Read Online The Makers of Light by Lynna Merrill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynna Merrill
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fools and reprobates did not fear them. Unlike fire, they were hard to command; like fire, they were terrible if unbound.
The wind howled, harshly, just as Henna's unmistakable figure appeared on the path. There was someone else with her today, but Merley did not know who, for she dared not look further. She flattened herself even closer to the wall. She preferred to not watch Henna and her companion, for somehow people always felt her eyes, even if they could not see her--and those down on the path would easily see her if they but looked up. " Byas eyes," an old servant woman had once said, and Merley's father had ordered her beaten for it.
The wind howled again, its voice a lonely lament amidst stone and faint morning light. Merley shivered, the stone wall hard and chilly to her breasts and stomach.
" ... from Balkaene," a voice drifted to her ears. "They said it attacked a man."
"Good." Henna's voice, hard as always, but today almost content.
"Others say the man attacked first."
"It does not matter. Anyway, it will die. I will ask Adept Brighid just in case, but I know what she'll say ..."
The voices subsided as their owners passed further away, and Merley clutched the wall even harder, panting, every breath a pain. Careful, careful now, do not fall. Why was she so affected? They were going to kill something, but was that truly news? Senior Bers did kill. They just did not talk about it in front of her.
The wind howled again, and she shivered. Like a halla it howled, full of anguish, like a wolf out of Slava's stories, alone, its head raised towards the glowing moons ...
It howled yet again, just as what looked like a bird with its wings folded appeared far in the sky—and for the first time in many days Merley ignored the flying wagon that was her main reason for climbing walls and towers. Her eyes were fixed on the Generalist tower, instead. Far to the right, where this tower stood, and downwards towards its basement, something had howled in misery while the wind had not blown at all.
Slowly, she crept further, passing the slit between the stones that—if she crept sideways—was just narrow enough to lead her to the loose stone. The loose stone opened towards what days afore might have been a chimney, and it in turn climbed down to the broom closet beside her room. She had wondered about that chimney, sometimes. It was cold and had been cold for perhaps decades or even centuries, yet something must have once burned in the present-day broom closet. What? Or who?
Whatever it was that howled raised its voice again, stronger now that she was closer to where the two towers met. A tear fell on Merley's hand, tingling. How could she have confused it with the wind? If she closed her eyes, she could feel it—hard, tainted stone walls enclosing, encroaching, crushing its quintessence, while grass, soil, green rustling leaves and mountain faded. Faded ... Blurred ...
Merley jolted her eyes open. Then she crept. A cobbled path ran between the Novice and Generalist towers, a narrow path, not at all wide like the street that separated the Acolyte tower from the novices who watched it every day and dreamed. No one ever dreamed about the Generalist tower, save in nightmares, and Merley almost felt sorry for its tall, dark, gloomy frame, where narrow windows watched her like empty eyes with dreams long ago shattered. But she was only almost sorry, for the howl came at her again, even clearer. Did no one else hear it?
Well, so what if they did?
She had reached the corner between the path and the street, where the tower's stone was most exposed and was currently not dusty but wet and slippery, weatherbeaten. Merley ran a hand along the edge, trembling. She had come to this spot only once before, for it was too perilous to walk the night so close to the teachers. It had not been wet and slippery before. What Ber tower, what tower of the Fire Masters, ever was? " There are edges, treacherous edges that creep up to us, of a
The wind howled, harshly, just as Henna's unmistakable figure appeared on the path. There was someone else with her today, but Merley did not know who, for she dared not look further. She flattened herself even closer to the wall. She preferred to not watch Henna and her companion, for somehow people always felt her eyes, even if they could not see her--and those down on the path would easily see her if they but looked up. " Byas eyes," an old servant woman had once said, and Merley's father had ordered her beaten for it.
The wind howled again, its voice a lonely lament amidst stone and faint morning light. Merley shivered, the stone wall hard and chilly to her breasts and stomach.
" ... from Balkaene," a voice drifted to her ears. "They said it attacked a man."
"Good." Henna's voice, hard as always, but today almost content.
"Others say the man attacked first."
"It does not matter. Anyway, it will die. I will ask Adept Brighid just in case, but I know what she'll say ..."
The voices subsided as their owners passed further away, and Merley clutched the wall even harder, panting, every breath a pain. Careful, careful now, do not fall. Why was she so affected? They were going to kill something, but was that truly news? Senior Bers did kill. They just did not talk about it in front of her.
The wind howled again, and she shivered. Like a halla it howled, full of anguish, like a wolf out of Slava's stories, alone, its head raised towards the glowing moons ...
It howled yet again, just as what looked like a bird with its wings folded appeared far in the sky—and for the first time in many days Merley ignored the flying wagon that was her main reason for climbing walls and towers. Her eyes were fixed on the Generalist tower, instead. Far to the right, where this tower stood, and downwards towards its basement, something had howled in misery while the wind had not blown at all.
Slowly, she crept further, passing the slit between the stones that—if she crept sideways—was just narrow enough to lead her to the loose stone. The loose stone opened towards what days afore might have been a chimney, and it in turn climbed down to the broom closet beside her room. She had wondered about that chimney, sometimes. It was cold and had been cold for perhaps decades or even centuries, yet something must have once burned in the present-day broom closet. What? Or who?
Whatever it was that howled raised its voice again, stronger now that she was closer to where the two towers met. A tear fell on Merley's hand, tingling. How could she have confused it with the wind? If she closed her eyes, she could feel it—hard, tainted stone walls enclosing, encroaching, crushing its quintessence, while grass, soil, green rustling leaves and mountain faded. Faded ... Blurred ...
Merley jolted her eyes open. Then she crept. A cobbled path ran between the Novice and Generalist towers, a narrow path, not at all wide like the street that separated the Acolyte tower from the novices who watched it every day and dreamed. No one ever dreamed about the Generalist tower, save in nightmares, and Merley almost felt sorry for its tall, dark, gloomy frame, where narrow windows watched her like empty eyes with dreams long ago shattered. But she was only almost sorry, for the howl came at her again, even clearer. Did no one else hear it?
Well, so what if they did?
She had reached the corner between the path and the street, where the tower's stone was most exposed and was currently not dusty but wet and slippery, weatherbeaten. Merley ran a hand along the edge, trembling. She had come to this spot only once before, for it was too perilous to walk the night so close to the teachers. It had not been wet and slippery before. What Ber tower, what tower of the Fire Masters, ever was? " There are edges, treacherous edges that creep up to us, of a
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