lifted clear his hood, revealing a face etched with heavy age lines, his head hairless and his skin almost as pale as the frogs that scrambled about the chamber. But most startling of all, his red-rimmed eyes were clouded. The master seer was blind.
“The human senses are remarkable. I have no need of worldly vision to see into the realms of the future; not when I see through other eyes.”
“Is that why you summoned me here – to tell me the future?”
“I would help you. You have travelled far since you first arrived at Highkell as a frightened child. You need have no fear of the darkness. Alidreth’s blood runs in your veins, pure and undiluted.”
It was not darkness she feared, but she held her peace. Why had Tresilian told her to seek out this old man? “How would you help me now?”
“Your exile may be of greater duration than you believe, my child. That much is clear. Also…” He drew a sighing breath.
She knew why he hesitated, even as she framed her question. “You have news of Tresilian?”
“Alas, no. Tresilian has fallen into darkness. But this you already knew, had you trusted your sight.”
Could she believe this strange old man? She glimpsed Weaver step forward, but one of the priests restrained him with a silent gesture. She ought to have heeded Weaver’s advice in the first place.
Gwydion drew breath with difficulty. “There are things you do not yet know: by spilling the blood of his own kin in his family’s stronghold, Vasic has sealed his fate. That cannot be changed. And his kin’s blood will rise against him soon enough. You must prepare, for Tresilian’s children will need your strength.”
This was all impossible. She’d told none but Weaver of that dream. How could Gwydion know of it? The old man’s head sagged forward, as if he’d dropped into a deep sleep. Behind her she heard minute shufflings and didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know the frogs moved closer.
Gwydion raised his head, eyes open. “It is time. Take my hands, Alwenna, relict of Tresilian of Highkell, true daughter descendant of the High Seer Alidreth.”
Alwenna took half a step closer to his seat, then hesitated. The air resonated with tension, as if every creature present held its breath. Could she trust this old man? Should she?
“You need never fear the darkness.” He smiled and reached out, palms uppermost. “Take my hands, kinswoman.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Weaver watched with foreboding as Alwenna reached for the old man’s hands. Tresilian had wanted this meeting but every instinct was telling Weaver to call her away. The frogs carpeting the chamber stilled, as if of one mind. Weaver tried to step forward but the priests on either side caught him by the arms and he found himself held still by more than physical means.
The old man’s fingers closed over Alwenna’s.
For a moment all remained silent, then she gasped and her body stiffened. “No!”
Her scream echoed round the chamber. Weaver fought to throw off the two priests but they pinned him back against the wall.
“You mustn’t interfere. The shock could kill her.”
The frogs began creeping towards the edge of the pool, their attention focused on the dais where Alwenna seemed frozen in the grip of the old man. Then Gwydion released her abruptly and fell back in his seat, gasping for breath. Alwenna swayed, half turned towards Weaver, then crumpled to the ground. Weaver struggled between the two priests while she lay motionless where she had fallen.
Unnaturally still.
Then she stirred and dragged herself up onto her hands and knees.
“How could you?” Her words carried across the still water.
“No time.” The old man slumped in his seat, chest rising and falling as if he had run a race. “My last gift… to you.”
“A gift, you call it?” She pushed herself to her feet. “A gift?” Her voice grew shrill.
“The knowledge of ages.” He drew in a harsh breath. “There is… no greater
“The human senses are remarkable. I have no need of worldly vision to see into the realms of the future; not when I see through other eyes.”
“Is that why you summoned me here – to tell me the future?”
“I would help you. You have travelled far since you first arrived at Highkell as a frightened child. You need have no fear of the darkness. Alidreth’s blood runs in your veins, pure and undiluted.”
It was not darkness she feared, but she held her peace. Why had Tresilian told her to seek out this old man? “How would you help me now?”
“Your exile may be of greater duration than you believe, my child. That much is clear. Also…” He drew a sighing breath.
She knew why he hesitated, even as she framed her question. “You have news of Tresilian?”
“Alas, no. Tresilian has fallen into darkness. But this you already knew, had you trusted your sight.”
Could she believe this strange old man? She glimpsed Weaver step forward, but one of the priests restrained him with a silent gesture. She ought to have heeded Weaver’s advice in the first place.
Gwydion drew breath with difficulty. “There are things you do not yet know: by spilling the blood of his own kin in his family’s stronghold, Vasic has sealed his fate. That cannot be changed. And his kin’s blood will rise against him soon enough. You must prepare, for Tresilian’s children will need your strength.”
This was all impossible. She’d told none but Weaver of that dream. How could Gwydion know of it? The old man’s head sagged forward, as if he’d dropped into a deep sleep. Behind her she heard minute shufflings and didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know the frogs moved closer.
Gwydion raised his head, eyes open. “It is time. Take my hands, Alwenna, relict of Tresilian of Highkell, true daughter descendant of the High Seer Alidreth.”
Alwenna took half a step closer to his seat, then hesitated. The air resonated with tension, as if every creature present held its breath. Could she trust this old man? Should she?
“You need never fear the darkness.” He smiled and reached out, palms uppermost. “Take my hands, kinswoman.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Weaver watched with foreboding as Alwenna reached for the old man’s hands. Tresilian had wanted this meeting but every instinct was telling Weaver to call her away. The frogs carpeting the chamber stilled, as if of one mind. Weaver tried to step forward but the priests on either side caught him by the arms and he found himself held still by more than physical means.
The old man’s fingers closed over Alwenna’s.
For a moment all remained silent, then she gasped and her body stiffened. “No!”
Her scream echoed round the chamber. Weaver fought to throw off the two priests but they pinned him back against the wall.
“You mustn’t interfere. The shock could kill her.”
The frogs began creeping towards the edge of the pool, their attention focused on the dais where Alwenna seemed frozen in the grip of the old man. Then Gwydion released her abruptly and fell back in his seat, gasping for breath. Alwenna swayed, half turned towards Weaver, then crumpled to the ground. Weaver struggled between the two priests while she lay motionless where she had fallen.
Unnaturally still.
Then she stirred and dragged herself up onto her hands and knees.
“How could you?” Her words carried across the still water.
“No time.” The old man slumped in his seat, chest rising and falling as if he had run a race. “My last gift… to you.”
“A gift, you call it?” She pushed herself to her feet. “A gift?” Her voice grew shrill.
“The knowledge of ages.” He drew in a harsh breath. “There is… no greater
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