Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [101]
“Every now and again, truly. My thanks. And I’ve got a lot of information for you, too, that we’ll need to sort out.”
Jill was on the verge of asking her fellow dweomer-master just what she might be doing with that chair—she had a brief wondering if Dallandra was so distracted that she’d forgotten she was carrying the thing—but Dalia put it down in front of the window.
“Stone and air and the antagonism between them,” Dalla remarked. “Gates are where you find them, you see.”
She stepped upon the chair, stepped up onto the windowsill, stepped again, and disappeared. Jill rushed to the window, half expecting to see her sprawled on the cobbles beneath, but she was quite simply gone. Jill let out breath in a sharp sigh—she hadn’t really realized that she’d been holding it. For all her own great power, there were some magicks she found hard to get used to.
When first Dallandra had learned the dweomer of the roads, she’d been forced to depend on the obvious sites of possible gates between worlds, such as the meeting of three streams or a thicket where hazel and rowan grew mingled together, but now after so much practice she could sense the fine edges where planes of energy met and rebounded from each other again, leaving a short-lived gap ‘twixt one world and another. She slipped through this particular gate just as it was closing and found herself on the hill overlooking the astral river.
From behind her she heard singing and turned to see women walking back and forth in her formal garden. Wearing long dresses of fine cloth, red and white and gold, they strolled among the roses and clustered round the fountain, blond heads, dark heads, bent together as they talked. At times it seemed that perhaps a mere dozen souls walked among the green; at others, a huge throng swarmed there, just as a fire will flare up and flames multiply, only to fall back again when the draft that fanned it dies. As she hurried to join them, she heard them mention Elessario’s name.
“You could join her, you know,” she called out.
All attention they flocked round her, chattering and laughing, but the laughter vanished and the chatter turned to sighs when she repeated her oft-given message about the world of matter and Time — The woman she always called the night princess, who had modeled herself on the dark-skinned folk of Bardek, shook her head with a rustle of black curls.
“Why did she go there? I don’t understand.”
“To know life. What you have here is only a semblance of life, colored shadows thrown upon a wall.”
They considered, looking at each other, looking at her, dark eyes, yellow eyes narrow and puzzled. With a shrug the night princess turned away.
“Dancing,” she cried. “Let us go to the lilac arbor and have dancing!”
Their laughter turned to cries and chatter as they themselves mutated into a flock of bright-colored birds, parrot and cockatoo, gold and red and pink with here and there a flash of turquoise feather, and one black macaw with pink-trimmed wings and golden beak. On a wave of calls and rushing wings they flew away, circling once overhead, then flying steadily off toward the west. Dallandra said something foul in Elvish. Would she ever get them to understand?
Shaking her head she walked back over the hill to the astral river, which like quicksilver oozed through the dark green reeds and sparkled in the noontime sun. Nearby in the meadow the golden pavilion stood empty and silent. When she called Evandar’s name, only his page came running.
“He’s still gone,” the boy said. “Riding the border still with the warriors. Do you want mead?”
“None, my thanks. But fetch me some bread, will you?”
The boy darted off again into the pavilion. Dallandra was just wondering whether to join