The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [154]
“Well, I didn’t mean to scry, I just—oh, wait. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” Dallandra laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go back to camp. We both need sleep.”
Salamander got up, then helped her rise. Together they began the walk back.
“I nearly forgot in all the excitement,” Salamander said. “Did you get to have that talk with Neb and Branna?”
“I didn’t, no,” Dallandra said. “Neb stayed at the council till late, and Branna’s aunt needed all her attention. The poor woman! Honelg’s wife is her daughter.”
“I knew I never should have mentioned Honelg, curse it all.”
“No, no, you did the right thing. Honelg is dangerous. Galla told me a fair bit about him. He sounds loathsome.”
“I’d agree with that judgment, yes.”
“But in the morning, you and I will need to find a way to take Neb and Branna some place where no one can overhear. They seem to have stumbled onto the truth. I’d like to know how.”
The noontime sun fell in a thin slit through the window in Branna’s chamber and turned Dallandra’s pale hair to a glowing silver, as shiny as a polished sword blade. As soon as the town gates had opened, Dallandra had come up to the dun, where she’d found Neb and Branna breakfasting in the great hall. The three of them had gone to Branna and Neb’s chamber, the only place in the dun where they had enough privacy—and indeed, enough quiet—to discuss the dweomer and its secrets. They’d talked all morning, Branna realized, though the time had galloped by. Among other things, Dallandra had confirmed Neb’s insight, that indeed, in another life they had both been masters of dweomerlore.
“There’s one thing I truly don’t understand,” Branna said, then paused to choose careful words. “If we were those other people, why can’t we remember more? I could remember a fair bit when I was asleep, of course, but Neb never had dreams such as I did. But I never—well—just remembered. When I was but a child, why didn’t I have the feeling that Branna wasn’t my real name—just for an example, like.”
“I’ll wager the answer leads to another question,” Neb said, smiling a little. “So far everything else you’ve told us has.”
Dallandra laughed, nodding her agreement. “I can give you a simple enough answer, but it won’t tell you much. The part of your mind that does the remembering quite simply isn’t reborn. Most of a person’s mind dies when they die, unless they’re a highly skilled dweomermaster. Even the masters lose a tremendous amount of knowledge and memories. Here’s a way of thinking about it. Suppose you were setting off on a journey. And suppose you had two big sacks to carry things in, and you’d crammed them full of possessions. Then suppose the sacks were taken away, and you had only a single pocket to carry what you treasured most. You’d have to leave most of your things behind, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, truly.” Branna said.
“The memories that do remain,” Dallandra went on, “are those forged from deep feelings or events that have touched your soul, such as a great love or a great hatred. Feelings don’t necessarily bring words and images with them, though. That’s why you can recognize someone without knowing why they’re so important to you.”
“Like I recognized Salamander,” Branna said. “But, you know, I called him a chattering elf. I didn’t have the slightest idea why I had. Now you tell me that Jill called him that all the time, but it doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you’d remember from life to life.”
“It doesn’t, truly, but dweomermasters have highly trained minds. They remember more than people who’ve not spent years developing their memories.”
“That makes sense,” Neb put in. “But those dreams of hers! They were so detailed, and you’ve told us now that they were accurate.”
“There’s a reason for that, but I’m not sure if I can explain it. I doubt if either of you remember the meanings of the words that I need. Every craft has its own special words, whether it’s smithing or carpentry or dweomer-craft. Tell me, does the term ‘astral