The Grove

FIVE

In reverse order of her morning treks, which usually ended with a visit to the northern tree, Saleria’s first destination at the end of her day was the southern locus. Today also involved a nasty mass of spiderwebs apparently grown by cloverleaf-covered . . . things . . . which scuttled this way and that, avoiding the slashings of their staves. Forced to use spell-summoned fire to bring the confrontation to an end, Saleria stared grimly at the charred section of wild-grown garden. It wasn’t large, not more than a couple strides in diameter, but it did make a black and ugly stain on an otherwise verdant view.

“I hate this part of my job,” she muttered quietly. Not with any force behind it, magical or emotional, but simply as an unpleasant fact. One which she was resigned to by now.

Aradin did not like the sound of that. He thought about it for a moment, then the blond priest-mage asked, “May I say something which could be construed as potentially sacrilegious? No offense is meant, of course, but as an outlander . . . sometimes we can see things more clearly. From a certain point of view.”

Saleria shrugged, her gaze still on the patch of scorched plants and earth. “Say what you will.”

Gently, Aradin asked her, “. . . Wouldn’t it be easier to burn all of it down and replant from scratch? Save the locus trees, of course. I mean, the land is what is holy, where your God and Goddess were wed. Somehow, I don’t think these unnatural amalgamations of plant and animal were what They intended for Their Keepers to maintain. Or for that sap to literally soak uncontrolled magics deep into the ground.”

He was right. His words were a sacrilege. Except Saleria could see his point all too well. “I would not advise suggesting that to anyone else, Witch-priest, or you would find yourself cursed and reviled. But . . . it isn’t something I haven’t already considered myself. That’s why I hate this part of my job. It would be easier just to remove all of this through scorching and burning and starting anew . . . though I hadn’t realized the magical sap was the source of the energies seeping into the land. But we’d just have the same problems in a few months or a few years.”

Her gaze shifted beyond the blackened ground to a delicate little ground-plant with doubled, conjoined blossoms that together looked like a heart shape, with a little extra bit dangling below. It was called bleeding heart, and while the normal plant filled the forest floors to the south with subtle perfumes, dark leaves, and shades of pink for blooms, the version that now existed here in the Grove had become something more.

“But there are useful plants here,” she stated. Stepping over the burnt bits, she muttered a skin-warding charm and plucked a trio of stems, each of a different hue. Carrying them back to him, she held one of them up, careful to not breathe too deeply. “This one, the peachy-yellow . . . here, inhale its scent.”

Wary, but willing to trust her, Aradin leaned close to the half-dozen flowers dangling from the stem, and inhaled. The first impression of his cautious whiff was the typical flowery scent. In the next moment, however, a grin curved his lips, and a ticklish sensation bubbled up from his lungs. It emerged as a spill of laughter, a slightly giddy sense of chuckling happiness. Except there was no reason for him to laugh like that. Blinking, Aradin stared at her. “What the . . . ?”

“This is what we call bleeding heart, for its shape,” she said, turning the stem so he could clearly see the heart-shaped bells with their little conjoined pendulum-petals curling from the middle of the two blossoms. “Two flowers grown conjoined so that they form a little heart with a droplet-like bit at the bottom. Elsewhere, they’re just flowers, pretty to look at, but little more. But here in the Grove, they have mutated. This peachy-yellow one causes feelings of laughter and merriment. This dark brown one . . . here, have a sniff,” she urged.

Again, he hesitated, but again he complied. Again, the flower-scent, and again, an emotion. This one drew his brows down. Aradin started to turn away, but stopped himself. Analyze the emotion, Host, he chided himself. These plants clearly change emotions. Don’t just be affected by it; think about it. Holding himself still, he concentrated on identifying the urge to, well, pout. “I feel . . . petulant. Or perhaps . . . disappointed?”

“Disappointment,” Saleria agreed. She dropped the brown one to the ground and held out the last one. “Try this pale blue one.”

This time, he didn’t hesitate, though he was wary of a plant that could make him feel things. Sniffing at it . . . he relaxed, sniffed again, and analyzed. “. . . Contentment?”

“Peace, but close enough. There’s a pale bluish-purple that gives true feelings of contentment, though not necessarily of peace—oh, avoid the orange-red ones, the color of a glowing coal in a dying fire,” Saleria warned him, following his gaze to the rainbow of blossom hues available. “Those evoke feelings of hatred with distinct overtones of violence.”

“Amazing,” the Witch murmured. He almost asked what use the flowers could possibly be . . . but then his thoughts spun them into several alchemical possibilities. Plants had always been quite useful for augmenting magic in various ways. This, however, was a leap forward. In the hands of someone good, and combined with the concentrated sap energies, the power of the potions involved would be quite staggering. In the hands of someone evil, devastating would be a very mild word for it. That made him frown. “I am in two minds about preserving such plants.”

“Oh?” Saleria asked, lifting her brows.

“The possibility to calm agitated souls would be a huge benefit, but . . . to force someone to laugh? These things could be all too easily abused, milady,” Aradin warned her. “By unscrupulous Alchemists, and enspelled perfume makers, and who knows who else.”

“True,” she acknowledged. “But the scents fade quickly once plucked. I don’t even know if they can be distilled and preserved or not. But then I’m just the Keeper, a one-woman tender of this magic-warped garden with no time on my hands to experiment.” She started to say more, then paused, frowned, and considered her own words. Looking up at him, Saleria asked, half to him, half to herself, “Or is that the reason why only one Keeper has ever been allowed to tend the Grove since the Shattering? To give us little to no time to experiment with such things?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “But as you are the Keeper of the Grove, it is your choice to allow others to know about this particular plant’s existence, let alone to allow them to experiment upon it or not. Or upon any of the others.”

His words settled her thoughts. Squaring her shoulders, Saleria nodded. “True. Very true. And at the moment, I am inclined to let you experiment . . . carefully, and cautiously . . . with some of what the Grove can do. Or rather, what it has already done. There’s no point in thinking ahead to new possibilities when we have so much to learn about that is out there,” she added, gesturing at their overgrown, terraced surroundings. “The first task is to clean up two hundred years of warped magics. Then we can discuss experimentation.”

That made him choke on a laugh, and not because she was gesturing with the hand still holding the peach-hued spray of flowers. “You don’t ask for much, do you?” Aradin asked, clearing his throat. “I suspect you’re going to need to hire a few more mages if you want all of it done within your own lifetime. Oathbound mages, so that they cannot abscond with any plants or concoct anything without your permission. But still, if your own Order will not supply you with what is needed, then you do have the right to go looking outside the holy ranks.”

“True,” she agreed. “My scribe isn’t a priest, but his work is needed for the Grove. Same with my housekeeper, so I don’t have to exhaust myself cooking and cleaning, or living in a mess and eating at the nearest inn.” Lifting the pale blue blossom to her nose, she sniffed for a moment, enjoying the aura of calmness the flower imbued, then dropped both it and the other stem onto the ground. Turning her staff around, she touched them with the crystal end, absorbing a tiny bit of energy from each plant as it withered. “Let’s get to the southern locus and get the wall recharging over with. Sunset is drawing near.”

Nodding, Aradin started to follow her past the scorched spot when a tiny, crawling something at the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was enough to prompt his muscles; he slashed out and down, searing a last clover-leaf spider-thing. A long, careful look showed no others moving about. Hurrying forward, he caught up to the athletic Keeper after several long strides.

Once he was within comfortable chatting distance, he asked, “I get the impression you don’t like being in the Grove at night. Most plants require daylight. I wouldn’t think they’d be active at night.”

“Most are quiet, yes . . . but some still move around, and . . . well, so are animals. Active at night, I mean. Which probably explains why more of the Grove plants are active at night,” she added soberly, remembering the bug-eyes on that vine earlier in the day. “If they’re amalgamations of both plant and animal, the animal half would permit them extra mobility when the sun is not feeding them energy. It’s not the fact that some are still active that prompts me to move, however. It’s that I don’t have good night vision, and cannot always see the dangers before they’re upon me.”

“Ah. That makes sense. I have a few spells in one of my grimoires that might help with that, with ways to enhance one’s vision magically,” he offered. “But I can understand wanting to—”

Something bushy leaped out at them. It wrapped its branches around Saleria’s body from knees to shoulders and dragged her off the path. Startled, Aradin bolted after her, staff whirling. He slashed behind her back, cutting through a thick branch with a thump-and-sizzle of burning plant. The bush-thing shrieked and rustled, tightening its grip on the grimly chanting priestess. Her clothes started to glow with a golden light. A second aura sprung up, one with a fiery orange hue to it. Quickly putting up a personal shield of his own, Aradin flinched as the bush-thing burst into flames a second later.

Coughing a little on the smoke, Aradin looked around to make sure nothing else was going to attack while Saleria patiently, grimly waited for enough of the bush-beast to char and die so she could escape. She looked like she was holding her breath, and when she broke free, lurching back onto the path, she did gasp for air. None of her clothes were singed when she cancelled the shield-spell, though some of the bush-beast’s soot soiled her white outer jacket.

Saleria wrinkled her nose and dusted it off with her free hand. Or tried to; the dark speckles merely smeared. Giving up, she resumed heading up the path to the southern locus tree. “I love reading the prayer petitions and knowing I can do something about them. I don’t love the rest of this job.”

“I don’t blame you,” Aradin murmured.

They moved up the path, both keeping an eye out for more attacks or interruptions. The closer they got to a locus tree, the more its towering spray of branches shaded the overgrown garden around them. Moving up and down along the winding path, they approached the southernmost tree. The Bower was a broad structure, big enough to dwarf the Keeper’s home, but so was the base of each locus tree.

Aradin had seen and studied a wide array of plants in his travels, but even for him, it was difficult to discern exactly what kind of tree the locus had originally been. The closer he got to this one, his second chance to study one, the more he realized it wasn’t what kind of tree . . . but rather, what kinds. That’s a bit of birch, there . . . and pine . . . cedar . . . oak . . . is that maple? Some of these branches have needles, some have leaves—is that a spray of willow leaves?

It made sense, in a twisted sort of way, that the locus trees might be amalgamations of several species as well. The whole of the garden was filled with such things. Following in her wake, Aradin watched as Saleria touched a rune near the cutting tip of her staff. A golden glowing line swung out at an angle, allowing her to lower it to the moss-edged stones of the path. Scorching as she scraped, she shoved back the encroaching growths, and occasionally swiped the searing-hot spell up and around in an arc, clearing the undergrowth that led to the base of the tree.

Or rather, to the hollow at the base of the tree. The last time, Saleria had asked him to wait outside. This time, Aradin slipped in behind her, walking as softly and quietly as he could, in case she had simply forgotten he was there. The flagstones seemed to lead a winding course between the almost wall-like rise of the smaller roots, but that was a misperception, he realized; the cracks between flagstones were straight and square-cornered, not angled or curved as they were on other winding points in the Grove.

Which means this was once a straight path . . . and here’s a different sort of stone. Yes, strong, pinkish granite . . . and a line of black basalt, he identified, staring at the ground. Here’s where the original Portal stood. Reflexively, he glanced up, but there wasn’t a rectangular archway overhead. Just a mixture of intergrown trees.

The space under the heart of the locus tree was not dome-shaped so much as it was cone-shaped. Besides themselves, the paving stones underfoot, a shimmering, pale gray light overhead, and the roots and trunk of the great tree all around, there was only one other object: a four-stepped footstool, placed in the center of the floor.

The dark rectangle of rock it rested upon looked very much like similar thresholds he had seen on a trip to the Empire of Fortuna, which still had functional Portals, if only within its own boundaries. The Portal gates had been massive rectangular doorways, broad enough for two carts to have driven through side by side. Here, the basalt of the threshold looked like it ended at the base of the upswept inner roots, and thus was indeed wide enough for two carts, but from the way the interior wall of the tree swept up and in, there wasn’t really that much room available when one was upright; more like barely a cart’s width.

Lifting his gaze to the peak of the conical space, he squinted against the light. It wasn’t as bright as sunshine, but it was bright enough. No bigger than a modest-sized worm, a finger-length piece of yarn cut from pure daylight, the rift hung at the very peak of the space. It did so in a hazy cloud of mistlike energies. Some swirled up into the tree trunk like upward-trickling beads of moisture. Some dripped downward like falling sparks from a blue white fire, only to evaporate before reaching the floor.

His hostess did something to kill the cutting spells on her staff, then inverted it. Stepping up onto the footstool, she gripped her staff by the deactivated end and stretched up onto her toes to get the crystal orb to touch that rift. Seeing her sway, Aradin set his staff on the ground and moved up behind her. He was taller than her in either form, but he didn’t take the staff from her. Instead, he grasped her by the ribs under her arms and lifted her up off her feet with a grunt.

Saleria gasped and swayed a little, but quickly resumed the chore of sucking the spare energies into the faceted egg on the end of her staff. She hadn’t expected the lift, though it did make gathering the upper energies a little easier. The trick was making sure the crystal never actually touched the rift for more than a fraction of a heartbeat. Overloading the crystal with too many energies might make it explode, and that would be bad.

He was remarkably strong for having such a relatively lean body; she didn’t feel his arms start to tremble until the last few seconds or so. Lowering her staff in a decisive motion got her lowered as well, until her boots touched the top level of the step stool. “Thank you,” she stated, turning to face him. Only to find he was right there, facing her from the next level down. That meant his head was just a little bit lower than hers. That those intriguing hazel eyes were close enough for her to see little flecks of blue and green among the streaks of brown and green.

“Have you . . . ?” Aradin hesitated, and licked his lips.

Saleria followed the flick of his tongue. The glide made her aware of how nice his mouth was, of the faint hints of a blond beard striving to grow on his shaved chin. Aware of the heat of his strong frame, a kind of heat that had nothing to do with temperature runes controlling her comfort on such a warm day, and everything to do with the masculine scent of him. She blinked and looked into his eyes again. “Have I . . . what?”

“Have you, ah, taken any oaths of chastity? Celibacy? Abstention from . . . romantic congress?” he asked her. His cheeks picked up a faint pink glow.

“I . . . well, no. Of course not,” she repeated, bemused by this turn of the conversation. “You couldn’t get anyone into the priesthood with a mandatory vow of celibacy, not when we have a married God and Goddess. But . . . uh . . . surely your own Order . . . ?”

He smiled and slid his hands around her waist. A subtle pressure on the small of her back swayed their bodies together. “For the same reason, we don’t have any.”

“But—what about Teral?” Saleria asked, feeling a little awkward at the thought that the older Witch might be studying her behind those hazel eyes.

Aradin shook his head in brief dismissal. He liked the feel of her leaning against him, the warmth of her in his arms. His Witchcloak had kept him cool in spite of the day’s heat, but it was open along the front, letting their bodies touch. Letting their bodies stir a different sort of warmth in his flesh. “He’s gone into the Dark to ask it a few questions, and to seek out a friend. He won’t be back for a while.”

“Oh.” She mulled that over. “But . . . what about when he comes back? Isn’t that awkward for . . . ah . . . relationships? Always having that other person there, or at least almost? Watching both of you, whatever you do?”

Sighing, Aradin loosened his hold on her waist. He didn’t release her or step down, but he did ease his grip in case she wanted to move away. “It can get awkward, but only if we let it get awkward. And it’s far less so for a fellow Darkhanan than an outlander such as yourself. But it doesn’t have to be awkward. At the end of the day, this is still my life, and my choice. Teral . . . approves. Tentatively,” he amended, tipping his head in acknowledgment of his Guide’s reservations. “We don’t know everything about your culture, though we did know that casual . . . entanglements . . . are not frowned upon, with the right precautions.”

A soft frown pinched her brow. Saleria considered his words, and their implications. Particularly the unspoken ones. “But what about long-term entanglements? Is that the price your priesthood pays, never being able to know and hold on to a lasting love?”

The snork sound that escaped him broke the somber mood instilled by her words. Biting his lip, trying not to let his shoulders shake too much, Aradin shifted his hands to her face. Gently cupping it, he mastered his mirth. “No, it doesn’t cost us the price of never being able to have a permanent love. It does make it a little rarer, since many people don’t care to share their beloveds with more than one person at a time. But, I’ll ask you this:

“What would you expect would happen if you fell for a man who had a son from a previous love? Someone whom he was responsible for? Someone he couldn’t set aside on a whim and ignore?” Gently, he tipped her face so that their foreheads touched. “Would that stop either of you from knowing love and happiness, always having that boy constantly around, watching and listening, and demanding attention?”

“Well . . . no,” she allowed. Her training had included how to counsel widows and widowers with children on the risks of new romantic relationships. “But Teral isn’t your son,” she pointed out. “He’s older than you.”

“And if I came with an aging father or grandfather who depended upon me for care, would you automatically cast all of us aside as not worthy of your time or your affection?” he asked her next. At her wry look, he smiled wryly and released her cheeks. Sliding his hands down her arms, he laced his fingers with hers. “It is true that some people cannot manage it. They have neither the patience nor the energy to deal with children, or parents, or whatever. But many more do. Teral likes what he sees so far in you. I like it, too. If either of us should fall in love with you . . . since our tastes in women are similar, you’d more than likely just have two men falling in love with you.”

She didn’t untwine their fingers, but neither did she let the subject go. “What if Teral is the one who falls for me, and . . . and I for him? But not you? What would you do? What if you fell for someone else at the same time? Or . . . or you and I for each other, and Teral for, oh, my housekeeper, Nannan? How would you explain that love-tangle?”

Wincing a little, he dipped his head. “That does start to complicate things, yes. But I as the Host would have the highest priority, and control of the situation. If it were just you and Teral . . . and I had no others in my life . . . I would consider giving the two of you time to share and grow your love. If it were all four of us—and as I have yet to meet your housekeeper, I have no idea how she’d react to such a thing—then my life, wants, and wishes would still have priority. If all four of us were amenable to sharing, then it might be very possible . . . But in most cases, it would simply devolve to you and me, and Teral would have to content himself with warmer memories from his own life, and mild displays of affection.”

“I’m . . . not sure I could handle that. Teral and some other woman, I mean . . . if you and I were involved,” Saleria clarified. She laughed a little. “Actually, the four of us I know I couldn’t handle. I rely upon my housekeeper for managing my home, but I know I wouldn’t be able to share more than that with her. Our personalities clash a little too much for such . . . emotional intimacy.”

She looked down at the last two words, a little embarrassed to be discussing them so soon or so freely. That only focused her gaze on the bit of sternum showing at the neckline of his plain green tunic. A corner of her mind wondered if he had any chest hair.

Freeing one hand, Aradin lifted it to her chin, nudging her head and her gaze back up to his. “I was promised by Alaya, Teral’s own Guide, that I would eventually find great happiness when I took her Host as my Guide. That I would find happiness—not both of us, as in Aradin-and-Teral. Now, I have no idea if you are going to be involved in that happiness, but I do know I’d like to at least test the possibilities of it. If you’re interested. I find you smart, amusing, and admirable in your dedication to your work. The rest will take effort, open-mindedness, and time.”

His words made her blink. “Dedication. Work. Right. We need to get moving. I don’t want to have to ward the last bit of the wall in the dark.”

Nodding, he started to move aside, then shifted back in front of her. “One moment; we forgot one little thing . . .”

“Oh?” Saleria asked, lifting her brows. Only to find his mouth brushing lightly against hers. Ah. A kiss. Yes, we shouldn’t forget a kiss . . .

Lightly wasn’t enough, though. Swaying into him, she returned the touch of his lips. Most of her felt grateful he wasn’t celibate by vows, and clearly not by inclination, though Saleria still wasn’t sure about this life-sharing business. But this—this was just a kiss. A wonderful, sensual, delicious kiss. Hints of stubble rasped against her chin and cheek when he tipped his head, deepening their connection, their taste.

A kiss that ended in a sudden intake of his breath. Pulling back, Aradin blinked, cleared his throat, and told her, “Ah. Teral is back. He’s asking if you want him to step out again for a bit?”

Conflicting emotions tumbled through her, like tart currants and bitter nuts poured into some sort of sweet batter. Part of her just wanted to keep kissing him, regardless of who watched. Part of her wanted to send Teral away before she even tried. Part of her was thrown off the thought of more kissing by this reminder that, no matter where the Guide was, she was technically kissing two men at once. The rest of her . . . knew what her duty was.

Regret dipped her gaze to the hands that had risen to his chest at some point in their kiss. She wanted to explore the warmth of his skin, but sighed instead, and gently removed her touch. “I really do have to set the wards, now. That must come first, before all else.”

“Of course.” Backing down the remaining two steps, Aradin offered her his hand for stability. He felt better about the implicit rejection in her choice when she accepted his help without hesitation, though. Of course, a little distraction might help her get over the weirdness she’s no doubt feeling. “Are all the locus trees shaped like this one on their insides? I stayed out of the eastern one, last time.”

“As you should’ve stayed out of this one,” Saleria reminded him, activating the cutting end of her staff as they exited the living cave. “But it’s alright. Even without your mage-oath, I believe you’d be trustworthy. And yes, they’re all shaped like that, as if several trees around the clearing had been drawn in and up, twisting together to form a protective shelter. Keeper Patia was the one who conceived of the way to contain the rifts, who grew these trees . . . but she was killed shortly after starting the process. She may have been a Hortimancer, and had a plan in her mind, but I don’t know.

“I do know they all have step stools in them, though I really should get that particular one replaced with something a little taller . . . which I keep saying every few days or so,” she muttered wryly. “It gets the job done, but . . .”

“Let me guess: You forget about it the moment you get home again?” Aradin asked her, eyes flicking around the Grove as they emerged from the twisting path tucked between the roots of the trees.

“Pretty much. When I get back to the house, I just want to relax, forget about all the hard work I’ve done, eat a nice meal, attend to evening prayers—simple ones, with no force of will or magic poured into them—and rest.” She wanted to roll her eyes and sigh, but while the air did escape her lungs a little roughly, her eyes flicked in wary little glances all around. “Having to constantly be alert is exhausting for both mind and body.”

Aradin murmured a sympathetic sound, following her back to their starting point. As she fell silent, her concentration on the potential dangers of the Grove, Teral spoke in his mind. (Looks like the two of you are getting along nicely.)

(Yes, though she’s uncertain about getting involved with two men in one body,) the younger Witch sighed mentally. He, too, kept a sharp eye out for other surprises, but spared half his attention for his partner. (What did the Dark tell you about her?)

(Provided nothing changes drastically, she’ll make a very strongly affirmative representative at the Convocation,) his Guide murmured. (Rather surprisingly strong a “yes,” in fact, far better than the last one.)

(Did you meet with the others?) Aradin asked next.

(I found Niel and Tastra at the Meeting Tree, along with a few others. Niel said to tell you thank you. He also said that makes fifteen left for the others to find, plus capturing a suitable Mekhanan priest without in turn being caught,) Teral relayed. (I am very glad we were already out and about in the far direction from that blighted land when the call went out to start choosing representatives.)

(As am I. Has he had any indication the Convocation will be in the next few days?)

(No, but he has started issuing orders that travel packs be made ready. He did hint that he and his Host will be leaving their current location soon. Within a turning of Brother Moon, from the sound of it,) Teral added. (Mind that branch; I think there’s something on it.)

Aradin glanced to his right, but whatever it was, the branch stopped swaying after just a moment, and nothing else moved but himself, Saleria, and a bit of early evening wind in the highest branches of the locus trees. They passed the burned spot where the spider-leaf-things had been. Teral viewed these things through the edges of Aradin’s vision, and offered a comment.

(Looks like you had an interesting time without me.)

(This place is insane . . . and I want to stay and fix it, if I can. This goes beyond the reason why we’re here, studying Saleria for the Convocation of the Gods,) he warned his Guide. Mentally, he slashed a hand outward, indicating the overgrown garden, though physically he moved with the same fluid caution as ever, hands cradling his borrowed staff. (This place is a mess, and it has been badly mismanaged ever since the last Convocation. Barely managed, with only one mage-priest to tend the whole place. And it’s not Saleria’s fault.)

(Is it not?) Teral asked, his tone pointed. Aradin drew in a breath to argue with himself, but his Guide gently cut him off. (If she is named the Keeper of this place, then it should be her decision how to manage it. Which includes pulling in extra staff as needed. The sergeant overlooking the actual battlefield sees so much more than the general studying the terrain maps back home.)

(True,) Aradin conceded. (She is taking charge of her battlefield now. I know I’ve helped goad her into making that decision. But how can I look at this place and not feel offended by its mismanagement? As a Hortimancer, it is my duty to coax the best in magical effects from the plants that I grow and tend, for the betterment of all. Except I don’t have any to grow and tend, and have just been seeking and buying new ones for the gardens back in Darkhana. This place, however . . .)

(Yes, I know,) Teral soothed as they reached the back entrance to the Keeper’s house and turned left to start following the outer wall. (But it is not your God and Goddess’ holy garden. It is hers. If you want to stay and help, you will have to prove it to both sets of Patrons—you can start by asking if she’d be willing to carry a petition on your behalf regarding the proper, better management of this place. Once you have more of her respect and trust, of course . . . and locking her in an embrace doesn’t count.)

(I’m not a callow youth,) Aradin reminded his Guide. The distance from the locus tree to the Wall wasn’t all that far, thankfully, which meant they were finally near enough to see it without obstructing foliage. (I know quite well that sex does not equal trust.)

(True . . . What is she doing now?) Teral asked, peering through Aradin’s eyes. The combination of the brilliant blue white glow of the crystal and the golden sunlight slanting in from the west made it hard to be sure, until Saleria moved into a patch of shadow. Then it became more clear.

She reached up to tap the crystal end of her staff to a dull orb set in the middle of one of the crenel-like peaks along the Grove wall. As the two males watched, a tiny bit of the bright energy gleaming in the egg-shaped sphere bled into the dull round orb, until it glowed with a steady, mild, bluish light. Tiny little gems dotted along the top and the base of the wall started glowing as well. When they reached back to the last set of tiny, lit dots, and halfway to the next darkened orb, she moved to it and touched the charged crystal to it as well.

(She’s a glorified lamplighter,) Teral thought in disgust. Aradin would have protested, except he could sense his Guide’s sub-thoughts even before he expressed them. (She has so much more power in her, and there are ways to extend the locus powers directly to these wardings, yet they have her wasting her time recharging them manually? Gods Above! There had better be a damned good reason for this horrible mess, prophecy or no, or I’ll have to go find and slap some sense into the spirit that left this place in such a mismanaged mess!)

(I’m sure they’ve long since moved on to the Light of the Afterlife, and maybe even been reassigned by now,) his Host thought dryly. (But if they’re still in the Dark, give them a second slap from me.)

(I’ll do that,) Teral promised. (Now, if you’re going to follow through on staying here and helping out, why don’t you ask her what’s happening?)

Nodding, Aradin moved up to join Saleria, rather than hanging back. “I think I know what you’re doing, but I’d like to make sure I have it right. You’re emptying a bit of the gathered energies into those ward-crystals, right?”

“Yes. It’s just a simple mnemonic spell—I don’t even have to chant it verbally anymore—and it’s very much like opening a spout to add a dribble of cream to a cup of Aian tea. It can take seven or eight seconds to fill the main orb, then a single second more for each pip-crystal on the wall,” Saleria told him. “So a total of twenty seconds per orb . . . thirty seconds total, to get from one to the next,” she added, lifting the crystal away from the orb and taking several swift strides forward. “It takes longer to do evening rounds than morning, and I—”

She stopped mid-sentence, hearing a chime in her ear.

Aradin peered at her in concern. “And you . . . what? Is something wrong?”

“Bollocks!” she cursed, frowning in the direction of the Bower. “That’s the communications chime. But who would be calling me in the middle of evening rounds?” Torn, she glanced at the wall with the unlit orb just beyond the brightly glowing crystal on her staff, and the sunset-silhouetted wickerwork of the Bower in the distance. If she hurried, she’d get there within a few minutes, but the outer wards would never get done before the sun set at this rate. “Bollocks! Why do they have to call now?”

Aradin made up her mind for her. Holding out his staff, he waited until she absently clasped it, then grasped the brightly lit one in her other hand. “What are the mnemonic words to open the flow of energies?”

She blinked at him. For a moment, they stood there, each with a hand on a staff. For a moment, the dutiful side of her brain argued in a tantrumlike way that this was her job, and not the responsibility of some foreign priest-mage. But that part of her brain sounded an awful lot like High Prelate Nestine, high-pitched, nasally, whiny, and obstructive. Bollocks to that! she thought, and mentally shoved her instinctive, internal objections aside.

“The mnemonic is joula-joula-drip-drop-dribble.” She blushed a little as she recited it, and added quickly, “I didn’t come up with it. The previous Keeper, Jonder, didn’t, either, nor did he know who had. It’s just been that way for a very long time, is all. Joula-joula-drip-drop-dribble, and you picture it acting like a teapot spout in a thin stream, with your thumb on a reverse plunger style stopper.”

Taking the staff, he lifted it to the orb and concentrated on the visualization, reciting the words. He could feel the press of the energy, and wrapped his mind carefully, cautiously around the orb as an extra safety measure. “Joula-joula-drip-drop-dribble . . .”

Light spooled from the faceted crystal to the polished orb in a misty stream. It soaked in, taking about ten or so heartbeats under the extra restriction, then slowly started spreading to the smaller gems embedded in the wall. Saleria watched anxiously, still hearing the chime of the communications stream in the distance. When the last needed gem was filled, he stopped murmuring the chant and pulled the staff away.

“I do this, and I keep an eye out for anything that might attack, yes?” he asked her. “I think I can manage it from here.”

She nodded. “Yes, exactly. Well done—thank you! I’ll be back before you know it!”

Nodding in return, he watched her turn and sprint back the way they had come, seeking the best path back to the Bower. (I hope she’ll be alright.)

(She should be. Mind on your work,) Teral advised him. (You’ve a job to do.)

“I know what I’ve promised to do,” he murmured out loud, and crossed to the next orb. “Keep your share of our eyes and ears open while I get this spell just right.”