The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [75]
‘I’ve not, but you have.’ Morwen stamped a foot. ‘I tell you, I know lore, and that wasn’t any true goddess.’
‘Lore? Huh! What, then? Tell me why you don’t believe her.’
‘I can’t tell you. I swore a vow to keep things secret.’
‘I’m supposed to believe you instead of my own eyes, and you can’t offer me any proof. I –’
‘Whist! That’s enough!’ Loddlaen stepped forward. ‘I’ll wager Morri’s right. She’s studied the lore, and we’ve not. I believe her.’
Tirro hesitated, looking back and forth between them. His expression reminded Morwen of Evan’s when he’d been denied some treat he wanted, a disappointment utterly pure because so childlike.
‘Well, I –’ Tirro said at length. ‘She was so beautiful, so strange. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.’
‘Lovely she was,’ Loddlaen said, ‘but there are plenty of beautiful spirits, and I wouldn’t trust a one of them. My da told me about them—he knows lore, too—and they’ll lure you and then betray you. Ask him about it. He’s the Wise One in this camp.’
The snap of bitterness in his voice made Morwen realize he was speaking of his absent mother. Tirro stared at the ground and considered this, his mouth working. Finally he looked up with an artificial smile.
‘I’m going to pray to Alshandra from now on,’ Tirro said. ‘If she answers my prayers, we’ll know she’s a goddess. And if she won’t, then we’ll know she’s not.’
‘That could be very dangerous,’ Morwen said. ‘She might be one of the—’
‘Oh stop it!’ Tirro turned his back on her. ‘Loddlaen, my thanks for the dinner. I’d best get back before Gwairyc comes after me.’
Tirro turned and bolted into the darkness. They could hear his running footsteps until he disappeared into the camp.
‘Do you think he’ll ask your da about spirits?’ Morwen said.
‘I doubt it,’ Loddlaen said. ‘He’s a craven little soul. Maybe I can help him.’
‘That’s kind of you, truly.’
‘I want to be a good healer one day, whether it’s here or in Deverry. And Tirro seems to have some sort of wound deep in his soul.’
‘True spoken.’ Morwen considered staying, but the apparition had taken the bloom off the evening, somehow. ‘You know, I think me I’d best get back to my duties. I wonder if Dev’s managed to get Evan—I mean Ebañy—to go to sleep?’
‘Probably not.’ Loddlaen grinned at her. ‘He’s probably talking as fast and loud as the winter wind and wondering why his lad’s not nodding off.’
‘That’s like him, truly, but he’s one of the best-hearted men I’ve ever met.’
‘Most bards are.’ Bitterness crept back into Loddlaen’s voice. ‘Why shouldn’t they be? Everyone grovels in front of them and heaps praise upon them and gifts and the like.’
‘Well, I suppose they do.’ Morwen suddenly felt uneasy, though she was at a loss to know why. ‘My thanks for the dinner. I truly must be getting back.’
As she walked off, Morwen glanced back to see Loddlaen sitting down by his fire, his shoulders slumped, staring into the flames. At moments, she realized, he frightened her. Ye gods, she told herself, who’s the craven soul now?
When she returned to Devaberiel’s tent, she found Nevyn sitting by the fire in front of it. The bard and his son were inside, where Dev was still trying to get Evan to sleep. She could hear the child wail that he wanted his Morri, which brought an immediate song from his da.
‘I should go in,’ Morwen said.
‘It won’t hurt Evan to learn how to go to sleep for someone else,’ Nevyn said. ‘Soon enough he’ll have to learn how to go to sleep on his own, after all.’
‘Well, that’s true.’ Morwen joined him on the ground. ‘Besides, there’s somewhat I want to tell you about. A truly strange thing happened at our dinner.’
Nevyn listened to her account of Alshandra’s appearance with intense interest. She told him as well about her encounter with the same being on their trip out to the Westlands.
‘I thought later I must have been dreaming,’ Morwen finished up. ‘Which is why I didn’t tell you then.’
‘I can understand that.’ Nevyn took his chin in his hand and rubbed it while he stared into the fire.