C
hapter Nineteen
Eolyn would have abandoned
the Circle forthwith were it not for one consideration: Running away would only confirm Corey’s suspicions. Staying, on the other hand, might confuse his pursuit. Surely he would not expect her to remain if she had magic to hide. So after much deliberation, Eolyn chose the known risk of Corey’s vigilance over the unknown consequences of facing winter alone. She resolved to leave the Circle at the first thaw, make the journey to the King’s City on her own, and at last find Achim.
By the time the caravan reached East Selen, autumn had painted the trees in deep shades of copper and burgundy. Dry leaves lay in heaps along the ground. The wind had stilled in preparation for the arrival of the first frost.
For centuries, the lands of East Selen had been controlled by a single extended family that produced some of the greatest mages and magas in history. Though the clan perished under Kedehen’s wrath during the war, Eolyn felt their spirits wandering the hills. There was a haunting joy to their presence, a community lost in time and yet preserved by the landscape.
Corey’s guests were housed in a rambling, semicircular manor with thick timber supports and thatched roofs. The interior was broken into cozy apartments with multiple hearths. A single large hall situated at the center of the manor provided the setting for evening meals and social gatherings. In front of the hall stood a giant fir planted by the first mages and magas to settle in the area. The entire construction rested in the shadow of a dense forest, the magic of which reminded Eolyn of the South Woods, though it seemed darker in aspect.
When the first snow fell, Mage Corey appeared, wearied from his journey yet infused with the energy of contentment that accompanies any true homecoming. Upon his arrival, preparation for the Winter Solstice began in earnest. Mistress Renate oversaw the casting of bayberry candles and the baking of nut cakes and sweetbreads. Hunting expeditions were organized to secure fresh venison, allowing Rishona to demonstrate her exceptional abilities with the bow. Abundant branches of pine, holly and mistletoe were harvested to add fragrance and color to the dining hall. For his part, Mage Corey spent hours wandering the forest, often inviting Eolyn to accompany him, until this year’s Yule log revealed itself to his discerning eye.
The frenetic energy of her companions disconcerted Eolyn. Although she grew up with stories of the boisterous feasts of old, her childhood celebrations of Winter Solstice had been dependably simple and quiet.
Days before the feast, the women began airing, brushing and retouching their finest gowns. Eolyn, who had but two simple woolen dresses to keep her warm during the winter months, now wondered whether it would be appropriate to attend the midnight festival in such plain robes. Rishona resolved this dilemma by appearing one afternoon with another expression of Mage Corey’s special interest: the loan of an exquisite forest green, fur-lined gown. It had once belonged to a woman of his clan.
“I told Corey you are not partial to wearing green,” Rishona said, “but he thought you might make an exception this time.”
At sunset on Midwinter’s Eve, Mage Corey’s guests gathered in the dining hall illuminated by countless brilliant candles. The tables were amply spread with roast goose and venison, herbed vegetables, sweetmeats, and breads. The Yule log carried the warmth of the sleeping sun in its yellow flames, and the heady scent of pine and bayberry intoxicated the celebrants long before anyone started pouring the wine.
Mage Corey occupied the head table, accompanied by Mistress Renate, Rishona, and Tahmir. All the other guests took their seats at two long tables facing each other across the modestly sized hall. Ample room was left between them, space that would fill with dancers as the night wore on and the wine took effect.
The feast was well underway when Khelia burst through the heavy double doors in a thick swirl of snow, followed by several companions with musical instruments. Delighted by her unexpected appearance, the guests applauded and cheered. Mage Corey crossed the dining hall to embrace her, and she assumed a place by his side at the table.
The celebration flourished on animated waves of laughter until at last the music started, and dancers invaded the floor. Khelia took her leave of the main table and moved toward Eolyn, indulging in lively conversation with anyone who crossed her path.
“I’m glad to see you’re still here.” The mountain woman greeted Eolyn with a warm embrace and a kiss of friendship. “Corey’s been kind to you, then?”
“Yes. A little too kind, actually.”
Her eyes sparked in amusement. “Well, he does have a bit of a romantic side, though one would find it hard to believe at first. Don’t worry if he’s started showering gifts on you. He expects nothing in return, really, except perhaps a bit of honest friendship.”
“I know.”
“Though it’s difficult for a true woman to be honest these days in Moisehén.” Khelia’s eyes moved across the crowd of dancers. “It’s quite a dilemma, don’t you think? One can be true, or one can be honest. Which do you prefer, Sarah?”
She turned her attention to Eolyn, as if to cut a clear path to the maga’s heart with those ice blue eyes.
“I prefer to be true,” Eolyn said.
Khelia smiled and lifted her cup. “So I suspected. I hear you’re quite the hit throughout the land, with your magic act.”
“It is Mage Corey’s act, and it is an act of illusions.”
“Yes, well, it’s all the same now, you know. They haven’t threatened to burn you yet, have they?”
“No, not yet.”
“That’s good news. Corey will probably keep it up for at least another season then.”
Eolyn decided it was time to change the subject. “Where have you been, Khelia? I thought for certain you would perform with the Circle again before the season ended.”
“Why?” Khelia flashed Eolyn a daring smile. “Did you miss me?”
“I had hoped to have the opportunity to get to know you.”
“Get to know me?” Khelia’s pale brows lifted. “Well, it’s difficult to know anyone inside the Circle, but we may have other opportunities if the Gods are willing. In the meantime, I suggest you do not ask where I have been, or where I am going, for that matter. Some questions are better left unanswered.”
Eolyn’s annoyance at this relentless game of hide and seek was beginning to break through her reserve. Every member of the Circle, it seemed, guarded some secret or worked toward some private objective. In the middle of it all stood Mage Corey, weaving all their disparate threads into a single shadowy net. She wondered what stories the mage had told Khelia. In which of Corey’s realities did the mountain woman live?
Khelia laid a hand over Eolyn’s. “Don’t let my evasions upset you. They are but the momentary price of having a true friend, instead of an honest one.”
At this Eolyn’s mood softened. She returned Khelia’s gesture with a squeeze of her hand.
“Come and dance, Sarah,” Khelia beckoned. “This is not a night to be thinking so much. Renate tells me you’ve quite a gift for movement.”
“She said that?”
“She always hands out compliments when she’s had too much to drink.”
Eolyn laughed and followed Khelia to the floor. They danced until her muscles filled with sweet fatigue and the roots of her hair were damp with sweat.
As midnight approached, the musicians quieted their instruments. Mage Corey’s guests convened in a circle at the center of the hall. This was the most sacred moment of the year’s longest night, marking the farthest reach of the sun into the great void of the Underworld. All across Moisehén, from the hearths of its peasants to the King’s great hall, the sun’s descent would be received with reverent silence.
Moving his hand in a slow arc, Mage Corey dimmed the candles until only the flickering flame of the Yule log illuminated the room, casting such shadows that Eolyn imagined the Guendes slipping out of the woodwork to join them.
Closing her eyes, she caught sight of the sun, a dim star in a cold black sea, a hesitant glimmer almost lost to the night. The vision ignited a deep ache in her heart, an irresistible desire to sing as she always had with Ghemena. So she lifted her voice in an ancient melody that once belonged to the magas of Moisehén, a poem of love composed for a single purpose, to bring the sun back to the world of the living.
Adiana was the first to join her. She took Eolyn’s hand and graced the melody with the weave of her fine voice. Within moments, the other women of Moisehén accompanied them. Even Renate tried to enter the chorus, though some unseen power choked her back into quiet tears. The verse ended in resonating silence.
When Eolyn opened her eyes, Mage Corey was watching her, his expression unreadable amidst the shadows.
He raised the lights of the bayberry candles and turned his attention to the musicians. At his bidding the music resumed, but the circle did not break. This new melody, though unfamiliar to Eolyn, evoked a sense of deep memory.
Rishona and Mage Corey moved to the center of the floor, where they danced around each other, giving dimension to the space between them with elegant movements of their hands. The exchange was subtle yet sensual. The air became so charged Eolyn felt her skin tingle. They repeated the pattern three times before bringing the movement to a breathless finish.
Rishona withdrew, and Mage Corey extended his hand to Eolyn.
Instinct compelled Eolyn to step away, but Adiana reversed her momentum with a firm hand against the small of Eolyn’s back.
“Mage Corey, I don’t know this dance,” Eolyn said as she stumbled forward. “I can’t do it.”
He took her hand and drew her close. His voice was low and infused with such confidence it sent a shiver through her. “This dance is in your blood, Sarah. It is as old as the land to which we were born. All you need do is follow the music with your heart.”
Just as Mage Corey promised, Eolyn remembered. The steps returned to her, carried somehow on the fluid waves of rich music, on the slow heartbeat of the cold winter earth, on the sharp fire of Corey’s essence, on the whispering spirit of the dead magas.
Eolyn’s interpretation of the rite, though not nearly as skilled as Rishona’s, carried a natural expression of their faith. The movement settled comfortably about her, like a favored old cloak with soft, warm folds.
In another age, Corey and Eolyn might have engaged in similar rites on countless occasions, he as Mage and she as Maga. Now everyone who watched thought magas no longer danced in Moisehén. Yet Eolyn sensed she had finally, completely exposed herself to Mage Corey, and she discovered she did not care. It seemed a small price to pay in exchange for this moment, for the sense of shared magic at her fingertips, for the steady heat of his silver gaze, for the fleeting vision of how he might respond to her caress.
When they finished, Eolyn withdrew, and Khelia joined the mage as his third and final partner. Although Eolyn had not witnessed the dance before this night, the maga knew it would end here with Khelia next to him, sparkling as she did like the stars against a black winter night. The last notes of the song resonated against the windowpanes. The lingering heat of the dance rose about Corey and Khelia like a bright cloud. They finished with an impassioned kiss.
The people broke into applause and laughter and loud demands for more music. When the musicians obliged, the guests reclaimed the floor. Mage Corey took Khelia’s arm in his, and they departed for the night.
“What do you say now about his ‘special interest’?” Eolyn asked Adiana, watching them leave.
Adiana shrugged. “Their union tonight is an offering of pleasure meant to give thanks to the Gods. It’s not the same as falling in love. Not the same at all.”
Eolyn drew an annoyed breath, but subdued the impulse to correct Adiana. The time for thanksgiving would come in the morning, when the pale light of dawn announced the return of the sun. The communion shared by Khelia and Corey, if indeed sacred in aspect, would serve a different purpose altogether, helping illuminate the sun’s path during its perilous journey back home.
But why argue about the nuances of the old rites? Her friend’s words may have triggered Eolyn’s anger, but Adiana was not the source of her discontent.
Adiana joined the dancers and beckoned Eolyn to follow, but the maga desisted. Restlessness had invaded her evening. Everything felt out of place, including her own person. Calling upon Winter Fox for invisibility, Eolyn retrieved her cloak and slipped out the door, hoping the familiar company of the forest would afford some peace.
The night received Eolyn with a frigid embrace. A handful of stars pressed through the clouds overhead. Fresh snow hushed her steps and muffled the sounds of celebration, bringing back memories of peaceful midwinter nights with Ghemena.
How remarkable, Eolyn now thought, that the company of one woman was more than sufficient for so many years, while the company of all these people left her feeling alone and incomplete.
Eolyn passed the Old Fir. A frosty breeze rushed through its high branches, stirring up the sharp aroma of its verdant needles. The tree spoke in a dialect Eolyn could not place, until she realized with great surprise it was whispering the language of metals.
The armband given to her by Achim responded with a silver hiss.
Eolyn gasped as the jewel uncoiled and traveled in sinuous spirals toward her wrist. The silver dragon emerged from her sleeve and came to rest in a loose coil in the palm of her hand. It lifted its head toward the tree as if in silent expectation.