Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

One cannot look upon something which is, and yet which cannot be , for long—mercifully the mind blanks itself, shuts out a sight so terrible, so awesome, so wondrous.

I came to myself lying on the floor of the tent, the bowl of wine overturned, the sticky dregs draining into the earthen floor. Fortunately it had missed staining Jonka’s woven floor mat.

Slowly, hardly daring to think on what I had seen, I picked myself up, feeling very tired but strangely peaceful. After cleaning and drying the amulet and putting away my materials, I snuffed the candle and went to bed.

Lying in the white light of the moon, I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, feeling myself drift toward sleep. Only then, relaxed and serene, did I think about my scryingand the child it had revealed I indeed held within me. That violet glow… Little one , I thought, as though my son or daughter could mindshare already, what/who were you before? An Old One, it must be… one whose Power eclipsed any bare scratching for knowledge and wisdom I may have gleaned …

It has been speculated by some of my race that none of us comes into this world with no previous existence. Instead each of us lives many lives, with our actions in previous incarnations determining our pattern of existence in this present one. I had had direct knowledge of such a truth when Landisl revealed himself to Kerovan as one who bore ancient identity with my lord. Perhaps, in some previous time, they had been one being.

Was it through this heritage of long-ago Power that this child held such identification? Was it only Kerovan’s seed that betokened a lineage of time-forgotten might? I thought of my aunt. Dame Math, and how she had brought the very stones of vanished Ithkrypt down, crashing upon the hated invaders of Alizon. That usage of the Power had resulted in her death, hut such a death as would make any warrior proud. One aged woman had leveled a fortress built to stand centuries… no small feat of sorcery. And I… with little lessoning beyond that which I had gathered in working with Dame Math and other Wisewomen, I had strengthened my will… my Power, until I could rightfully claim some small knowledge of the ancient Craft for myself.

No, our child did not owe its entire heritage of Power to my husband… I bad a part in that making, also.

Then another thought struck me, and I found myself smiling in the moonglow. It was also entirely possible that the Power I had sensed in the child developing within me was strictly its own, owing naught to any lineage. Let it be enough that Gunnora had answered my question, given me positive knowledge. I thought of Kerovan, tried to picture him with a small bundle in his arms, looking as discomfited as most new fathers when first they gaze upon the squeaking reddish creature they must claim as their offspring.

Would he be pleased? With all my being I hoped so, longing for his return. Perhaps this would provide incentive for him to settle in one place, build a home. Though he had proven a capable midwife when Briata foaled, I did not fancy the thought of delivering our son or daughter in the middle of the wilderness somewhere, without a Wise-woman standing by—one trained in midwifery, possessing capable, experienced hands.

Counting in my mind, I realized that this child would be due about Midwinter Feast, when the breath of the Ice Dragon was at its fiercest. I closed my eyes, feeling sleep steal over me again, resolving drowsily—but firmly—that my lord and I would be settled in a holding of our own (be it cottage, Keep, or tent) before then…

During my time in the Kioga camp, I had had no reason (o practice my Craft as a Wisewoman, except as I had needed for myself. I could not forget the dark, closed face of Nidu, and it seemed to me that prudence might be the best course—to walk mum-faced, doing nothing that might seem to challenge the Shaman’s position.

Two days after my efforts at scrying, however, I was given no choice in the matter. Terlys’s voice reached me while I was still within my tent early one afternoon. Joisan! Joisan! You must come!”

I arose hurriedly, as the hanging shielding the opening of my tent burst inward at the force of her entrance.

“Joisan!” Terlys, usually so calm, clutched at me frantically.

Your Wisewoman’s knowledge—Janos is sick—you must c ome!”

“I will come.” I made haste to gather my bug of simples, overlooking its contents for my healing materials. “What ails him, Terlys? Calm yourself, tell me aught you remember.”

“I—he woke this morning with a headache, but seemed otherwise fine. Then this afternoon he lay down, saying he was tired. Just now, when I went to wake him, I could feel his fever before I even touched him. He will not wake, only tosses, moaning!”

“Fever… high fever…” I looked into the bag, satisfied myself that I was as well prepared as might be. “When we reach your tent, put water to boil. I must make a tisane of black willow and saffron.”

In the dimness of Terlys’s tent, I examined Janos. His fever was so high that his skin felt tight, stretched, and his eyes were sunken far into his head. I feared that if his body were not cooled immediately, he would have convulsions.

“Hurry, Terlys,” I said, pulling the child’s clothing off. We’ll take him outside, to the stream. Bring clean cloths and your ladle. We must lave him with cool water.”

We attracted some attention from the Kioga as we hastened toward the nearby stream, Terlys with Janos in her arms. I following with my bag of simples and a steaming pot. Jonka hurried over. “What chances, Cera?”

“Janos is very ill.” I hastened my steps as Jonka fell in beside me. “He has a high fever.”

“Where is Nidu?” Jonka asked.

Terlys did not turn as she answered, “I asked, but no one knew where she went, only that she has not been seen since morning.”

Reaching the bank of the stream, I hastily helped Terlys place Janos on a woven mat, instructing her to wet the cloths, then place them on his body. “When his skin has adjusted slightly to the coolness of the water, then use the ladle to pour it directly over him.”

While she began dipping and wringing the cloths, I hastily anointed myself with a healing oil, afterward lighting the three blue candles I had brought. Keeping one eye on Terlys as she labored over Janos, assisted by Jonka, I made a hurried but fervent invocation: “Gunnora, Lady who guards the innocent, bless and heal Janos of his fever. Help me in what I would do to aid him, in the Name of all Spirits of the Light. So may it be always by Thy will.”

Taking the still-seething pot, I measured pinches of the black willow powder from my simples bag, followed by several of the saffron, then a minute portion of sandal-wood for good measure. Swirling these three together, I waited for the water to cool, schooling myself to calmness, relaxing my tense muscles. I must put aside all impatience—use the proper disciplines.

Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, willing patience, a positive spirit. Little is gained in healing magic until the would-be healer can attain a calm, relaxed state and frame a convincing mind-image of the subject as completely healed… Concentrating on an image of Janos happy, riding his pony, I swirled the tisane until it was cool enough to pour some into the blue crystalline cup I kept for medicinal doses.

Moving to Janos, I touched his forehead. Terlys’s efforts with the cool stream water were helping—praise Gunnora, (lie tisane would make the fever vanish completely. Supporting the now half-conscious child, I urged the contents of the cup on him. He grimaced at the taste, but under his mother’s and my urging, swallowed, then swallowed again. Covering him then with a light sheet, we sat quietly for a little while. I held Terlys’s hand in mine, instructing her to think of Janos as well, as healthy. Keeping that image in my mind, willing his recovery with all my strength, I did not hear footsteps approaching from the other side of the stream.