Mercedes Lackey - Lamma's Night (anthology)

* * *

"He was kind, mistress," the girl said. The house was small but very tidy. In a corner a baby slept. Vinory glanced at it and noted the dark eyelashes and hair, unlike its mother, who had hair red as a fox's fur. "He was good to me, so kind and gentlelike. The husband he got for me I have now isn't nearly as... nice to be with. Though he tries." She gave a helpless shrug, and a shy smile.

The girl lifted her sleeping infant for Vinory to bless. Halfway through the incantation the child woke, and watched her with eyes far too wise for its age. They reminded her of the sunflower.

Over the following days, the spirit of Samon kept up its wooing. Every time she sat down, it was at her elbow. It stood at the end of her bed at night, and attended her at table like a servitor. She began to find its constant company oppressive.

"I can never be alone with my thoughts while you're here," she complained to the invisible presence. It had grown stronger and more distinct as the moon waxed. Tonight the moon was nearly full. She could almost imagine she could hear Samon speak from the other side of the Veil. She shooed him away so she could think.

Vinory had now been in Twin Streams two weeks. In another two it would be Lammas. She began to think of the harvest festival. It would be nice to have a strong male to play the corn king in the reaping dance. Vinory had studied all the available men, and confessed herself disappointed. The only really attractive man of exactly the right age, Robi the tanner, had a jealous wife whom it would be bad to cross. The blacksmith looked likely, too, though he was very heavy handed. Vinory was speculating idly on the identity of her partner, because it didn't matter whom she liked. The goddess would choose for herself when she possessed Vinory's body. Luckily there was no such stigma on a young man as there was on a young woman in joining the sacred dance. If he could perform, he was old enough.

"I could dance the autumn and the spring with you, if you set me free," the spirit told her that night in her dreams. Vinory felt the warm touch of a man's body against hers, strong muscle, questing hands. She squirmed against the caresses, enjoying them. She brushed against a smooth swell of muscle, which shouted, "Yow!" Vinory's eyes fluttered open to see the cat scooting across the floor between her and the fire, tail lashing furiously.

I'm just dreaming about the dance because I was thinking about it today, she told herself. Because I'm lonely.

When Vinory settled back to sleep, she forgot again to raise her wards. A tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man came to her and showed her visions of the times he'd led the dance. He was graceful and slim-legged, with broad shoulders and narrow, strong hands that he used to lead his partner to and fro in the complicated patterns. Vinory felt herself tapping her feet, wishing she could join in. It looked so tempting. The man passed within arm's reach of her. She called him by name.

"Samon?"

He turned as if to answer, stretching out a hand to her, his eyes agleam.... Then she woke up, with the fitful light from a lantern in her eyes.

"Sorry to wake you, mistress," said Tarili, the baker. "My wife's baby's coming. She needs you. The baby's turned wrong."

"I'll come at once," she said, groaning, Vinory roused herself, and let the dream fade from her mind as she gathered her medicines and paraphernalia. She could now feel the presence standing in the corner, disappointed.

When she returned after daybreak, exhausted, the spirit resumed its campaign to get her attention, hovering around her like a bee on a lilac bush.

"Oh, go away, Master Samon!" she groaned, half asleep already. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

"That's why I'm pushing you now," he said, to her dreaming mind. "Wouldn't you like to have someone to warm you? Winter is coming. You could have a babe of your own next summer."

"I have a dozen babies! The villagers' children are my responsibility. You must not tie me down." She could see his face again, an inverted triangle of ivory, with those dark, long-lashed eyes. She was afraid even in her dreams, but tempted. Samon was very strong-willed. And handsome.

When she woke several hours later, she was refreshed, and also resolute. Samon was dead. She, Vinory, must stay alive and clear her mind. That meant banishing the spirit who continued to trouble her.

She felt panic. But knew at once it wasn't her own.

"If you won't, or can't, go on your own, then I must help you along," Vinory said, brutally. "It's only logical, Master Samon."

The presence sought to get between her and the book chest, but she just walked slap through him, ignoring the psychic shock she got from the contact.

She had seen a spell for setting free a trapped spirit in one of the handsomely made volumes that Samon had scribed for himself. Vinory thumbed through the books until she came to the one she remembered. It was a harsh enchantment. The rebound of the working would be hard on her, Vinory knew, but she could be rid of this nettlesome presence who awoke all sorts of feelings in her that she had no time for. She had what components were needed at hand. The text said the working must be done on Lammas Night. After that, he would be free, and so would she. She felt lucky that she had not come after Lammas. Otherwise it would be a whole year before she could send him away.

The spirit's panic was stronger than ever. Then, as she watched, the very pages of the tome turned over one by one, past the banishment spell, to another text. Vinory bent her head to read.

It was almost the same as the first, ridding a place of a troublesome spirit—but by locking it again into human form. The difference between the two spells was only a single word. She looked up involuntarily, as if Samon was sitting there across from her.

"You want me to re-embody you?" she asked. Feelings of joy and hope washed over her, then retreated at once, lest she chide him again for overwhelming her consciousness.

I could do it, Vinory thought, rereading the text. But do I want to? Samon has had his life—he's led it! But was his work done? Do I dare to make that decision, for or against? I serve Nature. But do I want so strong a man to push me out of my place just before the weather begins to turn?

Perhaps she was not as young as once she was; the thought of sleeping in cold caves and under the brush at waysides now bothered her. You're getting soft, she told herself. You're becoming too earthbound.

I was not earthbound enough, the presence felt at her. I lost my hold. It was too soon. Help me! It is my will.

She read the spells again, both of them, hoping for clues to what she should do. The spells lacked reference to the high gods, and took part of her as well as of the one who sought reinstatement in life. Were these evil spells? Would she imperil her soul by performing one or the other? And yet, she had to do something, or the dead mage would drive her insane with his fretting and pleading. Either banish or restore, but she must do one of them, no matter what it cost her. To harvest one must sacrifice, so the Lammas rite went. But did she want this harvest? A mage who was neither good nor evil, and yet neither dead nor alive. And yet he was a living being, deserving of her aid.

Vinory's sleep that night was troubled by Samon's entreaties. "I will hold you in honor," his spirit said in her dreams. He dropped to his knees before her, the dark eyes pleading. "I will give you pride of place, and let you lead in all things, if I may live. Oh, lady, let me through!"

Honor. Samon could see all her thoughts. He knew the turmoil in her mind. How could Vinory hide anything from him? But did he mean it?

"I...I don't know if I can trust you, Master Samon," she said at last, conscious even though her body was asleep. "I'm afraid of what admitting you back into life will mean to me. I dare not undo what the gods have done. You should go on to the Summerlands beyond the Veil."