The Grove(66)
“You see, they don’t come on when dusk falls,” Aradin told her in hushed, enthused tones as they knelt at the base of one of the bark-covered roots forming a main arch. “They don’t, because they’re always on; they’re always active, always monitoring whatever powers are being used—that mirror floating over there, you said it came through the Fountainway? I’ll bet you that had you been free from the need to concentrate and cushion its arrival that you would have seen the copper-hued ones, and maybe one or two others, lighting up with its arrival.”
“The copper ones? So, do the colors indicate what they do?” Saleria asked him, reaching up to gently touch a copper-hued nodule. It felt more like crystal than wax, though the translucent look of it was more like the latter than the former. “Are they like the pools?”
“They should be connected, logically, but I’ll need a special Hortimancy tool to discern their full function.” He flashed her a smile. “That’s why I’ve been shadowing you the last few days. I couldn’t get to work even on the preliminaries without it, but it should be here by tomorrow. The previous days, I got a good look at the Grove overall and how it currently functions. Today, I have time to look around and set up my worktables. Tomorrow, I should be able to get to work on how it should function.”
“Here, here?” Saleria asked, pointing at the ground between them. “Or . . . or somewhere that Teral can pick it up, like he picked up that chest, and those sugar cane seedlings?”
Aradin dipped his head, acknowledging her point. “Technically, it’s in Darkhana, shipped from Fortuna. One of our fellow Witch-priests will pass it to me tonight at the New Brother festival, and we’ll bring it to Katan.”
“New Brother festival?” she asked, once again feeling a bit ignorant of other lands.
“Every new and full of Brother Moon, we Witches gather in the Dark to meet and mingle, to discuss concerns and share news. Those who are ambassadors or envoys often use this time to pass along trade goods—like the sugar cane seedlings I bought,” he told her. “They’re to go to a specific cluster of Witches who work in the royal botanical gardens.
“It’s supposed to be in the evening, but since this corner of the world experiences dusk several hours later than Darkhana does, either Teral will have to start without me, or I’ll have to take the afternoon off,” he told her. “Late afternoon. Can you handle the third locus tree and the Grove wall without me?”
His smile showed that he was teasing her. Saleria narrowed her eyes, but smiled back wryly. “Maybe,” she teased in return. “I was going to offer to let you stay here tonight. I mean, in the Keeper’s house.”
The look of surprise on his face was expected, as was the pleasure, but the relief puzzled her. At least, until he said, “Thank you; that would relieve us of the worry that someone would break into our room at the inn and disturb our body while we’re gone. It’s a bit dangerous for both Host and Guide to be away from their shared body at the same time. Usually we ward the place we’re in, but that takes away some of the energy we need for sustaining our visits in the Dark.”
“I suppose it would be, particularly if they were out to kill you,” Saleria murmured, not pleased by that thought. Not that she suspected anyone of wanting to kill the friendly, charming Witch kneeling at her side, but her imagination could easily supply such a scenario.
“Oh, there is that, but it’s almost as bad if someone calls in a Healer, because they think we’re in a coma of some sort,” Aradin admitted. “Technically, the Hosts’ bodies are in a coma, but meddling with the bodies can harm the link tying our spirits to our flesh. Most mages shield themselves against harmful magics, not helpful ones, and to shield against both is exhausting.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t offer you a room in the house,” Saleria muttered, thinking about her housekeeper. At his puzzled look, she explained. “Every morning, I hate to get up, and Nannan bustles into my room and whips off the covers, and if I don’t move quickly—which I usually don’t, because I hate mornings—she smacks me on the buttocks with a hand or a pillow or whatever. And she likes me. I don’t know what she’d do to you if she thought you had to get up at a specific time and found you lying in bed, unresponsive.”
“Is she a mage?” Aradin asked.
“No,” Saleria admitted. “Just a very good, if forward and, well, pushy, housekeeper. But then I do prefer to laze in bed each morning. I just cannot afford to do so, as the Keeper of the Grove.”