Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [13]
Cillian gave a startled yelp.
I giggled.
"Moirin!" He grinned. "Show yourself, woodsprite."
I did. "And what is this object that held you so fascinated?" I inquired, waving it in the air.
"'Tis a tale of the Master of the Straits." He grabbed at it, but I danced out of reach. "I thought you might enjoy it, oh ungrateful one."
"A tale?" I examined the thing. "How is this a tale?"
"It's a book, Moirin." Cillian paused. "Not a book of magic, just a tale. Do you, ah, know how to read?"
"Read?" The thing was shaped like a leather-bound box, but it fanned open to reveal myriad square leaves with markings on them.
"You don't, do you?"
I held the book to my ear and heard nothing. I smelled it, then touched the tip of my tongue to the finely grained leaves. "I know the words book and read, but I do not know exactly what they mean," I admitted. "How is this a tale?"
He took it from me. "I'll show you." Holding it open, Cillian gazed into it and recited the opening words of a tale. I sat to listen, but he stopped. "Here." He pointed to the markings on the first leaf. "These are the words I spoke. Written here. Each of these is a word."
"No!" I marveled. Aye.
"That's a fine magic!"
"It's not—" He paused to consider. "Mayhap it is at that. I never thought on it."
I scooted closer to him. "How do you do it?"
"See these shapes?" Cillian pointed again. "Each one contained unto itself? Those are letters. They represent sounds. You put them together to make words."
"Show me."
He did, drawing on the flat stone of our hearth with the tip of a fire-blackened twig. I marveled over the process, taking to it like a duckling to water. I was so absorbed, I didn't sense my mother returning with her bow over her shoulder and a brace of pigeons dangling from one hand.
"What are you playing at, Moirin mine?" she asked.
"Oh!" I startled. "Cillian is teaching me to read!"
There was a shadow behind her smile. "Is he, now?"
Cillian got to his feet and bowed. "Not against your wishes, Lady Fainche. Speak, and I will cease."
"You're enjoying yourself?" she asked me.
I nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes."
"So be it." My mother laid a hand on my head. "You have my blessing. But do not trust this new knowledge overmuch. Great truths should be contained in the head and the heart, not consigned to the page. There was a time not long ago when the ollamhs railed against the practice."
"The world changes, Lady Fainche," Cillian said diplomatically.
She settled her gaze on him. "So it does. 'Twas your own kinsman founded the Academy at Innisclan, was it not?"
"Aye. Eamonn mac Grainne. Your kinsman too, I believe." He hesitated. "Moirin will prove a swift learner, if I'm any judge. She'd be welcome to study there one day."
My mother looked alarmed.
"'Twould not be for many years," Cillian added hastily. "None younger than fourteen are admitted."
"Fourteen," she sighed.
"I'm not going anywhere," I assured her. "I just want to learn to read, that's all. And Cillian's a fine teacher."
He colored with pleasure. "Am I?"
"You are."
My mother regarded us with an unreadable expression. "Go on with it, then. My blessing is already given."
I'd spoken true; Cillian was a good teacher. By the time the woods were ablaze with autumn's bright foliage, I was able to read simple texts on my own, sounding out the words aloud. Once winter came, Cillian wouldn't be able to visit as often, but he had promised to bring me several books on which I might practice, whiling away the long cold months. I had promised in turn to read them to my mother, and I do not think even she was entirely displeased by the prospect.
But when Cillian came next, he came empty-handed and downcast.
"No books?" I was disappointed.
He took a seat at the hearth, looking