Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [45]
Doriantha paused outside the tent and drummed her fingers against its taut leaf wall, then spoke a single word, "Rylith?"
It must have been the name of whoever was inside the tent, for the singing immediately stopped. Doriantha added something more, speaking quickly in the wild elves' tongue. Larajin heard her own name spoken by the person inside, then Leifander's. Doriantha shook her head and answered with an Elvish word Larajin understood: "No."
The singing began again, and suddenly an opening appeared in its wall, just in front of where Doriantha stood. It was as if the leaves had blown away in the wind. Grasping Larajin's arm, Doriantha led her inside.
As they entered the tent, the wall of leaves became solid again behind them. Looking around, Larajin at first wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. It was almost as if they were standing in a forest glen on a sunny day. Instead of bare earth, as she had expected, the floor of the tent was covered in thick, lush grass, trimmed as neatly as any carpet and sprinkled with miniature white daisies. Above, against the dome of the roof, the sun seemed to be shining. It took Larajin a moment of squinting to realize that the light must have been the result of a spell. A network of branches grew out of the ground and wove its way around the interior of the tent, forming shelves, a low bed, and a bench against its walls. This living furniture was dotted with bright green leaves and tiny yellow flowers, which gave off a sweet, citruslike smell.
Seated on the bench was an elf with gray hair and dark tree-branch tattoos on her cheeks and chin. A band of silver leaves in her hair glittered where the magical light struck it, and over her leather breeches and vest she wore a cloak that looked as though it had been woven from autumn leaves of red and orange and yellow.
The woman gave Larajin an intense, expectant look. "You are Trisdea's daughter?" she asked in fluent Common.
Larajin nodded.
The druid sighed. Larajin couldn't tell if the sound was one of relief-or something else. Was Rylith disappointed in what she saw? Had she expected Larajin to look more like an elf?
Doriantha placed both hands upon her chest, over her heart, and bowed low in the direction of the gray-haired woman. From the deference she paid Rylith, Larajin guessed that the druid was both important and powerful, perhaps as highly placed among her people as the Hulorn himself. Larajin, not wanting to insult her, imitated Doriantha's bow.
She must have done it wrong, for Rylith chuckled. She rose from her seat and strode to where Larajin stood, her lef-cloak rustling. She bowed briefly in Doriantha's direction, then took Larajin's hands in hers.
"You have come at last," she said. "Welcome."
"Thank you," Larajin fumbled. "I am glad to have finally reached the Tangled Trees and found my… my mother's people. I hope I will be-"
"Welcome?" Rylith asked, as if reading Larajin's mind. The tattoos on her cheeks folded into grandmotherly wrinkles as she smiled. "Set your mind at ease, child. I will speak on your behalf."
Relief washed over Larajin as she met the gray-haired woman's eyes. Rylith had a presence that was at once calming-and commanding. If she told the elves of the Tangled Trees to welcome Larajin, so it would be.
Rylith said something to Doriantha, who nodded and picked up a small earthenware jar from one of the shelves. She passed this jug to Rylith, who unstoppered it and offered it to Larajin. The fruity smell of fermented berries rose from within. Larajin glanced down, and saw that the jar was filled with a blue-black hquid.
"A mild draught," Rylith said. "One that will help you to relax and to sleep. Your arrival is fortuitous. Tomorrow is the Turning, an important day among our people. The dance begins at dawn. I want you to be well rested.
loo
Until then," she added, glancing at Doriantha as she spoke, "I