The Grove(83)

“What can I do?” she asked, repeating his question. “I can pray that he finds himself in the tender care of people who love him for who he is, and encourage him for who he can be. I can pray that he finds help and mentors. That he has a good home to abide in, with food and clothes and a good education leading to a good career. I can pray that he finds friends who will help him, support him, and stand up beside him whenever he needs to stand up for himself, lending him their encouragement and their support as he grows up and becomes a man. If I set my prayers to target no one . . . then that will be allowed by the Laws of God and Man. The energy may be more diffuse when it acts, but it is free to encourage what is already potentially there.

“And who knows, maybe the diffused prayer will encourage his aunt and uncle-in-law to open their minds and soften their hearts. Maybe it will soothe his feelings of loss and pain so that he can see they do care about him; hopefully, they do, but if not, maybe it will do both. Or maybe it’ll open the hearts of other kin to offer to take him in, where an extra mouth to feed won’t be as much of a resented burden.” She shrugged, mounting the next little hill.

Ah, there are the rest of the marigolds, she thought, watching them camped in another clearing . . . to the visible disgruntlement of some of the already established plants. There was a bit of leaf-slapping and branch-smacking as certain patches fought for the best sunlight, but otherwise they were relatively peaceful. Glancing at Aradin, she watched one of his sandy blond brows raise in that neat little trick of his, and smiled at his confusion. Personally, she found the marigolds’ antics to be more amusing than annoying. As she had mentioned to him before, not everything in the Grove was outright dangerous.

Murmuring a harvesting spell, Aradin wafted some of the torn bits of foliage over to the path. Pulling out wide-mouthed sample jars, he sorted them with another spell and a tap of the carnelian-tipped wand in his hand, then scooped them into the glass containers, which went back into his sleeves. “I’ll want to analyze these as well. I’ll try to work quietly while you pray. If you finish with a little extra time to spare, you can help examine the Bower structure with the, ah . . . Teral says that one’s the amethyst-tipped wand. The readings from that should help draw a map on the tablet of the various power conduits running through the trees. From there, we can better determine what spells were woven into the structure, but forgotten long ago by the various Keepers.”

“Right. I think I should take that or a similar wand to the eastern locus tree, too, at midday,” she offered. “Maybe if you and I use that air-walking spell of yours, and trace the paths of the branches and roots more directly?”

“That should work,” he agreed, smiling briefly at her. “I could pull out some of the other wands, too, on the way, maybe get a few more samples. Particularly as we get closer to the tree, to see if a particular locus rift’s energies have a greater impact closer to the source.”

Saleria nodded. “I’m very grateful you’re here to help with this, Aradin. Until the other night when Guardian Kerric called, I didn’t even know that the waxy nodules on the underside of the Bower glowed. I was never here in the dark . . . yet I feel like I was lost in the dark, until you came.”

“Sometimes it just works out that way. Teral says you shouldn’t berate yourself for what happened in the past. Learn from mistakes and make amends when you finally notice the neglect. That’s all any of us can do,” Aradin relayed.

She nodded again. “It may take telling my brain that several more times before it sinks in, and I don’t always succeed in believing it, but I do know that all I can do sometimes is move on.”





NINE





Aradin’s head snapped up in startled realization. He stared unseeing through the mesh of the Bower dome for a long moment, so startled, he couldn’t even think a coherent thought at his Guide. Teral, equally shocked, stayed for a moment, then ducked into the Dark to ask it questions. Guessing which ones the older Witch intended to ask, Aradin focused on the outer world, leaving the inner one to his partner.

Turning, he spotted Saleria kneeling as usual in the center of the mossy ground. The midmorning prayers had been handled, a good lunch had been served by a contrite Nannan, and from the looks of the papers stacked in front of her, the Keeper of the Grove was almost done with the midafternoon lot.

Keeper, yes, but not fully its Guardian.

Aware she still had at least two more prayers to go, Aradin regathered his wits and turned back to the tablet resting on the worktable. A chime startled him into whipping around again just in time to see Saleria scowl and open her eyes. She glanced over at the mirror hanging in the air, little wisps of blonde hair floating around her head.