The Grove(60)

That was the first Saleria had heard of it, but then again, her thoughts right after Teral’s return had first focused on the awkwardness of her kissing two men in one body, then on the tasks of the Keeper, re-energizing the wards that kept the weirdnesses of the Grove confined as much as possible within its walls.

“And the answer to that query would be . . . ?” she probed delicately.

“That you are eminently suitable. As a fellow priest, I thank you for your willingness to represent the best interests of your people,” Guardian Shon stated, giving her a slight but formal bow. “Aradin Teral will have more details for you, but since you and I have had the chance to meet more directly, I should like to reassure you that the Witches of Darkhana will be at your disposal for movement to and from the place of the Convocation, once we have firmly identified it and established the exact timing of the event.

“Since we cannot at this time guarantee exactly what sort of facilities will be available,” Shon added, turning one hand over in a shrug, “my recommendation is that you pack and keep ready a bag with a few changes of clothes, some coinage for emergency funds, and a little bit of travel-ready food, just in case. Past records of previous Convocations have stated that entire retinues have traveled with the priesthoods of the various Patron Deities, along with baggage trains . . . but those were in the days when the great Portals worked, and everyone knew exactly what sort of hosting facilities the long-established Aian Empire had to offer. This time, it will be in the incipient kingdom of Nightfall, with who knows what level of amenities at hand.”

“I understand—and I thank you for reassuring me of all of this,” Saleria added politely. “I hadn’t thought of the need to pack a traveling bag so soon, but it is a good idea.”

“Just remember, we do not know exactly when the Convocation is set to resume,” Shon cautioned her. “It could be three days from now, or three weeks, or three months. We only know that it will take place within roughly half a year. It is better to be ready than to be regretful.”

“Of course. Do you have any messages for Witch Aradin Teral?” Saleria asked politely.

The other Guardian chuckled at that. His smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, he demurred, “Beyond saying ‘hello,’ I have no messages at this time, but I thank you for the courtesy. We do have other means to communicate directly, via our holy ways . . . but this neatly crafted scrying mirror of Guardian Kerric’s would make things more convenient, if you would permit us to occasionally speak with our Brother Witch . . . ?”

“Of course,” she agreed quickly. “Aradin has already offered to help me with certain local problems, which will greatly ease the troubles of my Guardianship if they can indeed be managed. I wouldn’t hesitate to allow him to use this mirror to chat with you. It’s the least I can do. With his . . . their . . . arrival, I feel as though I’ve been awakened to my own local problems, and that I finally have the power to do something about them. He—they—are most welcome, here in the Grove.”

“Then I shall bid you good night with a happy heart . . . and head back to my bed, since it is very much the middle of the night here, and I am no longer a young man,” Shon stated dryly. “It is a pleasure to meet you face to face, so to speak, but it is very late. May you sleep well, Guardian Saleria.”

“And you, Guardian Shon . . . er, Guardian Shon Tastra,” she corrected herself, wanting to be polite. “A good night to you and your Guide.”

Nodding, Shon lifted his blue-and-black-sleeved hand to the frame of his mirror, ending the connection. Saleria stared as the blue background covered the mirror for a moment, then faded back into a reflection of herself and the rest of the Bower. Part of her was gratified to know Aradin Teral was exactly who and what he—they—said they were. Part of her wondered if the presence of all these Darkhanan witches scattered around the world was for the sake of the potential Netherhell invasion, and not just for the Convocation of the Gods being reinstated.

Part of her was tired, and hungry, and ready to call it a night. Leaving the mirror hanging in midair, Saleria picked her way out of the moss-lined swale of the Bower. The sunset glows in the west were almost completely gone, leaving her only with the glow of her staff and the faint hues of those locus-nodules for illumination.

Walking warily back to the sheltered courtyard by the entrance to the Keeper’s house, Saleria began to realize just how creepy the Grove was at night. She had been wary before, but Aradin’s revelation about the plant-bug mixtures earlier still unnerved her. Nothing actively leaped out at her, nothing tried to attack . . . but it felt like everything within the blue white glow of the crystal end of her staff was aware of her approach, her retreat, and her general presence. Leaves shifted on some of the plants, their broad surfaces swerving to follow her. Vines occasionally twitched. Little rustling sounds followed her, too, sounds which she couldn’t pinpoint to a particular plant’s movements.