Blood of the Fold

Though it was too early for most trees to be in bloom, in the Prelate's garden there were a few rare everblossoms — squat, gnarled, outspreading trees that bloomed throughout the year, though they fruited only in season. In the New World she had come across a small forest of everblossoms, and discovered them to be a favorite haunt of the elusive night wisps — frail creatures appearing to be nothing more than sparks of light, and only visible at night.

After the night wisps had been convinced of their benign intentions, she and the two Sisters she had been with at the time had spent several nights there, talking with the wisps of simple things and learning about the benevolent nature of the wizards and Confessors who guided the alliance of the Midlands. Verna had been pleased to learn that the people of the Midlands protected places of magic, and left the creatures inhabiting them to live their lives in unmolested solitude.

While there were wild places in the Old World where magic creatures dwelled, they were nowhere near as numerous or as varied as those wondrous places in the New World. Verna had learned a bit of tolerance from some of those creatures — that the Creator had sprinkled the world with many fragile wonders, and sometimes mankind's highest calling was to simply let them be.

In the Old World that view was not widely held, and there were many places where wild magic had been brought under control lest people be injured or killed by things not amenable to reason, Magic could often be "inconvenient." In many ways, the New World was still a wild place, as the Old World had been thousands of years ago, before man made it a safe, if somewhat sterile, place through its notions of stewardship.

Verna missed the New World. She had never felt so at home as she did there.

Ducks sleeping with their heads tucked back under their wings bobbed at the edge of a pond beside the path, while unseen frogs croaked from the reeds. Verna saw an occasional fluttermouse swoop down across the surface of the water to snatch a bug from the air. Moon shadows played across the grassy bank as the gentle breeze caressed the trees overhead.

Just beyond the pond, a small side trail turned off toward a stand of trees among a thicket of underbrush hardly touched by the moonlight. Verna somehow felt this was the place she sought, and strolled off the main path, toward the waiting shadows. The grounds here seemed to be ruled by the wildness of nature, as opposed to the cultured look of much of the garden.

Through a narrow opening in the wall of thorn glove, Verna found an enchanting little stuccoed building with four gables, the rake of each tiled roof swooping down in a gentle curve to eaves no higher than her head. A towering maidenhair tree stood off the face of each gable, its branches lacing together overhead. Sweetbriar hugged the ground close to the walls, suffusing the cozy enclosure with a fragrant scent. A round window, too high to see through, was set in the peak of each gable.

At one gabled wall, where the path ended, Verna found a rough-hewn, round-topped door with a sunburst pattern carved in its center. There was a pull handle, but no lock. A tug produced no movement, not even a wiggle. The door was shielded.

Verna ran her fingers along the edge, feeling for the nature of the shield, or its keyway. She fell only an icy chill that made her recoil at its touch.

She opened herself to her Han, letting the sweet light inundate her with its warm, familiar comfort. She nearly gasped with the glory of being just that much closer to the Creator. The air suddenly smelled of a thousand scents; against her flesh it felt of moisture, dust, pollen, and salt from the ocean; in her ears it carried the sounds of a world of insects, small animals, and fragments of words carried for miles in its airy, volatile fingers. She listened carefully for any sounds that might betray anyone near, at least anyone with no more than Additive Magic. She heard none.

Verna focused her Han on the door before her. Her probe told her that the entire building was encased in a web, but not one she had ever felt before: it had elements of ice woven through with spirit. She didn't even know ice could be woven with spirit. The two fought each other like cats in a sack, but there it was, the two of them purring contentedly, as if they belonged together. She had absolutely no idea how such a shield could be breached, much less undone.

Still joined with her Han, an impulse came to her, and she reached up, touching the sunburst pattern on her ring to that on the door. The door swung silently open.

Verna stepped inside and placed the ring on the sunburst pattern carved on the inside of the door. It obediently swung closed. With her Han she could feel the shield seal tight around her. Verna had never felt so isolated, so alone, so safe.