The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [133]
The voices were faint at first, so that she thought them merely the murmuring of unseen fountains. Then she heard faint whispers in her mind, and she knew she was not alone.
Who is this one?
A trespasser. A follower of the New Ones.
No, daughters, she knew the spell. She wove it with great skill.
She hails from the north then.
But her face is dark as dusk.
Yet all the same from the north she is, although the south does flow in her veins.
What should we do? She will sense the presence of our coven in a moment.
Ah, but she already has.
Silence. Lirith paused, waiting. All around her leaves fluttered, but there was no breeze to stir them. She opened her mind, her thoughts, so that they might see who she was. There were a dozen of them at least, maybe more. It was difficult to be sure amidst the dense life of the grotto.
At last Lirith could stand the silence no more. She opened her mouth, but at that moment a chorus of voices sounded softly in her mind.
Welcome, Daughter of Sia.
44.
The sun had set and the sky was deepening from amethyst to onyx by the time Lirith returned to the hostel. Melia looked up from her chair near the window. The fluffy black kitten yawned and stretched on her lap.
“We’ve been worried about you, dear.”
Melia’s voice was gentle, but Lirith winced all the same.
“See, Durge?” Falken said. “I told you she didn’t get hopelessly lost, knocked on the head by a robber, or pushed into an abandoned well.”
“It is a wonder,” the knight replied.
The two men sat at a table, playing a game Lirith did not recognize using small, polished stones. Despite the levity in the bard’s voice, his visage was drawn, and Durge seemed even more somber than usual. No doubt they had feared her dead, like the priests of Vathris in the Etherion. After all, there had already been one attempt on her life.
“I’m fine,” she said, then realized this was utterly inadequate.
Aryn rushed to her, her blue eyes shining. “Where were you, Lirith?” Then, in Lirith’s mind, Aryn’s voice continued. I called for you, but you never answered.
Lirith noticed Melia’s sparkling gaze. She was not so certain Aryn’s words had not been overheard. Aloud she said, “I went to find witches.”
Lirith might have spoken to Aryn that night in private, but no matter what Ivalaine said, Melia and Falken were her friends. And while the workings of witches made Durge uncomfortable, it was best they all knew what she had learned.
Except what had she learned? As the words tumbled out of her, she realized she wasn’t entirely certain.
She had gone in search of witches in the city in hopes of learning more about the tangle in the Weirding. After all, it was larger here—far larger than it had ever been in Ar-tolor. Aryn hadn’t seen the tangle, but if there were witches in Tarras maybe some of them had. And, Lirith had reasoned, if she could learn more about the knot in the Weirding, she might discover something that would help them find the murderer as well.
At least, that was what she had hoped. The others listened as she described her encounter in the garden. The witches she had found there had been both familiar and strange. They were witches to be sure—daughters of Sia as they had described themselves—for they had known how to weave the Weirding and how to speak across its threads.
However, there were differences as well. These witches were not part of the Pattern that was woven in the Dominions. And while Sia was indeed present in Tarras, it was a muted presence, faded by the bright glare of the New Gods. Many of their spells were weak—like the one with which they had bound the garden gate, and which Lirith had broken so easily. It was also true they had talents that were new and surprising to Lirith.
In particular, they were adept at speaking over the threads of the Weirding. Lirith imagined followers of such old religions would not be popular in a city dominated