a
lion's ears stand upright.
In the ancient learning the gryphon symbolizes gold: the warmth
and majesty of the sun. Ofttimes in legends it is the guardian of
hidden treasure.
Thus the gryphon is mainly pictured in red and gold, which are
sun colors. Yet the one enclosed in the globe was the white of ice
— a white gryphon.
Shortly after that farseeing, Dame Math and I returned home to
Ithkrypt. But we did not remain there long. For in this Year of the
Crowned Swan I had reached the age of fourteen, and Dame Math was
already preparing my bride clothes and the furnishings I would take
with me when Kerovan would send for me, as was the custom, in the
next year or two.
So we went on to Trevamper, that town set at the meeting of
highway and river where all merchants in the north show their wares
upon occasion. Even the Sulcarmen, who are sea-rovers and seldom
come far from wind and wave, travel to Trevamper. For there is the
interior trade. And by chance we met there also my Aunt Islaugha,
her son Toross, and her daughter Ynglida.
She came to pay a call on Dame Math, but I felt it was one of
duty only and there was little liking between these sisters.
However the Lady Islaugha presented a smiling face and spoke us
fair, congratulating me on the fine marriage that had united me to
the House of Ulm.
Yngilda pushed closer to me when our elders had turned their
attention back to their own concerns, and I thought she stared
rudely. She was a stout girl, bundled in rich clothing down which
her braids rippled, their ends bound in ribbons hung with little
silver bells meant to chime sweetly as she moved. Such a conceit
did not suit her broad, flattish face, with its too-small mouth
always pursed a little as if she chewed upon a spicy secret she
debated over sharing.
"You have seen the likeness of your lord?" she asked almost
abruptly.
I stirred uneasily under the probing of her eyes. I knew her
then for unfriend, though why she should be so when we hardly knew
each other, I could not guess.
"No." As always when such uneasiness with others was in me, I
was wary. But the truth is better than any evasion which may later
trip one up. And for the first time I wondered a little at a matter
I had never considered before. Why had Kerovan not caused to be
sent a likeness of himself? That such was done in axe marriages I
knew.
"A pity." Her gaze seemed to have some manner of triumph in it
now. "Look you here — this is my promised lord, Elvan of Rishdale."
She brought out of her belt pocket an oblong of wood with a face
painted on it. "He sent it with his bride gift two years ago."
The painted face was that of a man of middle years, no boy. And
it was not a pleasant countenance to my thinking, but perhaps the
limner had either not been skillful or had some reason not to
flatter this Elvan. That Yngilda was proud of it was plain.
"He would seem a man of authority." I did the best I could in
way of praise. My disliking for the pictured face grew stronger the
longer I regarded it.
She took that, as I had hoped, as a compliment to her promised
lord.
"Rishdale is an upper dale. They are wool people, and the trade
is rich. Already my lord has sent me this, and this — " She patted
an amber necklace which lay above her tabard and thrust her hand
out to me that I might look upon a massive thumb ring of a serpent
with eyes that were flecks of red gem-fire.
"The serpent is his House badge. This is his own ring, sent for
a welcome gift. I go to him next harvest time."
"I wish you happy," I answered.
Her pale tongue swept out over her lower lip. Again she was in
two minds over some speech to make. At last she brought herself to
it, bending her head even closer, while I had all I could do not to
withdraw at her approach, for her close company did not please
me.
"I would I could say the same to you, kinswoman."
I knew I should not encourage her now, yet something made me
ask, "And why not, kinswoman?"
"We are not so far from Ulmsdale as you. We have heard — much."
And she strove to give such a dire accent to that last word that
she did indeed make an impression on me. For all my prudence and
distrust, I could not now deny her this confidence.
"Much of what, kinswoman?" My tone made a challenge of that, one
she was quick to note and that pleased her, I am sure.
"Of the curse, kinswoman. Did they not tell you that the Heir of
Ulmsdale lies under a double cursing? Why, his own mother has
refused to look upon his face since his birth hour. Have they not
told you that?" she repeated with open relish. "Alack, that I
should spoil your dreaming about a brave young lord. He is a
monster thing, they say, sent to live apart because all men shrink
from — "
"Yngilda!" That saying of her name was as sharp as a whip crack,
and under it she flinched as if indeed some lash had bitten into
her body. Dame Math stood over us, and it was plain in her face she
had heard those words.
So open was her wrath that at that moment I knew Yngilda had
indeed spoken the truth, or at least come so close to it as to
shake my guardian. Only the truth could have aroused her ire so
greatly.
She said no more, only eyed Yngilda menacingly until the girl
edged back, her full cheeks blanching a little in her fright. She
gave a kind of squeak and scrambled away. But I sat where I was and
met Dame Math eye to eye. Within me the cold grew, setting me to
shivering.
Cursed — a monster whom even his mother could not bear to look
upon! By the Heart of Gunnora, what had they done to me, to give me
in marriage to that? I could have screamed my terror aloud, but I
did not. For in that much I kept my control. I only said slowly,
forcing my voice to be level, determined to know the full of it
here and now, "By the oath of the Flame you serve, Lady, tell me
now the truth. Are her words that truth? Am I wed to one who is not
like other men?" For I could not bring myself to say "monster."
I think up until that moment Dame Math might have covered with
fair words. But now she sat beside me, her face grave, as the flush
of anger faded.
"You are no longer a child, Joisan. Yes, I will give you what
truth I know. It is true that Kerovan dwells apart from his kin,
but he is not a monster. There is a curse laid on those of the
House of Ulm, and his mother comes from the up-dales, from a family
rumored to have inter-wed with Old Ones. Thus he has such blood
within him. But he is not monstrous — of this Lord Cyart made sure
before he would consent to the marriage."
"Yet he dwells apart from his kin. Is it true that his mother
will not look upon him?" The cold within me was such now I could
hardly control myself.
Still she was frank with me. "That is true because of the manner
of his birthing, and she is a fool!" Then she told me an unusual
tale of how the Lord of Ulm had taken wives and had no living heir
because of the curse. How he wed a third time with a widow, and how
she had been taken on the road before her time with birth pains and
had borne her son within the walls of one of the Old Ones'
buildings. And of how thereafter she had turned her face from him
because she was so filled with fear that the babe was of the Old
Ones' sending. But he was sound and no monster. His father swore to
that by the Great Oath for which there can be no breaking.
Because she told it all so plainly, I believed her and was less
shaken.
Then Dame Math added, "Joisan, be glad that you take a young
lord. Yngilda, for all her prating, goes to one already wed once, a
man old enough to be her father, and one who will have little
patience with any youthful follies. She will find him far less
indulgent to her whims and laziness than her mother, and she will
perhaps rue the day she left her own keep for his.
"Kerovan by all accounts is one you will well company with — for
he is learned in rune scrolls as well as in swordplay, which so
occupies the minds and bodies of most men. He has a liking for
searching out old things, such as you have also. Yes, you have much
to think right in your wedding, and little to see of shadows. You
are a maid of good mind and not easily shaken. Do not let the
envious words of this foolish wench overset your reason. I swear,
if you wish it, by the Flame — and you well know the meaning of
such an oath for me — that I would not stand by without protest and
see you wed to any monster!"
Knowing Dame Math, that reassurance was indeed all I needed. Yet
during the days that followed I did think again and again of the
strange upbringing Kerovan must have had. That a mother had turned
her face from her child was hard to believe. Still, giving birth in
a place of the Old Ones might have poisoned her mind against the
cause of her pain and fear as she lay therein. And I knew well from
my reading at the Abbey that many such places had malignant
atmospheres that worked subtly upon mankind. She could well have
fallen prey to such influences during her hours of labor.
For the rest of our stay in town my aunt and her daughter did
not come near us. Perhaps Dame Math had made plain her views on
what Yngilda had told me. I was well content not to see her full
face, her pursed mouth, and her probing eyes again.
Here Begins the Adventure of Joisan, Maid of
Ithkrypt in Ithdale of High Hallack.
I, Joisan of Ithkrypt, was wed at harvest time in the Year of
the Spitting Toad. By rights that was not considered a year for new
beginnings; but my uncle, Lord Cyart, had the stars read three
times by Dame Lorlias of Norstead Abbey (she who was so learned in
such matters that men and women traveled weary leagues to consult
her), and her report was that my wedding was written as a thing
needful to my own fortune. Not that I was aware of much more than
the stir the question caused, for I was thereupon the center of
long and tiring ceremonies that brought me close to tears for the
very tiredness they laid upon me.
When one has no more than eight years, it is hard to judge what
occupies most the thoughts and plans of those in the adult world. I
can remember my wedding now mostly as a bright picture in which I
had a part I could not understand.
I remember wearing a tabard stiff with gold-thread stitchery
that caught up a pattern of fresh-water pearls (for which the
streams of Ithdale are rightly famous). But I was more occupied at
the time with keeping to Dame Math's stern warning that I must not
spot or wrinkle my finery; that I must be prudent at the feast
table lest I spill and so mar the handiwork of long and patient
hours. The robe beneath was blue, which did not please me over-much
as it is a color I do not fancy, liking better the dark, rich
shades such as hue the autumn leaves. But blue is for a maiden
bride, so it was mine to wear.
My new lord was not present to drink the Life Cup and light the
House Candle with me hand to hand. In his place stood a man
(seeming ancient to me, for his close-cropped beard was
frost-rimmed with silver), as stern as my uncle in his look. His
hand, I remember, bore a scar across the knuckles that had left a
raised banding of flesh of which I was acutely aware as he clasped
my fingers in the ceremony. And in the other hand he held a massive
war axe that signified my true lord who was about to twine my
destiny with his—though that lord was at least a half-dozen years
or more away from being able to raise that axe.
"Lord Kerovan and Lady Joisan!" the guests shouted our names
together, the men unsheathing their knives of ceremony so that the
torchlight flashed upon the blades, vowing to uphold the truth of
this marriage in the future, by virtue of those same blades, if
need be. My head had begun to ache with the noise, and my
excitement at being allowed to attend a real feast was fast
ebbing.
The elderly Lord Nolon, who stood proxy at the wedding, shared a
plate with me politely throughout the feast But, though he asked me
with ceremony before making a choice from all offered platters, I
was in too much awe of him to say "no" to what I liked not, and his
choices were mainly of that nature. So I nibbled at what my taste
rebelled against and longed for it to come to an end.
It did, much later, when the women with great merriment laid me,
wearing only my fine night shift, in the great, curtained bed. And
the men, headed by my uncle, brought in that awesome axe and bedded
it beside me as if it were indeed my lord. That was my wedding,
though afterward it did not seem too strange, just one of those
things difficult for a child to understand, something to be
dismissed to the back of one's mind.
Only that axe, which was my partner in place of a
flesh-and-blood bridegroom, was a stark prophecy of what was to
come — not only to me but to all the country that was my home: High
Hallack of the many dales.
After the departure of Lord Nolon, life soon returned to what I
had always known, for by custom I would continue to dwell under my
birthroof until I was of a suitable age for my lord to claim
me.
There were some small changes. On high feast days I sat at the
left hand of my uncle and was addressed ceremoniously by my new
title of Lady of Ulmsdale. My feast-day tabard also no longer bore
only one House symbol, but two, being divided in the center
vertically with a ribbon of gold. To the left, the leaping Gryphon
of Ulmsdale was worked in beads that glittered like gems. On the
right was the familiar Broken Sword of Harb, that mighty warrior
who had founded our line in High Hallack and given all his kin fame
thereafter when he had defeated the dread Demon of Irr Waste with a
broken blade.
On my name-day, or as near to that as travel conditions
permitted, would come some gift sent by my Lord Kerovan, together
with proper greetings. But Kerovan himself was never real to
me.
Also, since my uncle's lady was dead, he looked to his sister
Dame Math for the chatelaine's duties in Ithkrypt. She took over
the ordering of my days, to secret sighs and stifled rebellion on
my part. This and this and this must be learned, that I be a credit
to my upbringing when I indeed went to order my lord's household.
And those tasks, which grew with my years, induced in me sometimes
a desire never to hear of Ulmsdale or its heir; a longing in all my
being to be unwed and free. But from Dame Math and her sense of
duty I had no escape.
I could not remember my uncle's lady at all. For some reason,
though he lacked an heir, he made no move through the years to wed
again. Perhaps, I sometimes thought, even he dared not think of
lessening in any part Dame Math's authority. That she was an able
chatelaine, bringing peace and comfort to all she had dominion
over, could not be denied. She kept those about her in quiet,
sobriety and good order.
In her long-ago youth (it was almost impossible to think of Dame
Math as ever being a maid!) she had been axe-wed in the same
fashion as I to a lord of the south. But before he could claim her,
the news came that he had died of a wasting fever. Whether she
thereafter regretted her loss, no one ever knew. After the interval
of mourning she retired to the House of Dames at Norstead, an
establishment much-revered for the learning and piety of its
ladies. But the death of her brother's lady had occurred before she
took vows of perpetual residence, and she had returned to the
mistress's role at Ithkrypt. She wore ever the sober robe of Dame,
and twice a year journeyed to Norsdale for a period of retreat. As
I grew older, she took me with her.
My uncle's heir was still undecided, since he had made no
binding declaration. He had a younger sister also — one Islaugha,
who had married and had both son and daughter. But since that son
was heir to his father's holding, he was provided for.
I was the daughter of his younger half-brother, but not being
male, I could not inherit save by direct decree. My dowry was such
to attract a husband, and my uncle, should he wish, had also the
right — no, even duty, to name that husband heir, but only when he
declared it so would it be binding.
I think Dame Math would have liked to see me in the House of
Dames, had the marriage with Kerovan not been made. And it is the
truth that I did find my visits there pleasant. I was born with an
inquiring mind and somehow attracted the notice of Past-Abbess
Malwinna. She was very old, but very, very wise. Having talked with
me several times, she directed that I be given the right to study
in the library of the House. The stories of the past which had
always enchanted me were as nothing to the rolls of chronicles and
travels, dale histories, and the like, that were on the shelves and
in the storage boxes in that room.
But what held me most were the references to the Old Ones, those
who had ruled this land before the first of the dalesmen came
north. I knew well that such accounts as I found were not only
fragmentary, but perhaps also distorted, for the larger numbers of
the Old Ones had already withdrawn before our forefathers arrived.
Those our ancestors had contact with were lesser beings, or perhaps
only shadows, left as one would discard a threadbare cloak.
Some were evil as we judged evil, in that they were enemies to
humankind — like the demon Harb had slain. There were still places
that were filled with dark enchantment, so that any venturing
unwisely into such could be enwebbed. Other such beings could grant
prayers and gifts. Such was Gunnora — the Harvest Mother — to whom
all women were loyal, and whose mysteries were as great in their
way as the Worship of the Cleansing Flame to which the House of
Dames was dedicated. I myself wore an amulet of Gunnora — her
sheath of wheat entwined with ripened fruit.
Yet others seemed neither good nor ill, being removed from the
standards of humankind. At times they manifested themselves
capriciously, delivering good to one, evil to another, as if they
weighed men on some scales of their own and thereafter dealt with
them as they saw fit.
It was chancy to deal with any of the Old Ones save Gunnora. The
accounts I found at Norstead were full of instances where humans
had awakened from long slumber powers that never should have been
disturbed. At times I would seek out Abbess Malwinna in her small
garden and ask questions, to which she gave answers if she could.
If she could not, she admitted her ignorance frankly. It was on my
last such meeting with her that I found her sitting with a bowl
upon her knee.
The bowl was of green stone, wrought so finely that the shadow
of her fingers about it showed through the substance. It had no
ornamentation but its beauty of line, and it was very beautiful
indeed. Within was enough wine to cover the bottom and come a bit
up the sides.
I knew it was wine, for the heady smell reached me. The warmth
of her fingers about it was releasing the scent of the grape. She
turned it slowly around and around, so the liquid washed back and
forth, but she did not watch it. Instead she looked at me so
searchingly that I felt discomfort, as if I had been found wanting
in some necessary quality. I searched my conscience hurriedly for
any fault I might recently have shown.
"It is long," she said, "since I have tried this, Joisan. But
this morning I awoke with the need for doing so, and for you. In my
youth I had the gift of farseeing — for gift it is, though some
shrink from it. They are afraid of that which they cannot touch,
see, taste, hear, or otherwise clearly perceive. It is a gift that
cannot be controlled. Few who have it can summon it at will; they
must wait until the time it draws them to action. But if you are
willing, this day I can use it for you — for how much or how well,
that I cannot tell."
I was excited, for of farseeing I had heard. The Wise-women
could use it — or some of them could. But, as the Past-Abbess said,
it was not a talent that could be sharpened for use and then put
ready to hand like a man's sword or a woman's needle — it must be
seized upon when it came, and there was no use in trying to control
it. However, with my excitement there was also a tiny chill of
fear. It was one thing to read, to listen to, stories of the Power.
It was, I understood now, another to see it in action, and for
one's own self. Yet at that moment I do not think even panic would
have kept me from saying "yes" to her offer.
"Kneel before me, Joisan. Take this bowl within your two hands
and hold it level and steady."
I did as she bade, cupping my palms, one on either side of the
bowl, holding it as one might hold a firebranch that might be
ignited at any moment. Then she leaned forward and touched the
fingers of her right hand to my forehead.
"Look upon the wine; think of it as a picture — a picture — "
Oddly enough her voice sounded farther and farther away. As I
looked down into the bowl, I was no longer seeing only dark liquid.
It was rather as if I hung suspended in the air above a wide,
borderless expanse of darkness, a giant mirror with none of the
brilliance a true mirror possesses.
There came a misting, a change on that surface. Tendrils of the
mist became shadow forms. I saw a round ball that glinted and,
entombed in that, a form familiar to me — that of a gryphon
gleaming white.
At first the ball was very large, near filling the whole of the
mirror. Then it shrank swiftly, and I saw it was fastened to a
chain. The chain swung from a hand, so that the ball revolved. The
gryphon in it sometimes faced me, sometimes faced away. But there
grew in me the knowledge that this ball was of great
importance.
It was very small now, for the hand that dangled it was also
shrinking. The arm to which it was attached, and then the body
belonging to the arm, appeared. Now a man stood there. His face was
turned from me, hidden. He wore war mail, the hood drawn up about
his throat. There was a battle sword girded to him, and over his
shoulder I saw the arch of a crossbow. But he wore no House tabard,
nothing to identify him, only that swinging ball. Then he left,
tramping away as if he had been summoned elsewhere. The mirror was
dark and empty; nor did any more shadows gather there.
Malwinna's hand fell from my forehead. As I raised my eyes to
blink and blink again, I saw a woeful pallor on her face. So I
quickly set aside the bowl and dared to take her hands within mine,
striving to help her.
She smiled weakly. "It draws the strength — the more when one
has little strength left. But it was laid on me to do this thing.
Tell me, my daughter, what did you learn?"
"You did not see it, then?" I was surprised.
"No. It was not a farseeing for me, that I knew. It was yours
only."
I told her what I had seen: the gryphon englobed and a man in
battle dress holding it. And I ended, "The gryphon is the badge of
the House of Ulm. Did I then see the Lord Kerovan to whom I am
wed?"
"That may be so," she agreed. "But it is in my mind that the
gryphon is that which is of the greatest importance to your future.
If such ever comes to your hand, my daughter, do you guard it well.
For it is also to be believed that this is a thing of the Old Ones
and a focus of some power they once knew. Now, call Dame Alousan,
for I have need of one of her strengthening cordials. But speak not
of what we have done here this morning, for farseeing is a private
thing and not to be talked of lightly."
I said naught to any of the Dames, nor to Math. And the
Past-Abbess allowed them to believe that she was merely a little
wearied, so they fussed about her, for she was greatly loved. No
one paid any attention to me. I had taken the bowl with me into the
guesting room and put it on the table there.
Though I continued to look into it now and again I saw nothing
but the wine; no dark mirror, no shadows moving. Yet in my mind was
so vivid a picture of that I could have painted it, had I any skill
in limning, in every small detail. And I speculated as to what it
might mean. The gryphon so enclosed had differences from the one
that appeared as Ulm's badge. A gryphon by rights had the wings and
forepart of an eagle: its front legs end in a bird of prey's strong
talons. But the rear, the tail, the hind paws are those of a lion,
one of the beasts known to the south alone. On its bird's head a
lion's ears stand upright.
In the ancient learning the gryphon symbolizes gold: the warmth
and majesty of the sun. Ofttimes in legends it is the guardian of
hidden treasure.
Thus the gryphon is mainly pictured in red and gold, which are
sun colors. Yet the one enclosed in the globe was the white of ice
— a white gryphon.
Shortly after that farseeing, Dame Math and I returned home to
Ithkrypt. But we did not remain there long. For in this Year of the
Crowned Swan I had reached the age of fourteen, and Dame Math was
already preparing my bride clothes and the furnishings I would take
with me when Kerovan would send for me, as was the custom, in the
next year or two.
So we went on to Trevamper, that town set at the meeting of
highway and river where all merchants in the north show their wares
upon occasion. Even the Sulcarmen, who are sea-rovers and seldom
come far from wind and wave, travel to Trevamper. For there is the
interior trade. And by chance we met there also my Aunt Islaugha,
her son Toross, and her daughter Ynglida.
She came to pay a call on Dame Math, but I felt it was one of
duty only and there was little liking between these sisters.
However the Lady Islaugha presented a smiling face and spoke us
fair, congratulating me on the fine marriage that had united me to
the House of Ulm.
Yngilda pushed closer to me when our elders had turned their
attention back to their own concerns, and I thought she stared
rudely. She was a stout girl, bundled in rich clothing down which
her braids rippled, their ends bound in ribbons hung with little
silver bells meant to chime sweetly as she moved. Such a conceit
did not suit her broad, flattish face, with its too-small mouth
always pursed a little as if she chewed upon a spicy secret she
debated over sharing.
"You have seen the likeness of your lord?" she asked almost
abruptly.
I stirred uneasily under the probing of her eyes. I knew her
then for unfriend, though why she should be so when we hardly knew
each other, I could not guess.
"No." As always when such uneasiness with others was in me, I
was wary. But the truth is better than any evasion which may later
trip one up. And for the first time I wondered a little at a matter
I had never considered before. Why had Kerovan not caused to be
sent a likeness of himself? That such was done in axe marriages I
knew.
"A pity." Her gaze seemed to have some manner of triumph in it
now. "Look you here — this is my promised lord, Elvan of Rishdale."
She brought out of her belt pocket an oblong of wood with a face
painted on it. "He sent it with his bride gift two years ago."
The painted face was that of a man of middle years, no boy. And
it was not a pleasant countenance to my thinking, but perhaps the
limner had either not been skillful or had some reason not to
flatter this Elvan. That Yngilda was proud of it was plain.
"He would seem a man of authority." I did the best I could in
way of praise. My disliking for the pictured face grew stronger the
longer I regarded it.
She took that, as I had hoped, as a compliment to her promised
lord.
"Rishdale is an upper dale. They are wool people, and the trade
is rich. Already my lord has sent me this, and this — " She patted
an amber necklace which lay above her tabard and thrust her hand
out to me that I might look upon a massive thumb ring of a serpent
with eyes that were flecks of red gem-fire.
"The serpent is his House badge. This is his own ring, sent for
a welcome gift. I go to him next harvest time."
"I wish you happy," I answered.
Her pale tongue swept out over her lower lip. Again she was in
two minds over some speech to make. At last she brought herself to
it, bending her head even closer, while I had all I could do not to
withdraw at her approach, for her close company did not please
me.
"I would I could say the same to you, kinswoman."
I knew I should not encourage her now, yet something made me
ask, "And why not, kinswoman?"
"We are not so far from Ulmsdale as you. We have heard — much."
And she strove to give such a dire accent to that last word that
she did indeed make an impression on me. For all my prudence and
distrust, I could not now deny her this confidence.
"Much of what, kinswoman?" My tone made a challenge of that, one
she was quick to note and that pleased her, I am sure.
"Of the curse, kinswoman. Did they not tell you that the Heir of
Ulmsdale lies under a double cursing? Why, his own mother has
refused to look upon his face since his birth hour. Have they not
told you that?" she repeated with open relish. "Alack, that I
should spoil your dreaming about a brave young lord. He is a
monster thing, they say, sent to live apart because all men shrink
from — "
"Yngilda!" That saying of her name was as sharp as a whip crack,
and under it she flinched as if indeed some lash had bitten into
her body. Dame Math stood over us, and it was plain in her face she
had heard those words.
So open was her wrath that at that moment I knew Yngilda had
indeed spoken the truth, or at least come so close to it as to
shake my guardian. Only the truth could have aroused her ire so
greatly.
She said no more, only eyed Yngilda menacingly until the girl
edged back, her full cheeks blanching a little in her fright. She
gave a kind of squeak and scrambled away. But I sat where I was and
met Dame Math eye to eye. Within me the cold grew, setting me to
shivering.
Cursed — a monster whom even his mother could not bear to look
upon! By the Heart of Gunnora, what had they done to me, to give me
in marriage to that? I could have screamed my terror aloud, but I
did not. For in that much I kept my control. I only said slowly,
forcing my voice to be level, determined to know the full of it
here and now, "By the oath of the Flame you serve, Lady, tell me
now the truth. Are her words that truth? Am I wed to one who is not
like other men?" For I could not bring myself to say "monster."
I think up until that moment Dame Math might have covered with
fair words. But now she sat beside me, her face grave, as the flush
of anger faded.
"You are no longer a child, Joisan. Yes, I will give you what
truth I know. It is true that Kerovan dwells apart from his kin,
but he is not a monster. There is a curse laid on those of the
House of Ulm, and his mother comes from the up-dales, from a family
rumored to have inter-wed with Old Ones. Thus he has such blood
within him. But he is not monstrous — of this Lord Cyart made sure
before he would consent to the marriage."
"Yet he dwells apart from his kin. Is it true that his mother
will not look upon him?" The cold within me was such now I could
hardly control myself.
Still she was frank with me. "That is true because of the manner
of his birthing, and she is a fool!" Then she told me an unusual
tale of how the Lord of Ulm had taken wives and had no living heir
because of the curse. How he wed a third time with a widow, and how
she had been taken on the road before her time with birth pains and
had borne her son within the walls of one of the Old Ones'
buildings. And of how thereafter she had turned her face from him
because she was so filled with fear that the babe was of the Old
Ones' sending. But he was sound and no monster. His father swore to
that by the Great Oath for which there can be no breaking.
Because she told it all so plainly, I believed her and was less
shaken.
Then Dame Math added, "Joisan, be glad that you take a young
lord. Yngilda, for all her prating, goes to one already wed once, a
man old enough to be her father, and one who will have little
patience with any youthful follies. She will find him far less
indulgent to her whims and laziness than her mother, and she will
perhaps rue the day she left her own keep for his.
"Kerovan by all accounts is one you will well company with — for
he is learned in rune scrolls as well as in swordplay, which so
occupies the minds and bodies of most men. He has a liking for
searching out old things, such as you have also. Yes, you have much
to think right in your wedding, and little to see of shadows. You
are a maid of good mind and not easily shaken. Do not let the
envious words of this foolish wench overset your reason. I swear,
if you wish it, by the Flame — and you well know the meaning of
such an oath for me — that I would not stand by without protest and
see you wed to any monster!"
Knowing Dame Math, that reassurance was indeed all I needed. Yet
during the days that followed I did think again and again of the
strange upbringing Kerovan must have had. That a mother had turned
her face from her child was hard to believe. Still, giving birth in
a place of the Old Ones might have poisoned her mind against the
cause of her pain and fear as she lay therein. And I knew well from
my reading at the Abbey that many such places had malignant
atmospheres that worked subtly upon mankind. She could well have
fallen prey to such influences during her hours of labor.
For the rest of our stay in town my aunt and her daughter did
not come near us. Perhaps Dame Math had made plain her views on
what Yngilda had told me. I was well content not to see her full
face, her pursed mouth, and her probing eyes again.