Mercedes Lackey - Darian's Tale 2 - Owlsig

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Mercedes R. Lackey and Larry Dixon

Darian’s Tale/Owl 02

One

“Keisha?” When Keisha didn’t answer, the fluting voice calling her name in

the distance grew noticeably impatient. “Keisha!”

Keisha Alder ignored her sister Shandi’s continued calls; she was in the

middle of a job she had no intention of cutting short. The sharp smell of

vinegar filled Keisha’s workshop, but she was so inured to it that it hardly even

stung her nose. Shandi could wait long enough for Keisha to finish decanting

her bruise potion, straining out the bits of wormwood with a fine net of

cheesecloth. Keisha wrinkled her nose a little as the smell of vinegar

intensified; the books said to use wine for the potion, but she had found that

vinegar worked just as well, and there was no mistaking it for something

drinkable - unless your taste in wine was really wretched. A cloth steeped in

this dark-brown liquid and bandaged against a bruise eased the pain and

made the bruise itself heal much faster than it would on its own, so despite

the odor the potion was much in demand. She needed so much of it that she

always had several jugs or bottles of the finished potion in storage, and more

jars of it in various states of preparation. It had to steep for six weeks at a

minimum, so she tried to empty one jar and start another once a week.

Keisha held her hands steady; she didn’t want to waste any of it in spillage.

She even wrung the cheesecloth dry, then reached for a stopper whittled from

a birch branch and her pot of warm paraffin. As soon as the last drop was

sealed into its special dark-brown pottery jug, and the jug itself placed safely

on a high shelf, she knocked the soggy fragments of herb out of the wide-

mouthed jar, added two handfuls of freshly crumbled dry wormwood, and

poured in vinegar to the top. Footsteps behind her warned her that Shandi

had come to the workshop looking for her, so she wasted no time in tying a

square of waxed linen over the top of the jar and setting it at the end of the

row of nine more identical jars.

She turned to face the door, just as Shandi stepped across the threshold

into the cool gloom of the workshop, blinking eyes still dazzled by the bright

sun outside. Although not dressed in her festival best, Shandi was, as always,

so neat and spotless that Keisha became uncomfortably aware of the state of

her own stained brown breeches and far-from-immaculate, too-large tunic.

Shandi wore a white apron embroidered with dark blue thread, a neat brown

skirt, and a pristine white blouse with the blue embroidery matching the apron,

all the work of her own hands. Keisha’s tunic and breeches were hand-me-

downs from her brothers, plain as a board, indifferently shortened, and both

had seen their best days many years ago.

But what else am I supposed to wear for working with messy potions,

dosing sick babies, and sewing up bloody gashes? she asked herself crossly,

annoyed at herself for feeling embarrassed. This isn‘t some tale where

everyone wears cloth-of-gold and tunics with silk embroidery! Shandi would

look pretty sad after a half day of my work!

“Keisha, are we going to the market or not?” Shandi asked impatiently,

then screwed up her face in a grimace as a whiff of vinegar reached her.

“We’re going, though I don’t know why you want to go so badly,” Keisha

replied, hoping she didn’t sound as irritated as she felt.

“Dye,” Shandi replied promptly.

“No, thank you, I have too much to do right now,” Keisha said impishly,

grinning as Shandi first looked puzzled, then mimed a blow at her for the pun.

“You know what I mean!” Shandi giggled. “You never know what the

hunters are going to bring in, and I’m still looking for a decent red, one that

won’t fade the first time someone looks too long at it.” She smiled. “You know

I need to have you along. After all, you know so much more about these

things than I do. And you’re better at bargaining; I’d be sure to get cheated,

and then you’d be annoyed because you weren’t with me to save me from a

sharp trader!”

Keisha’s irritation had vanished, as it always did around Shandi. No one

could stay irritated with her sister for long; Shandi’s nature was as sweet as

her innocent face, and she played peacemaker to the entire village of Errold’s

Grove. Keisha and Shandi were almost the same height, with the same

willowy figures, same golden-brown hair and eyes, and almost the same

features, but in all other ways they were as different as if they had come from

opposite sides of the world. Sometimes I think when the gods gave out

tempers, they gave me all of the thorns and her all the rose petals. “You’re

right, of course, I would be annoyed.” She rinsed her hands in lemon-balm

water to remove the vinegar smell and any lingering trace of wormwood -

poison, if ingested - and dried them on a clean rag. “And I should have

remembered about the red. How many of the girls have you promised

embroidery thread to?”

“Only three - Hydee, Jenna, and Sari. I wouldn’t trust the rest with red.

They’d be sure to do something tasteless with it.” Shandi’s bright brown eyes

glowed with suppressed laughter. “Ugh! Can’t you imagine it? Roses the size

of cabbages all around the hems of their skirts!”

“Or worse,” Keisha said dryly. “Roses the size of cabbages over each

breast. Lallis is not exactly subtle.” And she’s always looking for a way to

bring attention to her “assets.” Not that anyone needs help in seeing them.

You could hide half the village in that cleavage, and a quarter of the village

would be oh-so-happy to stay there! “I’m all done for now, let’s go before

someone decides they have a bellyache and comes looking for a posset.”

Side by side, Keisha and her sister strolled down a neat, stone-edged path

between the houses, heading toward the village square. Once a week, the

village of Errold’s Grove held a market day, and those from outside the village

and no particular interest in seeking further - and possibly more lucrative -

venues took full advantage of it. For some people, it simply wasn’t worth the

effort to travel long distances just to make more money from their goods;

they’d rather that other folk did the traveling and took the extra profit. As had

been the case in the past, there were plenty of traders willing to do just that,

so the weekly market was usually visited by at least one far traveler from

spring to early winter. And three of the quarterly Faires - Spring Equinox,

Midsummer, and Harvest - brought traders in their dozens.

Errold’s Grove was more prosperous now than it had been in its earlier

heyday, with dozens of trappers and dye-hunters working the forest and hills.

None of them was actually from Errold’s Grove; the villagers were still far too

wary of the forest to be tempted by the possibility of profit hidden in its depths.

But the Hawkbrothers were here now, and to some people, their presence

meant increased safety or, at least, a smaller likelihood of being eaten by

misshapen monsters. So the dye-hunters and all the people who supported

and profited by them were back, as well as a new class of folk who actually

specialized in trapping the strange new creatures created by the Change-

Circles. The population of Errold’s Grove had swelled to half again more than

the village had ever held before.

They even had their own temple and priest, so now the children of the

village got proper lessons in the winter, instead of being home-schooled or

taught by one of the old women. For most of the children, that was a mixed

blessing, as the priest took his duty seriously and wasn’t as easily distracted

as a mother or as prone to doze off as an old granny.

They still didn’t have a fully trained “official” Healer, though, and Keisha

served in place of one, wearing her ordinary clothing rather than even the

pale-green robes of a Trainee. Healers were in short supply still, and so far,

there hadn’t been a real need to have one posted to Errold’s Grove. Lord

Breon had a Healer, and according to Healer’s Collegium, he could take care

of anything here that Keisha couldn’t.

Though never selected for her Gift by a fully trained Healer in the approved

and official manner, Keisha had begun showing her talents at the age of five,

by taking care of the ills of the stock on the farm, then moving on to patching

up the childhood hurts and illnesses of her brothers and sisters. It got to the

point where they came to her instead of their mother, since Keisha’s remedies

were far more likely to set things right and taste better than their mother’s

book of recipes from her granny.

Things might never have gone any further, but fear of the Changebeasts

and longing for other human company together drove Keisha’s parents to

resettle in the village. That had happened a few months after the barbarian

invasion when one family decided they’d had enough of Errold’s Grove and a

house fortuitously fell vacant. Not long after that, once she widened her circle

of “patching up” to the rest of the children and their pets, the villagers

discovered Keisha’s talent, and a concerted effort began to turn their new

citizen into a fully educated, fully stocked, fully prepared Healer.

As she and her sister passed the home that had drawn them here - now

silent, with the rest of the family out working the fields and tending the stock -

Keisha grinned a little. Maybe if her parents had known what was going to

happen, they wouldn’t have been so quick to leave the farmstead! Her mother

and father hadn’t stood a chance against the will of the village, and they’d lost

Keisha’s labor at the farm before they knew what had happened. They might

have tried to fight to keep Keisha (and her two sturdy hands) theirs alone, but

the arrival of a Herald on circuit put an end to any thoughts of making the

attempt.

That golden moment was a cherished memory, the point when Keisha

became something other than “ordinary” in her parents’ eyes. The Herald - oh,

he was fine to look at, all white and tall on his silver Companion. . . . He took

one look at me that went right down to my bones and declared, in a voice like

a trumpet, “ This girl has the Healer’s Gift.” Much to Keisha’s bemusement,

before he left for the rest of his circuit, he had arranged for Lord Breon’s

Healer, Gil Jarad, to give Keisha instruction. Several weeks later a trader

delivered into her hands copies of every book used by the Trainees at

Healer’s Collegium, courtesy of that august body, and a polite note reminding

everyone that the books were worth, not a small fortune, but a rather large

one. Enough to buy half the town, and theft or harm to the books counted as a

crime against the Crown! With the books had come three sets of the pale-

green robes of a Healer Trainee, lest anyone doubt her acceptance. Keisha

still preferred not to wear them, though; it seemed a pity to get them as

stained and dirty as they would be if she donned them for her regular work.

No more weeding and mowing for her; the letter that came with this library

told her that she was expected to study those books any time that she wasn’t

tending the ailments of man or beast, or brewing medicines for same. She

already had the skills needed to make most medications and had lacked only

the knowledge of what herbs were needed - the books supplied that, with

good pictures to guide her when she went hunting for them in the forest and

fields, and detailed instructions for each preparation. Along with the books

came a box of seeds for those herbs that did well under cultivation, all

carefully labeled with planting and growing instructions. It was obvious that

she was expected to become self-sufficient, and quickly.

For a while, Keisha had used the kitchen of the family home for her

workroom - and her mother had seen that as a possible way to discourage

this new career.

Mother should never have complained about my “green messes “ in her

kitchen, telling everyone she was afraid I was going to poison the family,

Keisha thought, with just a touch of self-satisfaction. I know she thought that

the Council would agree that I should stop, but it had the opposite effect!

In fact, the Council didn’t wait for her to complain directly to them; the

moment the Village Council got wind of the complaints, they assigned Keisha

her own workshop, a sturdy little stone building that had once been the home

of the village savior and hero, Wizard Justyn. They even went so far as to

make a special day of preparing it for her, organizing a village-wide cleanup

and repair of the place, presenting her with a cottage scoured inside and out,

roof newly thatched, all the bits and pieces still littering the interior taken out

and broken into kindling. She had only to say where she wanted workbenches

and shelves, and they appeared; had only to ask for a place to lie down and a

fine feather bed and a pile of pillows and quilts showed up in the sleeping-loft.

The people of Errold’s Grove had learned their lesson about treating a Healer

right, having had to do without a Healer of any kind for so long after Wizard

Justyn died.

Heady stuff for a fourteen-year-old youngster, she thought wryly, from her

distant vantage of eighteen. I’m surprised my head didn ‘t get too big to fit a

hat. She waved at the blacksmith’s oldest apprentice as they passed the

forge; he waved absently back, but his eyes - as all the eyes of any male over

the age of thirteen - were on Shandi. I suppose the only reason it didn‘t was

that I was too busy to get a swelled head.

She had been busy every waking moment, in fact; when she wasn’t

studying her books, she was out in the forest gathering medicinal plants, on

her knees in her new garden cultivating herbs, or making preparations for

Healer Gil to examine. At last, when Gil was satisfied that her skill at

producing medicines was the equal of his, he stopped inspecting her results

before allowing her to use them and started teaching her how to use the knife

and the needle, how to set bones and restore dislocated joints as he did.

Unfortunately, the one thing he can’t teach me is how to use my Gift, and

the books are not very useful there either. Healer Gil’s Gift was not very

strong, and he relied on his skill with the knife and his truly amazing

knowledge of herbalism for most of his cures. Keisha would have been

perfectly happy to do the same, but Healer Gil kept insisting that she make

use of this Gift that she didn’t understand. . . .

Gradually, though, what with all Gil had to do, his visits had shortened, and

the intervals between them lengthened, until now he came to Errold’s Grove

no more than once every moon and never stayed longer than half a day. He

even trusted her now to experiment with new preparations, something that

made her so proud she practically glowed every time she thought about it!

That was why Shandi wanted her to come along on this hunt for the elusive

true red dye. Her knowledge of herbs and other plants extended into dyes,

and she had a knack for telling which ones would fade, which would need too

much mordant to be practical, and which would turn some other, less

desirable color with age. Some dyes could even be used as medicine, so

Keisha never lost a chance to explore their possibilities. In a village where

every person had some specialty, however small, Shandi was the one who

supplied everyone else with common embroidery thread the equal of anything

a trader could bring in. Her threads, whether spun from wool, linen, or raime,

were strong, hair-fine, and even; her colors were true and fast. So even as the

villagers gladly paid Keisha for tending their ills (knowing that she had to pay

for the medicines and supplies she couldn’t make, grow, or find for herself),

they even more gladly told over their copper coins for a hank of Shandi’s

thread.

The village square was the site of the weekly market, with the square

closed to all but foot traffic, and stalls set up along all four sides. Besides the

usual things found in a village market - produce and foodstuffs - Errold’s

Grove had specialties of its own to boast of. Along with the dye-hunters had

come dye-traders and dye-buyers, who purchased bundles of plants and

fungus and things that defied description, then leeched or cooked out the

pigments and pressed them into little cakes for sale. The buyers seldom left

Errold’s Grove, preferring to act as middlemen and sell their dye-cakes to

traders, but they were by no means reluctant to sell a cake or two to their

neighbors. The tanner also put some of his unusual furs on offer at this

weekly market, giving villagers first choice of what the hunters brought him.

In addition, now Errold’s Grove had its own potter, who was an artist in his

own right, using some of the new and strange pigments and foreign earths

from the Change-Circles and a variety of modeling and carving techniques to

make ordinary clay pots into things almost too beautiful for use. There was,

alas, no glass blower as yet, though there were rumors that one might be

coming soon; most glass came from the Hawkbrothers or from traders.

The miller’s son had begun experimenting with paper making a year ago,

and now his efforts were on sale roughly every other market day, alongside

inks Keisha had taught him to make from oak galls and soot, small brushes he

made from badger hair, and pens he cut himself from goose quills. So now it

was possible for lovers to exchange silent vows, for thrifty wives to keep

account books, for those with artistic pretensions to inflict their work on their

relatives, and for everyone to write to relatives far and near. That last item

alone, that tiny token of civilization, made Errold’s Grove seem less like the

end of the universe and more like a part of Valdemar. When it was possible to

communicate, however infrequently, with those outside the confines of Lord

Breon’s holdings, people didn’t feel forgotten anymore.

Then there was the Fellowship.

Keisha nodded a friendly greeting toward the Fellowship booth, and the

soberly clad woman tending it smiled and nodded back, her smile widening as

Shandi’s footsteps suddenly (and predictably) lagged and her eyes went to

the delicate wisps of fabric draped temptingly over a line at the back of the

booth. The Fellowship, a loose amalgamation of a dozen families related only

in their religious beliefs and a firm commitment to peace and a life with no

violence or anger in it, had arrived in Errold’s Grove two years ago with their

herds, their household goods, and their readiness to work and work hard.

Within months, they had built an enclave of a dozen stout houses and barns

enough for all their animals; within a year, traders were coming especially to

buy what they produced.

For what the Fellowship specialized in was producing remarkable textiles:

lengths of tapestry-woven fabric; intricate braids and other trims; and a very

few simple garments such as shawls and capes - woven, knitted, knotted, and

braided of the beautifully spun and dyed wool from their herds.

The creatures providing the wool were no ordinary animals. The Fellowship

had goats with coats so long and silky that it was a pleasure to touch them,

sheep with wool the texture of the finest thistledown, and a special variety of

chirra. They were a little smaller and had a sweeter, more delicate face than

those used as winter pack animals, and they possessed a coat of wool that

when woven was softer than the finest sueded deerskin: light, dense, and so

warm that one had to wear a cloak of it to believe it. These animals all needed

more tending than their mundane counterparts, so much so that it was likely

that few folk would be willing to put that much work into their care.

Nevertheless, it was obviously worth it to the folk of the Fellowship, since

traders came from as far away as Haven itself to purchase items such as their

chirra-cloaks and blankets, their intricately patterned fabrics, and their

“wedding” shawls, wraps of knitted lace so fine and delicate that they could be

drawn through a wedding ring. Keisha had heard that it had become the

fashion for the highborn of Valdemar to present one of these shawls to

daughters of their houses to mark a betrothal, or for a suitor to offer one in

token that he intended to ask for a woman’s hand.

Well, what was desirable for the highborn of Valdemar was also the heart’s

desire of every girl of marriageable age in Errold’s Grove - and the folk of the

Fellowship were pleased to make it possible for these less-than-highborn

suitors and parents to grant those yearnings with special prices for the folk of

their home village. Small wonder Shandi’s eyes and feet were drawn to the

booth; she had three current suitors, all hotly pursuing her (and completely

unsuitable in their father’s estimation), any one of whom could give her the

reason for selecting such a shawl and pointing her choice decorously out to

him.

“Shandi - ” Keisha called her wandering attention back with a touch of

exasperation. “Look, let’s see if there’s a red dye first, then you can go look at

shawls while I see if anyone’s brought medicines or herbs that I can use.”

“All right,” Shandi agreed, though with an audible sigh. Satisfied that she

had her sister’s attention for at least a little while, Keisha and Shandi made

the rounds of all three dye-sellers’ booths, looking for that so-elusive red.

Keisha deliberately went to Baden’s booth last; he was - in her opinion - the

most honest of the three. As they neared his booth, he twinkled at Shandi and

crooked a finger at her. They hurried to his counter.

“I think I may have something for you young ladies,” the cheerful, weather-

tanned man said. “I’ve only been waiting for our good Healer’s expert opinion

on it.” He nodded at Keisha, who flushed.

He cleared bundles of dried fungus off the counter and reached beneath it,

bringing out a cake the size of his hand and as black as dried blood, together

with something that looked like a seed pod made of dried leather. He placed

hands with nails from beneath which no amount of soap and water would ever

remove the traces of dye on the counter. “Here’s the dye, and here’s the thing

it comes from; now you tell me if this is going to be as good as I think it is.”

Keisha crumbled a bit off the cake, smelled it, very cautiously tasted it, and

tried dissolving it in a cup of water he provided. It didn’t dissolve, and she

raised an eyebrow at the dye-merchant, who only grinned.

“Won’t dissolve in water, nor in water and soap,” he said in triumph. “Here -

” He tossed out the water, and poured a bit of clear liquid into the cup from a

stoppered bottle It appeared to be thrice-distilled spirits, by the potent smell,

and very nearly made her drunk just to sniff it. She dropped a crumb of dye in

and was rewarded by a spreading crimson stain.

“Let me add a bit of salt for mordant, and you see for yourself what this

stuff does.” He brought out another cup and poured water into that, then

obliged her with some scraps and threads to try in the dye.

The samples they dunked in the dye became gratifying shades of scarlet,

and no amount of rinsing in the water he’d provided would take the color out.

As Shandi sucked in her breath with excitement, Keisha brought the threads

up to her nose until she was nearly cross-eyed, examining every crevice and

crack to see if the dye was “taking” evenly. Finally, she pronounced judgment.

“I think it will fade eventually, but it will take years as long as you keep the

color out of the sun,” she told both the merchant and her sister. “Dyeing with

distilled spirits will be tricky, maybe dangerous, what with the fumes being

flammable - worse for someone doing large batches of thread and yarn than

for you, Shandi - but this is probably the best red I’ve ever seen.” She turned

her attention to the “pod,” and picked it up to peer at it. “Just what is this

thing?”

“A snail,” the merchant said gleefully. “And no one would ever have noticed

what secret this little creature held if Terthorn hadn’t tried to cook them in

white wine. I’m the only one he told, and I got him to promise me an exclusive

market.”

Shandi had to laugh at that. “So Terthorn’s famous palate and cooking

experiments finally have some use! I suppose we should just be glad he didn’t

try to cook them in red wine!”

The dye-merchant laughed, “Oh, now he’d never have done that! Haven’t

we heard him say a thousand times that no one with any real taste would

cook snails in red wine?”

Keisha’s thoughts were more practical. “So exactly how much are you

going to part us from for this wonder?” she asked dubiously. She knew it

wasn’t going to be cheap; not as strong a red as this, nor one as colorfast.

She also knew Shandi would take it at any price, and was just fervently glad

that it was this merchant who had the supply, not one of the other two.

“For you, Shandi, I’ll trade it weight-for-weight in silver.” Keisha tried not to

wince, but the price was fair. If he had any sense, when he got the stuff into

civilized lands, he’d trade it weight-for-weight in gold.

Shandi grimaced, but didn’t argue when Keisha didn’t. “Fair enough,” she

said bravely, and dug out four silver coins, placing them on one side of his

scales. He crumbled dye into the pan on the other side until they leveled off

equal, then winked again, and crumbled a bit more into the pan. He pocketed

the coins, then tilted the pan of dye into a paper cone, tapping it to get every

crumb into the container. With a little bow, he handed the precious packet to

Shandi, who twisted the open end of the cone tight and put it carefully into her

pouch.

“I’ll tell you something else, young ladies,” he said, as they were about to

move on, “I haven’t looked any further than to get the scarlet. If you can tell

me how to get a deep, fast purple as good as the red out of that, I’ll halve the

price if you give me an exclusive from here on.”

Keisha’s eyebrows both went up. “Really,” was all she replied, but her mind

was already on changing the mordant, adding other possible ingredients,

experimenting with double-dyeing with indigo.

Barlen’s look told her that he’d all but seen her thoughts written on her

forehead. “If anyone can do it,” he continued with a wave, “you two can. Oh,

and Keisha, you ought to go talk to Steelmind; he came to market by himself,

and I think he’s got some seeds you might be interested in.”

“Really!” she exclaimed, as Shandi headed straight for the Fellowship

booth, one hand protectively cupped over her pouch. “Thanks, Harlen!”

“No problem.” Another villager approached the booth, and Barlen turned his

attention to the potential new customer. Keisha moved along to the shaded

arbor next to the new Temple that the Hawkbrothers used as a booth when

they came to Errold’s Grove.

Normally Hawkbrothers only appeared for the quarterly Faire market days,

and when they came, they came in force, with a half-dozen bead-and-feather-

bedecked traders and their fierce-looking birds of prey. They took over the

arbor and put up a pavilion as well, and traders buzzed around them like bees

at a honey pot, for the things they brought, though (aside from a few items)

never predictable, were always fantastic. Sometimes it was lengths of silk

fabric in impossible colors and patterns, sometimes it was trims and ribbons

made of the same silks and silk embroidery thread that girls saved for their

wedding dresses. They had been known to bring jewelry, glassware, odd

spices and incense, vials of scent and massage oils, rugs sometimes, and,

once, simpler variations on their own tunics and robes. Those items that were

predictable were always welcome: ropes and cording much stronger than

anyone else could make and much lighter, too; hammocks made from that

same cord; amazing feathers; furs unlike anyone else brought; leather tanned

so that it was as supple and soft as their silks; rare woods; and carvings in

stone, ivory, and wood.

But sometimes, one called Steelmind came by himself, bringing strange

ornamental or useful plants, herbs, and seeds. Keisha liked him, for all that he

never said one word more than he absolutely had to; she also liked his bird, a

slow and sleepy buzzard who was perfectly happy to accept a head scratch

from her.

Sure enough, Steelmind had tucked himself and his bird into the depths of

the arbor, with bare-root plants (roots carefully wrapped in damp moss) and

an assortment of well-grown seedlings in small plugs of earth arranged beside

him. His blue eyes brightened when he saw Keisha, and he waved - a

welcome and an invitation to sit, all in the same gesture.

“Barlen says you have some seeds?” she said, giving the bird his scratch

before settling on the turf beneath the arbor, her tunic puddling around her.

She bent over to look at the plants he’d brought, and recognized the bare-root

ones to be young rose vines.

Roses! She tried to imagine what Hawkbrother-bred rose vines would be

like, and failed. She resolved to take at least one of them home with her -

maybe more. Mum - would love a climbing rose going over a trellis at the front

door - and it would be nice to have one plant in the herb garden that isn ‘t

useful for anything!

She felt the same avariciousness that Shandi must have felt over the dye -

if there was one weakness she had, it was for her garden. . . .

“It is spring, so mostly I have flower seeds and seedlings and these - ” he

gestured at the rose vines, but she sensed he was teasing her.

“Mostly?” she replied.

“Our Healer suggested a few others before I left,” Steelmind said and

smiled, an expression that transformed his face and made it obvious that he

wasn’t much older than she was. He laughed a little. “Actually, it was stronger

than merely suggestion.” He rummaged in a basket at his side and brought

out fat little packets of tough silk, sewn at the top to resemble tiny sacks of

grain. Each one had a symbol painted on it in a different color. “This stops

pain, this stops cough, this is a balm, this stops itching from insect bites and

rashes. There are instructions in each packet on growing and use.”

“They work better than what I use now?” she asked skeptically.

He shrugged, and the beads woven into his hair clicked together.

“Different, that’s all I know. Better? I don’t know, I’m not a Healer, and we do

not know what you have to work with. No worse, certainly. And I have been

given orders that if you want them, your price is - nothing. Healer to Healer, is

what I was told.”

Nothing? They do trust me to know, what I’m doing! And that these herbs

were different from those she had been using - she knew from her own

experience that a medication that one person responded well to might not

work on another - and might make a third sicker. That was the peril of working

with herbs. “I’ll take them, and thank your Healer very sincerely for me,” she

replied. “And how much for the rose vines? It will be nice to have something in

my garden that isn’t for healing people.”

“And who is to say that a rose cannot heal?” He smiled and named his

prices, they haggled amiably, and settled on a price that didn’t leave either of

them feeling cheated.

She gathered up her spoils - two rose vines, which would make everyone

happy - and gave the bird a second scratch, which he seemed to expect.

Then she left the arbor to go find Shandi and tear her away from the

Fellowship booth.

Or try, anyway. If she got to talking embroidery and dye with the attendant,

nothing less than a miracle would take her away before the sun went down.

Keisha squinted against the bright sunlight, and peered up the street as a

flock of crows flew overhead, yelling cheerful insults at the village below. As

she had half-expected, Shandi and the Fellowship woman were deep in

conversation. Keisha shrugged her shoulders and sighed, wondering if it was

going to be worth the trouble to try to pry Shandi away. If so, she had the

choice of looking very rude and bossy and actually getting the job done

quickly, or spending far more time than she wanted to and looking polite and

courteous. If there had only been Shandi to consider, there would just be a

few sharp words and it would be done with . . . but she really didn’t want to

look boorish in front of a member of the Fellowship.

It was a short internal debate. There’s no point. If she finished her chores,

I’ve got no call to tell her how to spend her free time. And if she hasn’t, she

can take the consequences herself. Shandi’s one fault was that she tended to

“forget” things she had to do when she disliked them. When they were

younger, it had been Keisha’s task to supervise her and see to it that the

“forgotten” chores were done - because if Shandi didn’t do them, Keisha

would have to pitch in later. Mum’s idea of a proper form of incentive for me to

be an ogre. But I don’t have time to spare to pitch in now. I’m not her keeper,

no matter what Mum thinks, and Shandi’s sixteen and old enough to take the

consequences by herself.

She ambled slowly up the street, enjoying the novel sensation of having

people around her who were not in discomfort or pain - who were, in fact,

entirely contented. Lately, it had become uncomfortable for her to be near

people in any sort of distress, as if she shared their feelings. . . . She’d fancied

once or twice that it was the sort of Empathy power that she heard told of in

stories, but dismissed the thought quickly. Things like that didn’t happen to

ordinary people from little towns like Errold’s Grove, and her Gift was an

extraordinary enough fluke.

It wouldn’t be too long until Spring Equinox Faire, and the booths of those

who sold their goods to the far-ranging traders were stuffed full, while the

booths of those who depended on those same traders to bring them goods

from outside were getting mighty empty. The dye-sellers, the folk who bought

up a great deal of the Hawkbrother trade goods, and the Fellowship would all

send most of their stock with the traders when the Faire was over.

The blacksmith needs metals, the baker needs spices and sugar, the girls

are craving glass beads, laces, and ribbons, I need things I can’t get here -

Healer Gil Jarad would be just as happy if she didn’t have to rely on those

medicines, though. That was one subject on which they didn’t, and probably

would never, agree. He couldn’t tell her how to use her Gift - more

importantly, he had no way to oversee her and tell her what she was doing

right or wrong, the way he could with medicines and the knife. How was she

supposed to use this so-called Gift effectively, or even safely?

I suppose it would be quite useful if I could make head or tail out of those

texts, she thought glumly, as she neared the Fellowship booth and Shandi. It’s

almost as if they were written in a code that is perfectly understandable to

everyone but me!

And I am feeling far too sorry for myself! Determined not to spoil what was

a perfectly fine spring day, Keisha decided to stop thinking, and simply enjoy.

Alight breeze brought a hint of incense from the Temple, which joined

harmoniously with the fresh flowers some of the stallkeepers used as

decoration. The sunshine warmed her with the promise of a fine spring to

come. The annual village-wide spring cleaning had taken place only a few

days earlier in preparation for the Spring Faire, and as a consequence, the

entire village was as charming as a highborn child’s toy. Streets had been

swept of all the winter accumulation of junk and debris, houses and fences

were newly whitewashed, market booths all neatly mended. What a perfect

scene this would be for a painter or a tapestry maker to reproduce, she

thought, just as she came even with Shandi. This is how the highborn think all

our villages look, all the time. Still, she shouldn’t be so cynical. It really is

pretty - the red shutters, the pale gold of the thatched roofs, the rainbow

colors of the flowers everywhere, the handsome white horse posing right at

the end of the street -

- white horse ? There were no white horses in Errold’s Grove!

Keisha shook her head and looked again, but the vision didn’t go away;

instead, it drew nearer. There was a blue-eyed white horse decked out in

blue-and-silver riding gear at the end of the street nearest the bridge - and he

was coming straight toward the market square. There was purpose in each

and every step he took. He had no rider.

And - was he looking at her?

You had to have lived in a. cave all your life not to know what a blue-eyed

white horse was, and meant, in this kingdom. This was a Companion, and

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摘要：

MercedesR.LackeyandLarryDixonDarian’sTale/Owl02One“Keisha?”WhenKeishadidn’tanswer,theflutingvoicecallinghernameinthedistancegrewnoticeablyimpatient.“Keisha!”KeishaAlderignoredhersisterShandi’scontinuedcalls;shewasinthemiddleofajobshehadnointentionofcuttingshort.ThesharpsmellofvinegarfilledKeisha’swo...

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Mercedes Lackey - Darian's Tale 2 - Owlsig

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