[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.The weak voice gained authority."Harani, I will wait.The horse deserves a good death.""And you, none at all." But Aidan knew his kinsman; he went to tend the horse.It was not an easy task.He cared for horses as his father cared: with every bit of brain and body.But a broken leg was a death sentence, requiring immediate action.Aidan, with his Erinnish gift, sensed bewilderment and pain as the gray attempted to walk.In Erinnish, he tried to soothe; the language was made for horses.He eased saddle and packs from the mount, then stroked the sweating neck."Shansu," he whispered gently, sliding long-bladed knife from sheath."The gods will look after their own."He went back to his kinsman wet with blood, then knelt at Ian's side.Tasha growled a warning."Shansu," Aidan repeated, one hand brushing her shoulders.Tasha growled again, ears flattening.Ian's eyes were closed.In lightning, his years showed clearly, sharp bones protruding beneath aging flesh changed from bronze to linen white.Blood smeared his chin.Thunder boomed distantly."How can I move you?" Aidan pleaded, mostly of himself."The pain alone could kill you.And if not that, what is to say the movement itself will not?" Wind whipped gray-white hair across Ian's face.Aidan peeled it back."Su'fali, what do I do?"Ian's eyes opened.From pain, they were nearly black."Bones grow brittle with age," he remarked."Take ten years away, and I would only have bruised."Aidan tried to smile, because Ian wanted him to."Su'faili, what can I do?""Be true to yourself," Ian murmured."Be true to the blood in your veins.""Earth magic," Aidan said numbly."But—I have never required it.I have never even attempted—" Futility was painful."I'm not knowing how to do it!""Ask," Ian said raggedly."You are Cheysuli—ask—"Aidan flung back his head, searching black sky for a smaller blackness.Lir—he appealed.Teel—Would I tell you any different? Use what you have been given!Beside her lir, Tasha wailed."—time—" Aidan muttered."Gods—give me the time—"You waste it! Teel told him.What are you waiting for?Aidan did not know.Courage, he thought dimly; assurances of success.Tasha's wail increased.The raven's voice intruded.Old men die of this!Old men, Aidan echoed.And looked again at his kinsman, who once had known Carillon.Tasha's tail beat the ground.Angry eyes glowed dimly.The storm raged unabated, buffeting them with wind.It keened across the land, spitting dirt and grass and dampness."Now—" Aidan murmured, digging fingers into soil."Let us see who is Cheysuli—let us see what gods can do—"The lightning came down a third time and blasted him apart.Chapter NineHe stood before a door.The door swung silently open."Come in," the woman invited, and put her hand on his arm.She drew him into the croft, where no croft had existed before.It was small, thatched, lime-washed white, smelling of warmth and wool.He saw three cats: the black on the hearth, the brown on a stool, the white-booted silver tabby curled in the tangle of colorless yarns piled in haphazard fashion on the floor.In the center of the room stood a loom.She shut the door behind him.And, when he tried to speak, closed his mouth with her hand."No," she said quietly."Ian will be well.There is no need to fear." She gestured toward a chair.He did not intend to sit, but found himself obeying.And staring at her in wonder.She was unremarkable.A small, fragile woman with callused hands, graying hair snugged back in a knot pinned against her head.She wore a woolen skirt of many patches, as if she added a swatch of weaving each time the skirt wore thin.Over it was a tunic the color of winter grass: dull and lacking luster.A single colorless stone shone on her buckle: lone, unwinking eye.Her own eyes were blue, faded with time, and the flesh of her face was worn.Aidan stirred sluggishly, coming out of disorientation.Urgency made him curt."Lady, I have no time—""You have as much time as I give you."Her serene certainty filled him with trepidation.Aidan tried again, exerting more authority."There is the storm, and my kinsman—"Her composure remained unruffled."Ian will be well.The storm is of my sending.""Your sending—" He stopped, banished shock, summoned anger on Ian's behalf."Lady, he is harmed—""He can be healed." Quietly she lifted the cat from her stool and sat down before the loom.The cat found a home in her lap, collapsing once more into sleep.She reached out and took up the shuttle.Aidan, staring at her, knew it was the only answer he would get until she chose to give another.Nothing he said would shake her.She was not the kind touched by emotions; her concerns lay in other directions.Impatience will not serve… With effort, Aidan banished it.He turned instead to the quiet courtesy Homana-Mujhar had taught him."What do I call you, Lady? The first one was the Hunter.""You may call me the Weaver." Her smile was luminous."Come to my work, Aidan.Come and look upon the colors."He did as he was bidden, dragging himself from the chair.A part of him denied what was happening, recalling the blast of lightning; a part of him counseled patience.He had met Shaine, Carillon, a god; now he met a goddess."Teel," he murmured dully.The link was empty of lir."Teel is very patient… come look upon the colors."Aidan moved to stand before the loom.He was aware only dimly of the warmth of the croft, the purring of the cats, the scent of fresh-spun wool.She was gray, gray and dun, weaving gray and dun homespun—and then he looked at the loom.He looked upon her colors.He could not name them all.He had never seen such brilliance.The Weaver worked the shuttle.Back and forth, to and fro, feeding dullness into the pattern.Aidan thought it sacrilege—until he saw the truth.The colors came from her.As she carried the shuttle through, each strand took on a hue."There is a thing you must do," she said quietly."A task to be undertaken, but one you will deny.It is a task of great importance, of great necessity, but we cannot be certain you will do it.We gave humankind the gift of self-rule, and even gods cannot sway those who choose not to hear." In renewed silence, she worked the shuttle."We make things easy; we make things hard.Humankind makes the choices." She stilled the shuttle, and held it."Look into the colors.Tell me what you see."He swallowed to wet his throat."A man," he said huskily, "and a chain.The chain binds him, binds his soul… but it is not made of iron—" Aidan shut his eyes.When he looked again, afraid, the colors were brighter yet."Gold," he said hoarsely."Gold of the gods, and blessed… but there is a weakness in it.One of the links will break."The Weaver's smile was sweet."There is sometimes strength in weakness."He fought down the urge to run."Am I to fail, then? Am I the weak link?""Not all men succeed in what they desire most.As for you, I cannot say; your road still lies before you.""And my—task?""The time has not come for you to make your decision.""But—this—?""This is only a prelude to it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]