The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [33]
Valandario cleared her throat, then read the call aloud in a deliberately colorless voice. “Olduh umd nonci do a dooain de Iaida, O gah de poamal ca a nothoa ah avabh. Acare, ca, od zamran, lap ol zirdo noco olpirt de olpirt.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?” Dallandra said.
“Oh, yes. Although—” Valandario frowned at the scroll. “Master Aderyn read these out in an odd way. He sounded every letter as the syllable it represents. Ol-de oo-me-deh deh-oh—like that.”
“It doesn’t make any sense that way either.”
“It’s not in Elvish, that’s why. There’s a translation of everything down at the bottom—”
Dallandra looked where Val was pointing. “Right! Here it is!” Dallandra read from the scroll. “I do call you in the name of the Highest, O spirit of the palace on the in the midst of hyacinth seas. Come, therefore, and show yourself to me for I serve the same Light of Lights.”
“I’d say that the missing word has to come right here, ‘palace on the in the midst of hyacinth seas.’ ” Valandario laid a delicate finger on the fragile scroll. “The palace on what? Could it be an island?”
“It certainly could, and look! right here in the gloss, it says: ‘some say that the spirit word for island is hanmara.’ ” Dallandra nearly choked on the name. “Hanmara,” she repeated. “But Rori told me once that haen marn means black stone in the Dwarvish tongue.”
“Oh, does it?” Valandario broke into a grin. “Well, why can’t hanmara mean both? The island might appear to be made of black stone if we saw it on the spirit plane.”
“Yes, that’s plausible.”
“The palace on the black stone in the midst of hyacinth seas. I like the way that echoes in my mind.”
“One of us needs to vibrate this call.”
“I don’t want you to risk the child.”
The generosity of this simple statement—considering who that child had been in her previous life—left Dallandra speechless. Valandario misunderstood the silence.
“Something nasty might answer, you know,” Val said. “Aderyn was very careful about that, when he first had the scroll. So it had best be me.”
“You’re probably right, but I’m going to come along when you do the working. Just in case.”
“Good. I had no intentions of keeping you away, mind. Just stay outside the circle.” Valandario paused, listening to the noise filtering through the tent walls. “We’re going to have to get away from camp, so we need to wait for a break in the rain.”
The rain fell all the next day, keeping everyone in camp. Dallandra took the opportunity to bring Neb into her tent for a private talk. She spoke in Deverrian to make sure that he understood her. When his yellow gnome followed him in, Dallandra shooed it out again. Even though the gnome lacked a true consciousness, she wanted no witnesses to what Neb might well find shaming.
“Neb,” she began, “there’s a common problem with dweomer apprentices, that they don’t work hard enough at their studies.” She paused for a smile. “But I’d say you have the opposite problem. You need to work a little less and do more of the physical work around the camp, like helping with the horses.”
“Indeed?” Neb’s eyes flared rebellion. “But I’ve got so much work to do already.”
“Are the exercises I set you too much to finish in a day?”
“They’re not. I’m studying herbcraft, too, is all, and I want time for that.”
“You’ve got years ahead of you for all of that.”
“You know, I’m human. I’ll only have a short life this time. I don’t see why I should waste any of it when I’ve got so much to learn.”
“Why are you so sure your life will be short?”
“Well, because—” Neb stopped, startled. “Well, won’t it be? Compared to a Westfolk life, I mean.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know. But those who give their heart to dweomer, and you obviously have, tend to live a fair bit longer than ordinary folk. You of all people should know that.”
“True spoken.” He ducked his head and looked only at the floor cloth.
“Now, I’ve taught several apprentices in my day, and for that matter, I was an apprentice myself once. I know how hard it is to hold back when you’re so eager to learn.”