Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Keleios had spent much of the last three years in research. She had hunted for the reason that the goddess was one in three, three parts, but not a whole. Only the legend of how the moon had broken into three pieces seemed to hint at it. It said that the goddess had gone mad with a pain in her head. When the pain cleared, she was split asunder, and so was the moon. The legend hinted that the goddess could be healed and made one again, but it never said whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

Keleios had seen the moons through Zeln’s telescope. They were dead rock, nothing more, worlds of shining light and shadows. Keleios found it hard to believe that the moons were tied to the goddess. She did believe that the Mother could have split the moon in a fit of anger.

Keleios laughed. “I am wasting time staring at the moons. My fear seeks to trick me.” She would delay no longer. There was freedom in the decision. Now that she would go to the tower and have her dream, the fear had lessened.

She had discovered that most fears shrank when confronted. Not all fears, though. Keleois pushed the thought back before it could grow.

Keleios opened the small leather pouch at her belt. It glowed softly with enchantment.

She had not made this but had purchased it in Meltaan. The pot slipped through the impossibly small opening, followed by the bowl. She scattered the remains of the wood and tossed the cracked cup off the path.

She took the simple golden ring off her right hand and placed it in the enchanted pouch also. She unlaced each of the bracers and slipped them through. They were four times as long as the pouch appeared, but they slipped out of sight. Her waist dagger and the two hidden knives followed after. Luckweaver, her short sword, lay in her room. Zeln had tried to outlaw knives in the keep, but there were too many other uses for them besides as weapons. Swords were nothing but weapons, and one must get special permission to wear them openly.

Keleios agreed with the rule in part. There were many who had carried swords who would have been alive today if they simply had been unarmed. For herself she disliked the rule, but she obeyed it.

It was not Zeln’s rules that kept enchantments and weapons out of the dreaming rooms. Dreamers had been known to do themselves, or others, harm with weapons. The tower of prophecy did not like foreign magic. For whatever reason enchantments seemed to anger the tower.

Keleios herself had forgotten the ring of protection once but only once. The tower had tried to trick her into cutting off her own finger.

The opening to the leather pouch was spelled so that only her own hand could open it. Regardless of who was prophet keeper tonight, it would be safe from tampering.

She had done all she could to prepare. It was time to go to the tower. Keleios walked through the trellised arch and passed into the herb garden. The intricate beds of plants led up to the steps of Zeln’s castle. Zeln the Just had once been a rich Astranthian noble, and the castle showed that, but Zeln had changed. It was from him that Keleios learned her love of simple clothing and a feel for equality of all people. Anyone could come to Zeln’s school, all they had to have was talent. And every student learned what it was to do manual labor. Some of the noble children found that a very hard concept indeed. Keleios thought it was normal.

The castle towered above her in the dark. Its square shape had been designed for defense, but centuries of softer living had widened the windows and brought gardens up to the very door.

The inner corridors of the castle were darker than the summer night. Keleios paused to let her eyes adjust. She could see in the dark, like a cat, or a demon. She was demon-named Nightseer, but she still had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The libraries were in the center of the castle, and in the center of the libraries was the tower of prophecy. Keleios walked up the narrow, winding stair. She could taste her heart thudding in her throat. She did not want this dream.

The dreaming rooms circled an open space that held the stairs and a fireplace. Here the prophet keepers kept guard.

Eduard, the journeyman herb-witch, sat in front of the fire, knees clasped to his chest.

The fire caught vague highlights in his raven-black hair. The emeralds on his tunic glimmered with green fire. The tunic was the stylish above-the-waist cut, leaving most of his lower body in nothing but green tights. His eyes were the crystalline blue of sapphires. “Keleios the Enchanter, I am honored to guard your prophecy.”

The smirk on his face gave the lie to his courtesy. Eduard and Keleios had an understanding between them. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him. He was a follower of Ivel.

“Surely you do not stand guard alone, Eduard the Witch.”

“My companion had to take a piss.”

Keleios’ face remained impassive. If he hoped to anger her with vulgarities, he would fail. If someone could provoke you to anger without good cause, they controlled you. She would never give Eduard that satisfaction again. She disliked Eduard, but he had lost the ability to anger her, and that angered him.

“Your little follower is in the dreaming rooms tonight.”

Keleios knew who he meant. Alys was the youngest apprentice to ever be allowed at Zeln’s school. She was five and had come plagued with nightmares that were truly powerful prophetic dreams. Whenever Alys wasn’t doing chores or studies, she was tagging behind Keleios. It was sometimes bothersome to have a child in such constant attendance, but Keleios could not tell her no. The child reminded Keleios of herself at five, and you must be kind to shadows of your own child hood.

“How was she when she went in?”

He shrugged, “Nervous, but who wouldn’t be? I hear the tower can eat a person’s soul.” Keleios ignored his attempt to frighten her. “Is there a dreaming room open?”

“Three.”

She waited, but he didn’t offer to show her which were empty. “Which ones are empty, Eduard?”

He pushed himself upward with his arms and directed her to three doors. He gave a courtly bow and said, “It is your choice, my lovely coquette.”

It was a nice word for slut, but that was what it meant. “Eduard, you’re being childish.”

It was not the reaction he had hoped for. “I will find something that will break through that calm stoic face of yours. I’ve heard rumors that you have a violent temper.”

“When I was a child, I did. But I am no longer a child.”

He caught the emphasis and his face darkened. “I will find something that bothers you.”

Keleios stepped close to him; they were almost the same height. “If you ever find something to truly anger me, Eduard, it will mean a duel on the sands. And I will kill you.”

He didn’t move back, but his hands tightened into fists.

For a moment Keleios thought he would strike her. She let a slow smile dance on her lips. It was a mocking smile. “As you constantly remind me, I am only a journeyman. And by Astranthian law I can challenge any other journeyman to battle.”

His blue eyes had gone wide. Taunting a fallen master was one thing. Fighting her on the sands was another. His anger discolored his face and made his eyes glint like hard rock, but he took a step back. “Take any of the rooms that you like.”

“Thank you.” She held out the leather pouch.

He took it reluctantly. “Your weapons?”

“Yes, all that I was carrying with me.”

He looked perplexed then at being trusted with so much of her power.

She laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Eduard. There is a spell on the opening that I think you would find less than pleasant.”

“I will leave on journeyman quest this year. You think I cannot undo a simple locking spell?”