The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [99]
‘No need to apologize. You’re right. I was wondering if you’d take him on as apprentice.’ Aderyn hesitated, then smiled. ‘In the healing arts, that is. I know you have Gwairyc on your hands now, but once you’ve sent him on his way, like.’
‘I’d be glad to, truly glad.’
‘A thousand thanks, then. I’d been planning on teaching the lad more dweomer this winter, but I’ll stick to herblore instead.’
‘Splendid! Whether I come back alone or with Gwairyc, I’ll be visiting you and Morwen next spring, and Loddlaen and I can discuss his apprenticeship then.’
That evening Nevyn went off alone to meditate. He realized that while Gwairyc had expressed his pity for Morwen in an arrogant and condescending way, he’d at least felt pity. He’d changed in other ways, too, during his time on the road. Perhaps I’ve done all that I can do, Nevyn decided. The gods all know that I can think of naught else!
Despite his decision to leave, Nevyn ended up lingering for a few days more, because, as he knew deep in his heart, he hated the idea of leaving Morwen. Not that he saw much of her these days—she and Loddlaen always seemed to be off alone somewhere. Like everyone else in camp, he assumed that they were having a love affair, the best medicinal he could have prescribed for the bitter loneliness in her heart.
‘It should be good for Loddlaen, too,’ Nevyn remarked to Aderyn.
‘Indeed,’ Aderyn said. ‘You’re not jealous?’
‘Only of his youth.’
They shared a laugh, then returned to their study of Aderyn’s mysterious scroll.
Somehow, Morwen knew, her dweomer studies caused the strange way she was feeling about Nevyn. She liked him, she had many reasons to be grateful to him, and yet she found herself avoiding him. For a reason beyond her understanding, she felt profoundly guilty every time she saw the old man.
‘I truly should tell Nevyn what we’re doing,’ she said to Loddlaen.
‘Why?’ Loddlaen said. ‘I think it’s splendid, having our secret. Why spoil it?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. I just feel that he should know.’
‘Well, we’ll tell him together, but in a little while.’ Loddlaen smiled at her, his open grin that reminded her so much of ebañy. ‘He’ll get a splendid surprise, won’t he? You’re making such fast progress, Morri. It’ll be our gift to him.’
‘So it will. Well and good, then. I’ll let things be.’
Morwen had learned how to go into trance at will. In that state she could conjure up a body of light as well, but she was having trouble transferring her consciousness over to it.
‘It’s just a matter of practice,’ Loddlaen told her. ‘Once you get the hang of it, it’s quite easy.’
‘Huh! You may find it easy! I most certainly don’t.’
As the nights passed, Morwen kept practising. Loddlaen had told her enough about the marvels of the etheric plane that she longed to see them for herself. When Nevyn mentioned that he would be leaving the Westlands soon, she became more determined than ever. She wanted to give him the gift of the secret she and Loddlaen shared before he left.
Finally, and almost by accident, she succeeded in reaching the etheric plane. She and Loddlaen were lying in the grass in front of his tent as usual for her lesson. She went into trance, built up the image of the body of light, and attempted the transfer over. Suddenly she heard a peculiar noise, a rushy sort of click, too distinct for a buzz, too soft for the sound of metal on metal—and she was looking out of the simulacrum’s eyes. Her shocked delight thrust her right back into her normal body again, but she sat up with a laugh and a shout of triumph.
‘I did it! Oh Loddlaen, I truly did it!’
‘I know.’ He was smiling at her. ‘I was there and saw you. What a splendid job, Morri. It should come easier from now on. Try again.’
Just as he said, when she returned to the trance state, she found her body of light waiting for her. She thought herself into the image and again heard the click, again found herself seeing with other eyes. When she glanced around, she saw Loddlaen, hovering over his physical body. All around them the world had turned strange in a shimmering