Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

Beside her plate was a yellow flower. Vinory hadn't noticed it before, but that did not mean it hadn't been there when she arose. She was touched by the gesture, thinking that a villager had decided to show her a kindness by leaving her a posy of autumn flowers. Then she took a close look at the bloom. It was a daffodil. Another sunflower, not heavy with autumn, but fresh with the dew of springtime. She'd always known it as a gage of the laughing young god, in his youngest and most playful incarnation. And yet, she reminded herself that the dancer was also faithless, flitting from woman to woman, whoever would have him. There were no daffodils in the village. They withered by May. July was long past their season. Who had reached through time for this lovely thing?

I , the voice said. I would please you . The warm touch brushed her hand again and encircled her wrist with a lover's touch.

Vinory started, afraid. Samon was still here, and not only was he tied to this place, he was now tied to her as well! Abandoning bowl, loaf, and hunger, Vinory rushed out into the sunshine.

At least the ghost didn't follow her beyond the walls. She ran down the hill toward the fields where all the able-bodied villagers were helping to bring in the hay. The good folk greeted her gladly, offering her bread, cheese, and meat from their own breakfasts. She accepted only enough to keep from getting lightheaded.

"Now you're here, will you bless the coming harvest, lady?" the blacksmith said, leaning heavily on his scythe. He swept a hand around to show her a valley filled with dusty gold and dark green. Poppies of that astonishing red clustered at the edge of the cropline.

"How hard you have worked," Vinory said, sincerely. The villagers straightened up with pride. "Of course I will give the blessing. The gods have been good to this place. It will be a bountiful year. I need a handful of each of the young produce." Two boys ran off and came back with handfuls of grain, fruit, and tiny, perfect vegetables. Vinory exclaimed over their beauty. "Good. And now I...I need wine, salt, a small bowl, and a crust."

There were a few odd glances exchanged, and one or two people looked up the hill at her cottage, only a few hundred yards away. Vinory was ashamed to admit she was afraid to go back for her basket, so she waited and smiled politely until somebody gathered the components of the harvest prayer for her. At least her knife was in her belt.

Beckoning the workers together, Vinory sprinkled salt in a circle around them, then advanced to the sunrise side with the wine and bread. The headman, who had witnessed many a harvest rite, came forward with a large, flat stone, which he set down at her feet.

Chanting the ritual words, Vinory poured the wine into the bowl and crumbled the bread into it. She held up the bowl to the sky, and let the Veil open ever so slightly.

The powers of nature were formidable, but most folk only saw the merest wisp of that influence. It was only during rituals and festivals that they had the opportunity to see what Vinory and the magekind saw every day. The headman and his villagers were agog as a mouth opened in the sky and drew the wine and bread up to it in a garnet stream. A beam of light issued down on Vinory and her makeshift altar. The offering was acceptable. Now she filled the bowl with the fruits of the harvest. As she continued her chant of praise and entreaty, the golden light covered the bowl. In a blinding flash, the offering was gone. The light faded into Vinory, leaving her glowing in front of the stone, ponderous with the weight of godhead. She was silent for a long time. The villagers waited respectfully until she spoke.

"The gods hear us, and they are pleased," she said, feeling both god and goddess resounding in her chest and brain. "Blessed be this place and these people. The work that they do shall prosper."

The villagers muttered "thanksgiving," and Vinory ended the ritual by touching the point of her knife down to the flat stone, earthing the gods' power as a symbol of the unity of the planes. When she broke the circle, she drew a little or the godhead into herself to protect her as she walked back up the hill to the cottage. It was hers now. She had earned it. No ghost would dare to keep her from it.

The bread on the table was stale now, and her broth was gone from the bowl. The cat must have lapped it up as soon as it cooled. Vinory's movements were abrupt as she prepared another meal to restore her after the drain of rending the Veil.

The spirit presence was immediately at her elbow, offering concern. She pushed away at it with her thoughts, trying to find some peace to think. The spirit kept trying to get her attention.

"Leave off!" she said, irritably. "You're worse than the cat." It drew back perceptibly, hovering near the book chest. Vinory ate her meal and took a little rest on the bed with her back propped up against the wool-stuffed pillow. The presence stayed at a distance from her, but she could still feel its regard.

"What do you want?" she demanded at last. Protected by the fragment of light, she let her consciousness open up to the presence. Immediately a sensation of need flowed over her. Vinory raised the godhead as a shield, and the presence withdrew a little. It continued to broadcast to her its feelings: pain, fear, frustration, and despair.

"You are trapped here," she said. 'That I had already guessed. But what do you want of me?"

Her soul was suddenly flying, feeling wings stretching out to either side of her, feeling the air cupped beneath them as strong as a hill. Terrified, Vinory threw up her shield and cowered behind it. The sensation stopped at once. The spirit sent contrition, and she glared in its direction.

"You wish to be free," she said.

Beside her on the bed, another daffodil appeared, fresh and golden yellow. Vinory reached for it, but her fingers stopped halfway. She could sense the spirit's anticipation, but she was afraid.

There were spells to free spirits of the dead who had become trapped in a place. But she did not dare to try one of them without knowing how it was Samon met his end. Could his fate drag her along with it?

Neither the headman nor her neighbors had mentioned anything haunting this cottage before her arrival. She, the mageborn, must have reawakened him. Now he radiated hope towards her.

"Go away," she said, leaving the flower untouched on the blanket. "I must think."

Ignoring the desperation she felt at the perimeter of her consciousness, she drew up wards of protection that she wore all day.

"Oh, yes," the blacksmith said, scooping polishing sand into a cloth for her. "Master Samon demanded the best from us, but he gave champion service. Saved my cow when she was in calf with twins. Told me his price was I owed him ironwork for a year after that. I saved no money. He had gauged exactly how long it would take me to pay off two more bullocks. Ah, well," he said, twisting the corners of the cloth into a knot, "fair measure's fair, after all."

"What about the child he left?" Vinory asked, tucking the parcel into her basket. The blacksmith put his own interpretation upon her question.

"She's all right. Shows no signs of acting like one of the mage—like one of your good folk, lady. Just eight months old, she is. The girl was much too young when he picked her to dance the spring goddess with him, just into womanhood, but she's turned out a good mother for all that. She's wed to my son, now."

Fair and foul, Vinory thought, as she lay abed that night. The spirit offered caresses and favors, but she kept him firmly at arm's length. Every one of the folk here have a story or two to tell about him. He's trustworthy. He's not. He's generous. He's mean. I don't know what to believe. And none knew how he died.