The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [19]
As Valandario read through each book, she copied any relevant passages onto a scroll made of pabrus, a writing material that had come over from the islands with the new settlers. One book in particular she kept on the table near her, but not for its information. Bound in black leather, decorated with a white applique of a dragon, it contained a translation into Gel da’Thae of a familiar work on dweomer, one she knew practically by heart. Its importance lay in its links to its previous owner, Laz Moj. According to Sidro, he’d made the translation and written it out in the book as well. Now and then Val would lay a hand upon it and try to pick up some impression of its absent scribe. Very slowly, an insight grew in her mind. Once she could articulate it, she presented it to Dallandra.
“It’s about Laz’s book. It’s the antithesis of the one Evandar showed Ebañy in the vision crystal. The binding’s in the opposite colors, and the information inside it is well-known, while we don’t have any idea what may be in Evandar’s.”
“That’s all true,” Dallandra said.
“So if the two books are linked by antithesis, they might echo the pair of crystals, the black and the white.”
“In which case,” Dalla continued the thought, “the missing book might also tell us about the crystals.”
“Exactly! Furthermore, both the crystals and the island are shadows from some higher plane. Could it be that Haen Marn’s their real home, and they wanted to take Laz there for some reason? ”
“Or else they used him to get there. Salamander was planning on smashing the black one. I wonder if it was trying to escape.”
“How would it have known?” Val asked. “You don’t think it had some kind of consciousness, do you?”
“I can’t say either way. I didn’t get to study it for very long.”
“That’s not exactly helpful.”
Dallandra’s image grinned at her. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not thinking very clearly these days. It’s the baby, I suppose. I’m sinking to the level of a pregnant animal, all warm and broody like a mother dog.” Her smile disappeared. “I hate it.”
“At least it’s only temporary.”
“That’s very true, and I thank the Star Goddesses for it.”
Dallandra’s image, floating over the glowing coals, suddenly wavered, faded, then returned to clarity.
“Val, I have to leave,” Dallandra said. “Someone’s calling for me, and they sound panicked.”
"Dalla! Dalla!” Branna was standing right outside the tent. "Vek’s having a seizure, and it’s a bad one.”
Dallandra grabbed the tent bag of medicinals she kept ready for these occasions and hurried outside. Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Branna stood waiting for her. A mist that fell just short of rain swirled around her in the gray light and beaded her blonde hair. Her gray gnome hunkered down next to her and squeezed handfuls of mud through its twiggy fingers.
“He’s in Sidro and Pir’s tent,” Branna said. “Over this way.”
The gnome dematerialized as they hurried through the maze of round tents, as strangely silent as winter camps always were, with life moved so resolutely inside. As usual, the winter rains had washed off their painted decorations, leaving strange ghostly stains on the leather, outlines to be repainted once the weather turned toward summer. In the gray light it seemed that the camp lay caught between two worlds of water and earth, scarcely there.
Since Branna was striding along just ahead of her, Dallandra noticed that the girl’s dress hung thick with yellow-brown mud about her ankles. Her clogs sank into the ground with every step.
“You really need to wear leggings and boots,” Dallandra said. “I’ll get the women to make you some.”
“I suppose so,” Branna said. “I’m just so used to dresses, but truly, it’s impossible to keep them clean out here.” She paused for a sigh. “It sounded so exciting, coming to live among the Westfolk. I didn’t realize what the winters would be like.”
“They can be a bit grim, truly.”
“I understand now why Salamander wintered with