Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [164]
She compressed her lips tightly for a moment. “Very well. But he must learn respect.”
“I vouch for his behavior,” Caelan said.
The woman pointed her index finger at Orlo, who touched his throat and coughed. “What is this?” he demanded. “Who is she?”
Caelan frowned, tired of argument. “You waste ... our time,” he finally managed. “Respect her.”
Defiance filled Orlo’s craggy face, but before he could protest, the Penestrican glanced at him. “Serve Lord Caelan,” she said. “Obey him.”
“Lord Caelan?” Orlo repeated, his brows shooting up, then he frowned and gave Caelan a long, searching glance.
The Penestrican took Caelan’s hand between her own. “I have come to offer you a lesson, if you will learn.”
Her face was growing hazy, merging with the halo of candlelight. Caelan found himself floating again. His lids dropped half shut. “Cold,” he murmured.
“He’s losing blood again,” Orlo said. “If you have come to cure him, then do—please do it.”
“I have come to offer him wisdom,” she replied.
“It’s life he needs more than wisdom,” Orlo argued.
She smiled. “Are the two not the same thing?” she asked gently. “Will you come with me, Lord Caelan?”
He watched her dreamily as though from far away. “Are you the Magria?” he asked.
“No. I am only a dream walker. Let us walk together.”
“Walk?” Orlo interrupted with fresh alarm. “You come to a man who’s half-dead and expect him to go for a stroll? He can’t—”
“Hush,” she said, her gaze not shifting from Caelan. “Our walk is well within his powers.”
Caelan met her gaze, and felt himself float farther away, sinking slowly into a mist of sleep.
Immediately he dreamed, not the earlier feverish fragments of faces and emotions, but of something calm and soothing.
He found himself standing on a headland overlooking the sea. Sunlight glittered upon its endless gray-green expanse. A strong, salty wind blew Caelan’s hair back from his face. The waves below surged and broke upon the rocks with a restless, potent beauty.
At his back grew a grove of trees, and a single boulder rested upon the grass. It might have been a favorite sit-down spot for a weary traveler, but an aura of serene power lay over the clearing. Caelan suspected the stone might be a natural altar of sorts.
The dream walker emerged from the trees, her stride graceful and free, her long gray hair spilling unbound down her back in the way of a girl. She smiled as she came to him.
“Welcome to the place of the goddess mother,” she said.
Caelan stood facing her, aware of the crashing sea, the swaying trees, the immovable stone. The power centered in this spot seemed to be growing stronger, as though forces were gathering here around him. He understood now why the power seemed so unfamiliar to him. It was the force of the natural earth, with all her mysteries woven through the cycles of birth, life, and death.
“What must I learn?” he asked humbly.
The Penestrican looked at him with open approval. “You are very respectful, for a man.”
He sighed, knowing he must curb his inner impatience and sense of urgency. “That lesson, the Choven taught me. It was not easily learned.”
She smiled and spread wide her hands. Her sleeves belled in the wind, and her hair streamed out behind her like a banner. “Look at the stone.”
He obeyed her, and after a few moments he heard footsteps.
He glanced up and found himself facing a slim woman with long blonde hair and intense blue eyes. Power and wisdom shone in her face. Her features were beautiful, yet beauty was not the word to describe her. She was as stern as his father had ever been, perhaps more so. Her eyes were like the arch of sky over them, full of infinite mysteries.
“I am the Magria of the Penestrican orders,” she said. “You are Caelan, the Light Bringer.”
He bowed to her in silence, awed by the power radiating from her. Her youth and beauty were deceptive. This woman was both ancient and ageless. He had no words to describe her.
“There is little time,” she said. “Your injury makes this meeting difficult.”
He understood that she must be expending tremendous effort