Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss Page 3

  She shrugged. “Mayhap it is a gift we have lost.”

  “Mayhap.” I thought of the man with the seedling and said no more.

  At the end of our journey, we found our neat, cozy cave had grown foul and smelly and messy with neglect. Mice and other scavengers had gotten into our stores and nibbled holes in our blankets. It took days to set matters in order, sweeping out droppings and spoiled foodstuff, pounding our blankets on rocks in the clean, cold water of the stream and hanging them to dry. It was hard work, but I didn’t mind. It was good to be home.

  By the end of the first day, we had cleared away the worst of the debris, but a rank odor lingered.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Shall I see if there’s pennyroyal yet blooming in the meadow?”

  “’Tis too late in the day.” My mother made a face, too. “And I fear a stench too great for pennyroyal. Do you have a sense we’ve further unwelcome visitors lurking?”

  I shook my head.

  “Nor I.” She dusted her hands and cast a glance at the sky. “We’ll sleep in the open air tonight and have a closer look on the morrow.”

  As it happened, we didn’t have to wait that long. My mother built a merry fire in the firepit while I plucked a grouse I’d shot the day before, much to my considerable pride. We roasted it on a spit and ate it along with handfuls of late-ripening blackberries. As the soft blue light of dusk began to settle over us, I felt warm and content. Insects buzzed in the last summer air. Along the stream, trout were feeding. Tomorrow, I’d catch fish for our supper.

  Something in the far reaches of the cave rustled.

  My senses sharpened.

  There were visitors—scores of them. They were so tiny and slept so soundly during the daylight hours that neither of us had sensed them. A vast black cloud of them rushed out of the mouth of the cave, rising into the dusk on flittering wings.

  “Bats!” I leapt to my feet, laughing with unexpected delight. The cloud split and streamed around me. Nearly inaudible cries filled the night. I spun around amidst the rising swirl. “Can we keep them?”

  “Are you mad, child?” my mother asked, but she was smiling. “No, there’s the source of the stench, right enough. We’ll let them feed and drive them out in the morning.”

  “All right.” I gazed wistfully after the swarm.

  My mother’s smile deepened. “Never doubt you’re a true child of the Maghuin Dhonn, Moirin mine. From what little I’ve seen of D’Angelines, none of them would dance amidst a bat-swarm.”

  I dropped back to the hearth and sat cross-legged in my travel-worn blankets, cupping my chin in both hands. “What was he like?”

  “Your father?” She poked at the fire, stirring the embers. A flurry of sparks arose, chasing the feeding bats. “Passing fair to look at. They’re a lovely folk, you know.”

  I felt insulted. “And we’re not?”

  Her brow furrowed. “’Tis… different. There’s a keenness to it, a symmetry. Like a well-tempered blade.” She smiled wryly. “They certainly think well enough of themselves for it.”

  “Did my father?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “He was different. Lovely, aye, but he didn’t strike me as one to use it as a weapon.” She gave me a quick glance, and for the first time, I saw shyness in her. “Offer it as a gift, more like. Beauty and desire.”

  “Milky-white skin and green, green eyes,” I said.

  “Aye.”

  “What else?” I asked when she said nothing further.

  My mother sighed. “What would you have me say, lass? We barely spoke. On the surface he was calm, but desire moved in him like a current, deep and strong. When I looked into his eyes, I felt it.” She touched one hand to her chest. “And inside me, the voice of the diadhanam said, Yes.”

  “Do D’Angelines have a diadh-anam?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I know only a bit. They believe they are descended from their own gods. One was born of earth. The others…” She stirred the fire again and watched the sparks rise. “The others came from beyond the stars. One of them called him to me.”

  “Is it true?”

  She shrugged. “Mayhap.”

  I thought about the bright lady. My memory had faded, but I remembered beauty as keen and deadly as a blade. It drew me and frightened me to think on it now, knowing what I knew. But the man with the seedling had been gentler and different. “Mother? In the morning, there’s somewhat I wish to show you.”

  “All right, my heart.”

  In the morning, we went to the meadow to gather pennyroyal. It had passed its prime, but it would suffice to dispel the lingering odor of bat droppings once we’d driven them out. My mother cast curious glances in my direction, but asked no questions. In the meadow, I found a plant that would suit my purpose, a dandelion only just beginning to go to seed.

  “This,” I said. “Watch.”

  “’Tis an old plant, the greens will be bitter…” My mother’s voice trailed off as I knelt and cupped my hands around it.

  I breathed in sunlight and warmth.

  Blew it out.

  It was hard—harder than before. And I understood without words that it had been easier before because I’d attempted it at Midsummer, and it had been a smaller thing I’d attempted with the buttercup. The effort made me dizzy. But I held to the sense of rich, fertile brightness and kept blowing steadily until I saw black spots before my eyes. The dandelion blossomed into a sphere of gossamer seeds.

  “Stone and sea,” my mother whispered.

  I took a few deep, gasping breaths. “Whose magic? Ours or theirs?”

  “Yours,” she said firmly.

  “But why? What’s it for?”

  She crouched beside me and blew softly on the dandelion ball. An ordinary breath. The fairy seeds blew away, drifting into the warm air. She watched them go. “Must it be for anything?”

  “It seems it ought.”

  She shrugged. “Then no doubt it will be revealed in time.”

  My mother could be somewhat infuriating. “I saw a vision,” I said. “In Clunderry, outside the fields. A man all ringed around in brightness with a seed sprouting from the palm of his hand.”

  “Oh?”

  Very infuriating. “Mother!”

  “Peace, Moirin.” She laid her hand atop my head. “Mayhap you glimpsed some fertility god worshipped by the Cullach Gorrym. Mayhap it was a sending of one of the gods of Terre d’Ange whose blood runs in your veins. I do not know. It awakened you to certain gifts, which is to the good. But you recall that the purpose of our journey was to be reminded that gifts must be used wisely?”

  “Aye,” I murmured.

  She rose and helped me to my feet. I stood, swaying. “Was this a wise use of power? Exhausting yourself to accomplish what would have occurred naturally in two days’ time?”

  “I wanted to show you,” I said stubbornly.

  “And so you have.” She kissed my cheek. “Come. We’ve unwanted visitors to dispel.”

  I sighed, and went with her.

  Four days later, I met Cillian.

  I’d been ranging in the pine wood to the southeast of our homesite to gather dry, fragrant pine needles to stuff new pallets for my mother and me. I left off with my basket half full when a light rain began to fall. I didn’t mind the rain, but it wouldn’t do to gather damp mast. I headed for home with the basket slung over one shoulder and my bow and quiver over the other. Silvery raindrops slid from the needles overhead. Birds twittered in the boughs, telling one another all was well with the world.

  If I’d been paying attention, I might have sensed him before I saw him, but I wasn’t and didn’t. It was plain luck that I came upon him from behind—luck, and the fact that I moved quietly. He was crouching behind an outcropping of stone that overlooked our hearth, peering over the edge. The sight startled me enough that I let my basket fall to the ground with a soft thud.

  “Who’s there?” He scrambled to his feet and whirled—but I had already summoned th
e twilight.

  A boy.

  I guessed he was a couple years older than me. I couldn’t see his coloring properly in the dim twilight, but he was fair-skinned. He turned his head from side to side, one hand hovering over the hilt of a dagger.

  “Who’s there?” he called again.

  I unslung my bow and nocked an arrow. “Who asks?”

  His eyes widened. “Dagda Mor!” He glanced all around for the source of my voice, but there was nothing to see. He had heard me speak only because I willed it. “Where are you? Will you not show yourself?” When I didn’t answer, he stooped carefully and picked up a bulging satchel. “Come, I mean no harm. I’m Cillian mac Tiernan of Innisclan. I’ve brought an offering.” He untied the drawstring and opened the satchel. “See? Fresh peaches.”

  The peaches smelled ripe and heady and wonderful.

  I hesitated.

  “You don’t want them?” Cillian tugged the drawstring closed. “All right, then. I’ll take them away.”

  “Just leave them and go.”

  “Ah, no.” He shook his head. Even through the gloaming, I could make out the glint of curiosity and bravado that lit his eyes. “Don’t the Old Ones love a bargain? Show me your true form. Just a glimpse. I’ll take my leave, and the peaches are yours.”

  I really wanted those peaches.

  I let the twilight fade, keeping the arrow trained on him.

  “Dagda Mor!” He stared at me. In daylight, his hair was reddish brown. He had grey eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Are you flesh or spirit?”

  “Flesh.”

  “And this is your true form?”

  “Aye.” I gestured with the arrow. “You may put down the peaches and leave now.”

  Cillian continued to stare at me. “You’re just a little girl!”

  I was beginning to get annoyed. “Well, and so?”

  A wide grin crossed his face. “You don’t imagine you could hurt me with that toy bow and bit of elf-shot, do you?”

  “I do.”

  We regarded one another. “Why do you not vanish?” he asked, curious. “I’ve had my glimpse, have I not?”

  “I can’t,” I said irritably. “You’re looking at me.”

  “So?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t hide from an eye that’s already on you.”

  He chuckled. “Then you must have a right great fondness for peaches.”

  I loosed my bowstring. The arrow thudded into the bulging canvas satchel. Peach nectar oozed around the shaft. I had another arrow nocked before he could react.

  “Are you mad?” he shouted, holding the satchel in front of him like a shield. “I come bearing a gift!”

  “And spying!”

  “Well, you didn’t have to show yourself, did you?”

  “Apparently I did, if I wanted the bedamned peaches!” I shouted back at him.

  “You shot the bedamned peaches!” For the space of a few heartbeats, we glared at one another. Then Cillian sighed and lowered the satchel. He took a step backward, raising both hands. “Truce, eh? I spoke you fair. I mean no harm. I wanted only to see what was here.”

  I lowered my bow. “Why?”

  “I was curious.” His tone was frank. “All these years and no one’s ever had so much as a glimpse. No one imagined there was a child.”

  My heart thudded. “Do you mean to tell them?”

  “Tell them what?” Cillian smiled ruefully. “That I well nigh got shot by a woodsprite with a child’s bow?” He looked at my expression and sobered. “Nay, I’ll not speak of it if you wish. I’ll make you a bargain. Give me your name and I’ll give you my silence.”

  I paused. “Moirin.”

  “Moirin.” He nodded. “My word on it.”

  I made another gesture with the tip of my arrow. “You should go now.”

  “All right.” He turned, then turned back. I had already breathed a cloak of twilight around me. Cillian blinked. “Moirin?”

  I didn’t bother to make myself visible. “Aye?”

  “May I come again?”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I like tales of magic. This is the nearest I’ve come to living in one. I’ll bring more peaches,” he added when I didn’t answer.

  I plucked out the arrow that had pierced the satchel and licked the gleaming nectar that coated it. It was thick and sweet, tasting of long hours ripening on the branch and sunshine’s promise fulfilled. “These are the last harvest.”

  “They are?” Cillian sounded startled. “Apples, then. Whatever you like.”

  “Apples,” I agreed. “And honeycakes.”

  He grinned. “Apples and honeycakes it is.”

  FOUR

  Cillian mac Tiernan,” my mother mused.

  I nodded. “Are you angry?”

  “At who?” She bit into a peach. “Him for spying? Or you for showing yourself?”

  “Either.”

  “Neither.” She shook her head. “He’s a lad; they’re full of curiosity and daring at that age. And mayhap I’ve protected you overmuch. You’re old enough to begin making your own choices. I’ve no fear that Lord Tiernan will meddle in our affairs even if the lad talks. The Dalriada know to leave well enough alone.” She took another bite, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “It would have been a shame to waste such good peaches.”

  I was relieved. “You’re not angry.”

  “I am not.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I told him he could come again.”

  For the first time, I found myself keeping track of the days. Ten passed before Cillian returned. I daresay I would have sensed him this time—I’d not let my awareness lapse as I had before—but there was no need. As though to apologize for his former stealth, he made a racket this time, clattering through the underbrush. Before he was even in sight, he called.

  “Moirin?”

  My mother and I were mending clothes on the hearth. I glanced at her. She raised one eyebrow in reply.

  My choice.

  “Aye,” I called. “Down here.”

  Cillian’s head appeared over the ridge, then the rest of him. He froze for a moment on seeing both of us, then scrambled down. I was pleased to see he was carrying a satchel even larger than the first one. He reached the hearth and looked uncertainly from one of us to the other and back.

  “Lady Fainche?” he inquired, a little breathless.

  “And who else would it be?” My mother sounded amused.

  He colored and offered a courteous bow. “Forgive me. Well met, my lady. I am Cillian mac Tiernan.”

  “Well met, Cillian mac Tiernan,” she said. “You’ve a look of your father. Is he well?”

  “He is.” He proffered the satchel. “Apples and honeycakes. And I thought a wheel of cheese wouldn’t go amiss.”

  She smiled. “You’re a thoughtful lad. I’ll store these in the back and do you the courtesy of returning your satchel.”

  Cillian watched her walk into the cave. “Is that her true form?”

  “Aye,” I said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You—” He paused, flushing again.

  “I don’t look like her,” I said softly, understanding. “Is that it?”

  “Aye… no. Yes and no.” He blew out his breath. “You do and you don’t. No mind.” He glanced around. “This is the whole of it? Your home?”

  “You should know,” I said. “You spied on it long enough the other day.”

  His flush deepened. “Dagda Mor! Are you always so rude?”

  I blinked. “Am I?”

  “Aye!”

  “I suppose so, then.” I thought about how I might best make amends. “Would you like me to show you how to catch a trout with your bare hands?”

  Cillian shrugged. “Why not?”

  I showed him first working in ordinary daylight, reckoning it was only fair. It worked that way, too, only it took a lot longer and you had to be almighty patient.

  “’Ti
s no match for a hook and line,” he observed when I finally caught one. “Have you not got one? I’ll bring one next time.”

  I shook my head. “No need.”

  “Don’t be daft—”

  “Watch.” I deposited my fish in the creel and summoned the twilight, conscious of his gaze on me. He made a soft sound. Lying beneath the willow tree, I eased my arm back into the clear water. In the twilight, the swimming trout had a silvery gleam. Almost as soon as the slight ripples I’d created faded, I caught one.

  “Magic,” Cillian murmured. “Did you make yourself unseen?”

  “Aye.”

  “Yet I could see you. It was only that the air seemed to dazzle about you.” He frowned. “Because I was already looking at you, is it?”

  “Aye.” I wondered if he were a bit slow. “Did I not say so the other day?”

  He laughed. “Peace, lass! ’Tis not every day one meets a witchling child. What other magics have you?”

  I tied the lid of the creel shut. I didn’t wish to speak to him of the man with the seedling. “None.”

  “No?” he teased. “Can you not summon the wind and catch it in a bag? Can you not charm the birds from the sky?”

  “It would be an abuse of the Maghuin Dhonn’s gifts to charm a bird for sport,” I said with dignity. “And no one can summon the wind.”

  “They say the Master of the Straits could summon the wind.” Cillian leaned back against the willow’s trunk and stretched out his legs. “He could cause the seas to rise at his command and call lightning from the sky. But he gave away his book of magic and it’s hidden away forever.” He gave me a curious glance. “I’ve heard you speak no spells.”

  “Spells?” I repeated.

  “Incantations. Words of power. Invocations to the gods.”

  “No.” In the twilight, words might have a certain power, but I didn’t think that was what he meant. “It’s just a gift.”

  His grey eyes were bright. “Could you teach it to me?”

  “I could try,” I said dubiously. “But I don’t know if it would be right. I’d have to ask my mother.”

  “Will you?”

  “Aye, all right.” I trotted back to the hearth and put the question to my mother. Her eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “So that’s what he’s after, is it? Oh aye, let him try till he’s blue in the face. He’ll take no harm from it.”