FORBIDDEN TALENTS Read online

  Their clatter sounded ominous in Saeun’s ears.

  “May Odin’s sacrifice give us wisdom,” Thora intoned, then she shook the bag a third time and overturned it, spilling the runestones over the leather.

  Eight stones landed face up within the circle of runes. Sixteen lay face down or outside the circle. An auspicious number, Saeun thought.

  Thora knelt to peer more closely at the casting. She was silent a long time.

  She’s taking too long. Each passing moment plucked at Saeun like a barbed hook, slowly unraveling her hope. She shifted from one foot to the other and back again, but she didn’t interrupt Thora’s examination of the stones.

  She’d begun gnawing on a torn fingernail when Thora finally looked up. Her face was cool and impassive, but her eyes told more than Saeun wanted to know. She’s not smiling. The news can’t be good.

  “It’s not all bad,” Thora said.

  Saeun clenched her hands at her sides. “Tell me.”

  *

  Dahleven Nevenson, heir to the Kon, stood next to his brother Ragni in the reception chamber while their father continued making polite conversation with Loloma, the Tewakwe Kikmongwi. All of the traditional courtesies had to be observed before the Tewas would begin discussing what had brought them here. Usually Dahleven appreciated the Tewakwe custom of getting reacquainted and reestablishing common ground before diving into the meat of a negotiation. Now he was anxious to get on with it. Not only was he curious to learn what could be so urgent as to bring the Tewas across the mountains on the verge of winter snows, but the sooner this business was done, the sooner he could be alone with Celia. He’d seen his betrothed far too little these last five months.

  His eyes sought Celia again. She wore a long, green velvet gown, and her blond hair was braided and pinned in the popular style. She looked like any beautiful Nuvinland woman, but his knowing eye could still see the touch of Midgard on her in the way she held her head and shoulders. Her green eyes shimmered with the strange iridescence that reminded him of sunlight dancing on water, a sign of Fey-marking that only he, also Fey-marked, could see.

  Six months ago the gods had summoned Celia from Midgard—that world where men talked with “phones” and traveled in flying machines but lacked even minimal Talents. Now she belonged here in Alfheim. With him.

  She looked at him and her smile made his breath catch. So beautiful. And she was his.

  Gods, he wished they were alone. He’d been away from Quartzholm most of the summer and fall; he’d barely seen Celia since she’d accepted his offer of marriage. As Neven’s heir, Dahleven needed to establish his own ties of respect and loyalty with those he would someday rule. He’d always enjoyed the time spent traveling from one holding to another, mediating disputes, working in the fields alongside the carls, but this year he’d chafed at the time spent away from Celia. He would have taken her with him, but his mother had insisted his otherworldly bride-to-be remain in Quartzholm to learn the protocol necessary to being the wife of a future Jarl.

  Dahleven’s gaze roamed over Celia’s green clad curves. His hands itched with wanting to touch her, but now was not the time. He forced his attention back to the meeting. The gathering was relatively small; not even half of the reception chamber was filled.

  The Tewakwe leader Loloma, dressed in finely sewn and beaded leathers, sat in an elaborately carved chair facing Neven. The three women of his delegation sat on cushioned benches to his left. Che’veyo, a shaman, stood to his right. In place of a bow or spear, the shaman carried a staff carved with twining symbols and topped with three feathers, one white, one black, one gray. Twenty warriors accompanied them, relaxed but alert. An equal number of Nuvinland guards stood along either wall of the chamber.

  Dahleven shifted and resisted the urge to scratch. The messenger with the surprising news of the Tewa’s approach had reached him at an outlying holding only yesterday at midday. He’d barely made it back to Quartzholm before the Tewakwe arrived, and he’d had no chance to change into clothing appropriate to receive a delegation. He hoped the Tewas wouldn’t take it as an insult. What in Niflheim brings them here so late in the year?

  As usual, the Tewakwe had included several women in their delegation, despite the difficulty of travel at this time of year. An older woman, a grandmother, had accompanied them. Loloma had called her Nai’awika Kikmongsowuhti. It was a title Dahleven had never heard before.

  The Tewas gave a surprising amount of precedence to the opinions of their women, and it was obvious from the Kikmongwi’s behavior that these ladies were of high rank. Just as obviously, the women didn’t care to speak directly to Kon Neven, but directed their conversation to Dahleven’s mother, Gudrun, ignoring the Kon almost entirely. Gudrun sat beside her husband, opposite the Tewakwe women, speaking quietly with them about the health of their children. Apparently the ladies have their own rituals of courtesy to observe.

  “…stolen.”

  The soft voice of the Tewakwe grandmother snagged Dahleven’s attention away from the empty pleasantries his father and Loloma were exchanging.

  “A missing child is a grief indeed,” Gudrun answered.

  “He is not missing. He is stolen. Swallowed by the Earth Katsinas. And not just one child, but two warriors as well, and a bride from her bed.”

  A chill rippled down Dahleven’s back. This wasn’t part of any perfunctory courtesies. Worse, this wasn’t the first such tale he’d heard of late.

  There had always been stories. Now and then a person went walking at twilight and never returned—or came home different. He knew why, too. He and Celia had had their own secret brush with the Elves. Thank the gods, the Elves hadn’t taken her from him. And such occurrences were a rarity—or they had been, until recently. He knew of four lost from Neven’s Jarldom in the last season alone, and just last week some of the carls had spoken to him of the sudden disappearance of an old blacksmith.

  “The bride returned,” one of the younger Tewakwe women told Gudrun. “She died a week later, wasted to nothing, the spirit drained from her.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SITTING BESIDE GUDRUN, Celia Montrose recoiled at the Kikmongsowuhti’s horrible news, resisting the temptation to glance at Dahleven to see if he’d heard. The Elves she and Dahleven had met five months ago hadn’t harmed them in any way, but what did she know about the Fey? She certainly hadn’t met any before she came here to Alfheim from twenty-first century Tucson. “What did the bride say happened to her?”

  “Nothing. She spoke not a word. And while she did not see what was before her, she startled at phantoms.” The Kikmongsowuhti raised her brows, furrowing a forehead already spiderwebbed with wrinkles, and looked pointedly at Celia. “You are the newborn, are you not?”

  Newborn. That was what Loloma had called her when they’d met last summer. “Yes ma’am. I came into this world only six months ago.” Had it really only been six months since she’d left her home in Tucson? Since her life had been turned upside down?

  “I have heard of you. I would like to hear of your birth into the Fifth World.”

  “And so you shall, Nai’awika Kikmongsowuhti, tonight at the welcoming feast,” Kon Neven said.

  The old woman listened to Neven as he spoke, then turned back to Gudrun. “I look forward to sharing a bowl with you, Gudrun Sowuhti. First we will feast, then we shall talk of that which concerns us both.”

  “We have rooms prepared for you, Loloma Kikmongwi,” Neven said to the man sitting in the ornate chair in front of him. “Will you rest now, after your long journey?”

  Loloma hadn’t changed much since Celia had met him five months earlier. A few strands of gray salted his black hair, but he was strong and vigorous, exuding a natural air of command. Despite that, Celia noticed, he deferred to the Kikmongsowuhti, sliding his gaze across to her under half-closed lids and waiting for her nearly imperceptible nod before he answered. “Yes, Kon Neven, we will rest now.”

  Neven gestured five of his Guard forward. “Ta
ke our guests to the chambers prepared for them, and see they have all they need.” Neven waited until the Kikmongwi and the Sowuhti had risen before he stood himself and nodded a courtesy to the departing Loloma.

  Doesn’t Neven see it? Loloma is a powerful man, but Nai’awika is the one in charge. The Hopi Indians back home were matrilineal, and the Tewakwe were probably distant relatives. Loloma had told her that their ancestors had come to Alfheim from the Fourth World, what the Nuvinlanders called Midgard, some eight hundred years ago.

  Neven hadn’t been elected Kon by the other Jarls or retained that position for twenty years by being stupid. But Nuvinland was about as patriarchal a place as Celia ever wanted see. Even Dahleven, who was more open-minded than most, said some bone-headed things at times.

  Maybe Neven couldn’t see that Nai’awika was in charge. Only one woman was a Jarl in Nuvinland, and she held that position because she was widowed, and would only hold the position until her young son’s Talent Emerged. There were some who opposed even that. The idea of a woman holding a position equivalent to a Kon was probably too much to grasp, even for Neven, who had lately supported expansion of women’s rights to own property.

  The door shut behind the departing Tewakwe delegation and everyone relaxed, shifting and easing their muscles. Neven dismissed all but the two door guards.

  “It will be tomorrow before we find out why they’re here,” Ragni said after the men had filed out. “There’s something weighing on the Kikmongwi’s heart, but I sense no urgency in him.”

  “So I think also,” Neven said. “The Tewakwe won’t discuss anything of importance before they’re satisfied balance and harmony have been established.”

  “You may be right,” Celia said, “but I think the Kikmongsowuhti will talk to Lady Gudrun tonight.”

  Gris almost seemed to pop out of the wall as he dropped the use of his Talent. The Lord Chamberlain had the unnerving Talent called Odin’s Veil. When he chose to, the tall, thin man could fade into the background so effectively that he almost disappeared. The perfect Talent for a spy, Celia thought.

  “Nuvinland has traded with the Tewakwe for two hundred years, Lady Celia, and Kon Neven has had personal experience of two Kikmongwi.” Gris made no effort to hide his condescension. “The Tewakwe have always insisted that the patterns of courtesy be observed before they parley. To do otherwise will invite disaster—or so they believe.”

  Gudrun waved her hand, dismissing Gris’s comment. “Lady Celia is correct. Harmony and balance can be established in more than one way. Perhaps it takes men longer than women to achieve it.”

  Neven lifted an eyebrow in query.

  “The Kikmongsowuhti has already given me a hint of the Tewakwe’s concern,” Gudrun continued. “I don’t believe she’ll wait any longer than she must to address it. Need can be a great persuader, and clearly the Tewakwe are worried or they wouldn’t have chanced the passes closing behind them.”

  “You think they’ve come all this way because of those missing people, Mother?” Dahleven asked.

  “You heard that, did you?” Gudrun looked at her eldest son. “Yes, I do. And if you heard that much, you know the Tewakwe believe their people were stolen, not missing. Stolen by the Earth Katsinas.”

  “So the Tewakwe are troubled by the Dark Elves, as well,” Ragni put in, leaning one arm on the high back of Neven’s chair.

  Gudrun nodded.

  “Why should we lay the fault for the Tewakwe’s worries at the Elves’ door, Lady Gudrun?” Gris straightened his cadaverous body to its full height. “Their ways are strange. They could have called any sort of trouble down upon themselves.”

  Gudrun met the Chamberlain’s gaze straight on. “Because a young bride returned to her home Fey-marked, Gris.”

  “I’ve just heard of another, a blacksmith, gone missing from Lord Heiveg’s holding,” Dahleven said. “That’s five people from this Jarldom alone.”

  They were all silent for a moment, wondering at the purposes of the Elves.

  Celia shivered. She knew the Dark Elves were somehow different from the Light Elves she and Dahleven had encountered five months ago. No one had given her any specifics, though, just stories of missing people who returned mindless to their homes, when they returned at all, or who saw what others didn’t. Well, she knew a little about that first hand. The Light Elves had been compellingly beautiful and unnervingly other. She didn’t want to imagine what the Dark Elves might be like.

  “Very well, then,” Neven said leaning back in his chair. “Let us hope their distress will further loosen the women’s tongues tonight at the feast. With luck, we won’t have to wait for Loloma to deem us worthy of his confidence. If we gain access to our guests’ concerns by the side gate I shall be better prepared when the front gate opens tomorrow.”

  Celia shook her head. He really doesn’t get it. “The Kikmongsowuhti is the front gate, Kon Neven. I hope you assigned her a room at least as nice as Loloma’s, because she’s his boss in whatever way they figure those things.”

  “And how do you come to that conclusion?” Neven asked.

  “She may be right,” Ragni interjected. “It would explain the flares of anger I felt from the Kikmongwi when you spoke to Nai’awika. He suppressed them quickly, and I thought he was merely possessive or protective, but it could have been a kind of indignation at what he thought was a lack of proper respect.” Ragni looked embarrassed. “I wish I’d thought to read the Sowuhti.”

  “We’ve been trading with the Tewakwe for two hundred years,” Dahleven said, coming around to take the chair in front of his father. “While they’ve always included women in their parleys, the Kikmongwi has always conducted negotiations. Surely if they had such a downside-up hierarchy we would have known it before now.”

  “Not if they didn’t want you to,” Celia said. “And what’s so upside-down about it, anyway? There are lots of cultures where women are recognized as equal to men, and some where they call the shots.”

  “Women rule in Midgard? We’re well out of it then,” Gris muttered.

  “But why haven’t I perceived any deception from them?” Ragni asked. “If they’ve been lying to us all these years about who their leader is, I would know.”

  That brought Celia up short. Good question.

  “Perhaps the Kikmongwi is the one who leads in matters of outside trade and conflict,” Gudrun said. “The Kikmongsowuhti may govern matters closer to home. There would be no deception for you to sense, then.”

  Kon Neven gestured to one of the guards that stood by the door. “Intercept the Tewakwe and their escort. Direct the Kikmongsowuhti to the rooms on the east side of the hall. Go.” As the guard sped out of the room, Kon Neven regarded Celia seriously, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I knew Dahleven had chosen well, but I didn’t expect you to prove it again so soon, Lady Celia. My thanks.”

  Celia nodded, blushing at the unexpected compliment.

  *

  Saeun forced her clenched hands to relax and looked at Thora. “What do the stones reveal?”

  Her friend hesitated, then said, “They say Father Ragnar will offer union with you. That is the most likely meaning.”

  Saeun hadn’t told Thora about Ragni’s request that she become his elskerinne yet, but Thora’s reading of it in the runes came as no surprise to her. She nodded and waited for the other woman to go on.

  Thora pursed her lips, obviously disappointed with Saeun’s lack of enthusiasm, and continued. “This will bring you great happiness, but I fear it will be short-lived. You must face a challenge, and act quickly. A sign will come, and you must move without hesitation. But where there is loss, there is also opportunity.”

  “What sign? What challenge?” Saeun demanded, even though she knew the stones seldom gave specific answers to such questions.

  Thora shook her head. “The stones aren’t a script to a puppet show. They’re a whispered word to the wise.”

  Saeun turned away and paced the short leng
th of the room. It was barely longer than the bed, a wide padded bench built into an alcove. A glimmer of the setting sun danced on the wall above, opposite the one high window. Saeun stopped and stared up at it, feeling as though the sun was setting on all joy.

  Ragni had asked her to be his elskerinne. He cared for her, made her body sing, made her laugh. She felt safe and warm in his arms, and she knew that she made the weight of his concerns a little lighter. She’d never expected this happiness, never sought it, but now that it was hers, she didn’t want to relinquish it.

  *

  Dahleven shortened his long stride to match Celia’s as they left the audience chamber. She walked comfortably close to him, with the nearness of intimacy, her hand tucked in his. They mounted the black, polished stone staircase with its finials of Freyr and Freya and climbed in silence.

  Dahleven paid little attention to the familiar halls and stairways as he accompanied Celia to the section of Castle Quartzholm reserved for the family. He didn’t pause at her door or wait for an invitation to enter. They’d long passed the need for that formal courtesy, although he usually observed it.

  The latch clinked as Dahleven carefully shut the heavy wooden door. A hundred words of greeting, love, and question danced on his tongue, but he said none of them. He resolved to go slowly instead of gathering her into his arms as he wanted. Even though she’d been often on his mind these last months, they’d been apart more than they’d been together. As much as she’d been with him in his thoughts, they really knew each other only a little.

  Celia walked over to the window, putting some space between them, then turned iridescent eyes on him. Their glow had unnerved him at first, but he’d grown used to it after he realized no one else could see that evidence of their contact with the Elves. Now her eyes shimmered brightly enough for him to see in dim light, just as his own did. Twilight eyes, they called them.

  It wasn’t the glow that bothered him now. It was the trace of reticence he saw in her face. Was all this talk of Katsinas and Elves reminding her of what Loloma had said five months ago? At the parley, the Kikmongwi had told Celia they had no magic to send her home, but that the Katsinas might.