CHAPTER TWO
“It is true that the Library was destroyed,” Hawtoor began, but Teg was speaking, too, and her urgency won out over the old owl’s pedantry.
“Destroyed? Very little is completely destroyed. If anyone knows that, it’s me. Finding traces of places that everyone believes are forever gone, that’s what archeologists do.”
“What? They don’t break into lost tombs,” Peg asked teasingly, “or crumbling temples dedicated to nearly forgotten gods?”
Even knowing she was being teased—Teg had heard variations on this theme from the time she got her first job doing salvage archeology where a road was being rebuilt in some nowhere part of the southwest—she felt a flare of annoyance.
“That sort of archeology was how it was done a long time ago. Even then the archeologists—the real ones—were interested in learning about the people who had lived there before, not just in treasure hunting.”
“Peace,” Meg said in that voice that not only suggested but commanded. “Peg, I know you’re nervous. All of us are, but it’s not right to relieve your nerves by teasing Teg.”
Without waiting for a response from Peg, Meg turned to the others. “Xerak, Hawtoor, was this Library of the Sapphire Wind destroyed without a trace?” To illustrate her point, she picked up a small round cookie and put it in her mouth. “Or was it merely severely damaged?”
With a slightly apologetic look, she took a cookie of the same type, set it carefully on a small plate, and pressed her thumb onto it until it was smashed into crumbs.
Hawtoor blinked slowly.
Owlishly, Teg thought, fighting down a giggle that she knew was dangerously close to hysteria.
Hawtoor looked at Meg’s plate of cookie crumbs. “Closer to your second example, Librarian Meg. And not nearly so completely. Ruins of the buildings remain, or so I have been told. I have not been there myself. The region is extremely dangerous, reshaped on a geographical level by the immense magical forces released when the Library was destroyed. As if volcanoes and earth tremors are not enough, the land is inhabited by creatures created or freed—the tales are unclear—from the Library of the Sapphire Wind itself.”
Xerak coughed what must have been meant as a laugh, although there was little humor in it. “But, at least as my master, Uten Kekui, said, all of these reports are open to question. Very few of those who venture into the vicinity return to tell tales, so it’s not even sure that what we have heard are genuine reports. The stories could just have been made up by people trying to build a reputation for themselves as bold explorers.”
Peg shook her head. “If you had drunk just a little less wine, young man, you’d see that these tales, tall or not, should make you feel better about going to this Library. If the region was not dangerous, then there would probably be a lively industry in salvaged materials, and whatever it is you seek might no longer be there.”
“Pot hunters,” Teg grumbled in agreement. “No consideration for the real value, which is knowledge, just looking to make a buck on the antiquities market.”
Xerak—who had been reaching for what would have been his third bottle of wine—stopped in midstretch and poured himself water instead.
“I am wondering,” Vereez said, and there was apology in her voice, “if we did indeed fail in our summoning. These three ladies have knowledge we did not—knowledge that gives at least Grunwold a direction for his search. That’s good right there. Moreover, one is a librarian, another a specialist in finding out about lost places.”
Peg smiled and shook out her knitting. “And maybe I’m a mistake, brought along because I was with these two. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll be of some help. You don’t raise eight children—and four of them not your own—without learning a great many things.”
The three humans looked at each other, then Meg turned to Hawtoor. “Is there somewhere private we three can talk? Completely private? I know we all would feel better discussing our options without an audience.”
The owl twisted his head side to side, looking—quite literally—over his shoulders. “Let me see . . . Ah, yes. My office is a complete mess, but there is a secondary office, used by my predecessor. If you close the door, you will have the privacy you crave.”
“Excellent,” Meg said. “Ladies?”
Teg reached and refilled her drinking bowl with more purple coffee, then scooped up a shallow saucer of nuts that looked like thumb-sized almonds, but tasted more like pecans. “I’m with you. Peg?”
Peg was stowing her knitting. “I’ll just leave my knitting here and fill my poffee bowl.”
“Poffee?” Teg asked.
“Purple coffee,” Peg explained. “Easier to say.” She turned to Hawtoor. “May I take some of those eclairs? I am sorry to be such a glutton, but we were going to have lunch after book club.”
“Please,” Hawtoor said, looking slightly dazed. “Take whatever you wish and follow me.”
The room into which Hawtoor guided them was less dusty than Teg had expected, probably because it had been well sealed. It was also sufficiently crowded with shelves of books, a large desk, knickknacks, and furniture to make her wonder if Hawtoor needed to fly to get around his own office.
A large window with a thick pane of glass provided sufficient light for their needs. Hawtoor bustled about, finding them chairs, making sure they were comfortable, and then quickly retreated.
“He probably wants to harangue the kids,” Peg said, seating herself and placing the orange-frosted eclairs where they could each reach them. Teg set the nuts down next to them.
“If I may start,” Meg said, “before we discuss anything else, I would like to know if you agree with my impression that our young inquisitors were each lying.”
Peg nodded. “Absolutely. Not so much lying as withholding information. I am reminded of when my daughter Emily explained how she needed to spend the night at a friend’s house because they were both going to be playing a very early game in a softball tournament. Her friend lived much, much closer to the playing field, and Emily would be able to sleep in an extra hour. All well and good . . . ”
Once Teg would have been annoyed by Peg’s rambling way of making her point, but she’d learned that the discursive discussion was part of the point, so she played along.
“Let me guess . . . The other girl’s parents were out of town, and Emily and her friend were planning to take advantage of this.”
“Bingo!” Peg replied. “They were both good girls, really, and they didn’t have anything terribly wicked planned—not with a tournament game the next day. But the prospect of having a house all to themselves. Well . . . ”
“So,” Meg asked, diverted despite herself. “What did you do?”
“I let Emily know I’d guessed, spoke with her friend’s parents, and then let Emily sleep over. There comes a time when you need to make people live up to their better selves.” She paused and picked up an éclair. “They played very well the next day, too. Came from behind on a triple Emily hit, if I recall correctly.”
She popped the éclair into her mouth to put a period on her sentence.
“So,” Teg said. “Do we challenge our young inquisitors? Let them know we know they haven’t told us the whole truth?”
“Only,” Peg said slightly indistinctly, “if we don’t plan to join them. For all we know, they may be withholding information specifically from Hawtoor. They may tell us more later.”
“Or we may worm it out of them,” Meg laughed. “Each of us in our different ways can be very good at eliciting confidences. That raises the next question. Do we attempt to assist these inquisitors with their inquisitions?”
“If . . . ” Teg paused. “If I knew I was covered at home, I actually would like to try. Hawtoor did say we could go back, so it’s not forever. If we backed out, I’d always wonder what I’d missed.”
“Can you arrange to be ‘covered’?” Meg asked. “You have cats, don’t you?”
“Thought and Memory,” Teg said. “My friend Felicity would be happy to come in to feed them and scoop the boxes. I could tell her I’d been called away to someplace in the back of beyond, out of cell phone reach.”
Meg nodded. “In my case, I believe I can manage to get away.”
“Your kids?” Peg asked. Meg was a widow.
“They would be happy to know I was off travelling with my book-club friends.”
There was something in Meg’s voice that did not invite further inquiry. Teg made a mental note to ask Peg for more information. Peg knew just about everything about everyone, sometimes more than they did about themselves.
“Seems as if you’re going to be the difficult one to manage, Peg,” Teg said instead. “What excuse can you come up with that won’t leave one of your kids panicking?”
Peg smiled. “Happily, most of my kids are at the age where I’ve cut them loose and told them that it’s up to them to make their own mistakes. If they try to get me to solve their problems for them, I bore them with long-winded anecdotes. Probably, I’ll come up with some variation on the ‘going on a trip with friends,’ and they’ll be relieved that I’m doing something with myself other than knitting and reading books.”
“So we’re all in?” Meg asked, sounding pleased.
“Seems like it,” Teg said. “If the inquisitors want us, that is.”
“Oh, they will,” Meg said. “They already are apprehensive. They can’t handle this on their own or they wouldn’t have come to this shrine.” She gestured toward the window, which showed a forested mountain slope, completely devoid of any sign of civilization. “It’s not exactly on the beaten path.”
“Then let’s go tell them that they have three mentors,” Peg said, preparing to pop the last éclair into her mouth, “and hurry home and make our excuses then head back Over Where.”
“‘Over Where’?” Teg asked.
“Over Where,” Peg half-sung to the tune of George M. Cohan’s “Over There.” “We’ve got to call this place something. Over Where sounds good to me.”
Teg watched the three inquisitor’s faces as Meg announced that she, Peg, and Teg would “assist the inquisitors to the best of our abilities.” Reading their expressions wasn’t as difficult as she had thought it might be. Although the fur did mask some expressions, the ears and nostrils gave away a great deal.
She thought she read relief there, as well as a certain degree of . . . What was it? Apprehension? Well, that made sense. Now the inquisitors had no good excuse not to seek out this Library of the Sapphire Wind.
Meg was continuing. “Our agreement to come along is contingent, however, on our being able to return home. We do have other responsibilities, you see.”
“As I said earlier,” Hawtoor replied, “it is possible, complicated but possible. In collaboration, we will construct a key—a talisman might be a better word—that will act as an . . . ”
He looked at Xerak, who was now drinking some of the purple coffee. “An extension of the summoning spell? Would you say that is an accurate description?”
Xerak nodded. “From what you described to me a few minutes ago, yes. I’ve been thinking about the best way to construct the talismans they’ll need. First, we’ll definitely need something . . . uh . . . personal.”
“Not blood,” Peg said firmly. “I will not have anything to do with blood. I’m not afraid of the sight of blood. I simply think cutting each other to seal a bargain sets a bad precedent, no matter all those blood-brotherhood rituals. Although I think they’ve fallen out of fashion since blood types became general knowledge, but kids will be kids.”
“Hair?” Xerak said, somewhat faintly. Peg had that effect on people. “Would you ladies be willing to sacrifice some? You have so little, but it is important that something of you be in the talisman.”
“We certainly can spare some,” Meg said, reaching to touch her own silver locks. “How much will we need?”
Xerak considered. “That will depend on the form of the talisman. Shrine Keeper Hawtoor, what do you recommend?”
“Something that can be worn close to the skin is good.” Hawtoor clattered his beak in what Teg guessed was his equivalent of a frown. “A bracelet, perhaps? But several of you do not have hair long enough to braid.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Vereez said. “We can make yarn.”
“Excellent idea,” Peg said. “It’s been a while, but I took a workshop on spinning and weaving some time ago. As part of that, we made yarn with no more than fiber and our own hands.”
After that, it was only a matter of logistics. Four of them—Peg, Meg, Teg, and Grunwold—had hair, which does not bind well. However, fur combed from Xerak’s mane and Vereez’s tail, as well as some fluffy plant material that Hawtoor supplied, provided a matrix into which the hair was blended. Then all six of them rubbed the fibers between their palms or along the legs of trousers until a length of rough yarn had been spun. When this had been completed and twisted to further tighten the joins, they cut the yarn into three pieces. Finally, Peg reached into her bag and came up with a crochet hook.
“I prefer knitting, but sometimes crochet is very useful.” Then, using chain stitch, she turned the seven-ingredient yarn into three lumpy cords.
Hawtoor had vanished into his study while all the trimming, spinning, and crocheting was going on. Now he emerged with three small stone beads.
“These were shaped from stone cut away when Hettua Shrine was built,” he said, “for purposes such as these. The fur and hair will create a bridge. The stone bead will strengthen the link.”
Teg put down the length of yarn she had been holding. “I was wondering how these talismans will work. Is it like a commuter pass—we can go back and forth at will—or is it more limited?”
“That remains to be seen,” Hawtoor admitted, “but I would not think of these talismans as ferry boats to carry you back and forth simply by ringing a bell and summoning a barge. Just as a ferry cannot be placed anywhere on a river—some places the water is too rough, others the way is too wide, and suchlike—so it is with travel between worlds. This shrine is built where it is because the ways are thinner here. In many places the ways will be thicker.”
Hawtoor glanced at the three inquisitors. “I doubt these three have the patience to sit through an explanation of why, so, suffice to say, that the more populated an area, the more magic actively in use, the thicker the way between places. Again, if a place has been prepared—as this shrine had been prepared—transit will be easier than in an otherwise identical place that has not been prepared.”
“Thank you,” Teg said. “So while we can get home, we shouldn’t count on these bracelets as a . . . ” She started to say “get out of jail free card,” decided that was unfair to the translation spell, and changed to “means of escape if we’re in danger.”
“That is so,” Hawtoor said. “It might work, but it is not a good idea to plan on doing so. Now for the final step. Xerak, I believe it would be best if you took lead, but I will be your second.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Peg said. “Xerak, are you a wizard?”
Xerak shuffled his feet, then shrugged. “I was studying to be one. My master vanished before I was formally inducted, but I have the training, so I am, but I am not formally entitled to the ‘-va,’ at least not in my deepest heart.”
“But,” Vereez protested, “I heard that you were tested by the wizards at Zisurru University and passed at what would have been the head of your class, if you’d been in any class. I’m sure my mother said that was one of the terms your parents set before they’d support your going searching for your master.”
“Yeah, I graduated.” Xerak’s ears pinned back and he hissed like a very large cat. “I want my master to perform the final induction. I’ve been told I am foolish, that he is likely dead, that if he isn’t, his leaving without taking care of such an important responsibility means that he is untrustworthy. I will not give up on him, even if I remain an apprentice in my heart until the end of my days.”
Teg felt distinctly intimidated. She’d begun to think of the inquisitors and Hawtoor as a variation of “normal” and with that “safe.” Now she was reminded that even if they were normal for here—wherever here was—that did not mean they were anything like safe. Peg, however, took Xerak’s reaction in stride.
“Well, then, we’re going to need to find this Uten Kekui, aren’t we? Hawtoor, am I correct in assuming we’ll go back into the shrine for the final enchantment?”
“That’s right. It will take Xerak and me a few minutes to set up, so wait at your ease.”
He motioned to Xerak. As they left, Teg glanced after them and noticed that Xerak’s fur was slightly puffed, like Memory’s when the cat had been confronting an invader to his territory.
Xerak’s holding out on us again, she thought.
“Are you also wizards?” Meg asked Grunwold and Vereez politely.
“Not me,” Grunwold said. “I’m about as magical as a boot.”
Vereez delicately scratched behind one pointed ear. “I can do a little: cantrippy stuff, not the major workings that Xerak can sometimes pull off.”
“So what . . . ” Peg was beginning when Hawtoor emerged.
“We’re ready.”
When the chairs from Pagearean Books had been removed from the stone circle, there was just enough room for the three humans and the three inquisitors to stand facing each other in an irregular ring. Beneath the light of multibranched candelabra that had been set atop the carved stone pillars, the six began the ritual by each looping one finger through the stacked bracelets.
The women—Vereez included—all had fairly dainty fingers. This proved to be a good thing since both Xerak and Grunwold had massive hands. But there was no mistaking Vereez’s hand for that of any of the humans. The back was lightly furred in white, and her nails were sharply tipped and slightly curved: claws rather than nails and deep black—and not from an excess of Goth polish. Xerak also had claws, although the fur—no more dense than the body hair of many a human male Teg had known—on his hands was golden. Grunwold’s hands were the closest to what Teg thought of as “normal,” since they had nails, rather than claws. A light coating of golden-brown hair grew smoothly over the backs of his hands, thinning as it went down the fingers.
Xerak held his spear—which Teg now realized served him as much as a wizard’s staff as a weapon—in his free hand. The spear staff was a beautiful example of the woodworker’s art, with intricate inscriptions worked into the length. The spearhead was quite large, flaked with elegant symmetry. The obsidian of which it was made appeared to be of a dark, translucent sort, with undertones of green. Therefore, Teg was distinctly startled when, as Xerak began chanting, the spearhead began to glow until the stone shone with a rich, flame-hued amber.
Xerak chanted a few more lines, then continued the ritual by thumping the butt of his spear staff onto the stone, an act that created no visual effects but initiated a reverberation Teg felt in her every bone and sinew.
Under Hawtoor’s verbal direction, the six worked their way through elaborate steps and turns that reminded Teg of a contra dance she’d loved back in college. She was so busy concentrating on which foot to put where, when to raise her free hand to rest it on the shoulder of the person to her left (Grunwold), when to drop it, when to touch the looped bracelets with both hands, that she didn’t register just when the character of the simple spun yarn began to change.
Fox fur became ruddy copper, deer hair polished bronze, lion fur brilliant gold, human hair eye-blinding silver. The beads remained grey stone, but now minute etchings, so fine that most must have been done with the point of a pin, were picked out in liquid crystal that coursed with rainbows.
At the conclusion of the ritual, Xerak ceremoniously handed one bracelet to each of the women.
“Loop it around your wrist,” he said, “and I’ll fasten it.”
He did this by using the claw on his index finger rather as Peg had used her crochet hook, looping the ends together into a seamless whole. “The talisman should be loose enough that, in an emergency, you should be able to roll it over your hand and get it off that way. However, it should be tight enough that losing it by accident should be difficult.”
Peg moved her hand back and forth, admiring the effect. “I’ll need to be careful Tasha doesn’t see this. She’s a demon for unusual jewelry.”
Meg, who rarely wore more jewelry than small earrings and a wrist watch, pushed the sleeve of her sweater down over the bracelet, as if embarrassed. However, no trace of any negative opinion she might have had about her new bit of gaudery could be found in her voice.
“If I had not been already convinced, that interesting working would have assured me of the veracity of magic, and that Xerak is a wizard.”
“I am but my master’s apprentice,” Xerak muttered.
Meg ignored him. “Now, how do we go about returning home and coming back here?”
Peg looked worried for the first time. “Do we need to come and go through the bookstore? I don’t think we ever explained. We were at a bookstore—those chairs belong to them.”
Hawtoor considered. “This is a public place? I see . . . Will they be greatly inconvenienced by the loss of three chairs?”
“Somewhat,” Meg said. “These are some of the nicer ones. Still, I think they would be more inconvenienced by us popping in out of nowhere.”
“Then here is what I suggest,” Hawtoor said. “Where do you live?”
They each started to reply, then Peg spoke over the jumble of addresses. “We don’t live together. You do realize that? We’re not related or anything. We’re just friends. We meet once a month for a book club, then go out to lunch after. This time—probably because it’s Valentine’s Day—we were the only ones who showed up.”
Teg wondered what the translation spell made of “Valentine’s Day,” but either it found a cognate or the locals were willing to accept a certain amount of garble.
Meg added. “Will the spell work to take us each back to our own homes, or will we need to pick one place to meet?”
“I think it should take you to your own homes,” Xerak replied, glancing over at Hawtoor, who nodded agreement.
“Very good,” Meg said. “Then I’ll take the chairs. I can tip one of the retirement community’s van drivers to drop them off at Pagearean Books when he does his afternoon run to the shopping center. Now”—she turned her attention to Peg and Teg—“how long do you think you’ll need to make your necessary arrangements?”
“A day?” Teg hazarded. “Less if I can reach my cat sitter. I’d like time to shop for a few things as well.”
She looked over at the three inquisitors. “How are we going to travel to this Library of the Sapphire Wind? What is the climate like? What sort of clothing should we pack? Will we be hiking?”
Vereez smiled, somewhat wickedly, Teg thought. “We will need to figure out how we’re getting there. Until not long ago, we had no idea that would be our destination. As for clothing and climate . . . Why don’t we acquire clothing for you? Honestly . . . ” Her ears flickered, telegraphing that she was uncomfortable with what she was about to say. “Please don’t be offended, but we’re going to need to figure out how to disguise you. Your faces are very strange!”
And this, Teg thought, from someone with a fox’s head, fur on her hands, and tidy black claws instead of fingernails.
“We’re not offended,” Peg said quickly. She clearly was about to start quizzing the inquisitors for more information about their world, but Teg, aware of the tip of Xerak’s tail twitching with impatience, cut in.
“Is it likely,” Teg asked, “that at some point we may need to hike?”
Grunwold nodded. “I have some ideas about how we may be able to travel fairly swiftly to the vicinity of the library ruins, but once we’re there . . . I’m not sure how long it will take for us to find the door mentioned in your verse. That will certainly take some hiking around the ruins.”
Teg turned to the others. “So, lightweight hiking boots, if you have them. Underwear—because Vereez might have trouble finding a type we’d like. Do you both have daypacks?”
Peg nodded. Meg shook her head.
“I have extras. I’ll bring you one, Meg. And I have lightweight water bottles, too.”
“Medication,” Meg said. “I’m on a few prescriptions, and I don’t think it’s likely that we’ll find a pharmacist who can blend what we need here.”
“Extra glasses,” Peg added. “Even older prescriptions would be better than none. And contact lenses could be a problem.”
Meg smiled and touched the reading glasses on the lanyard around her neck. “I never thought I’d be glad I had cataract surgery! I only need reading glasses these days.”
Teg had only recently started needing reading glasses. As with many people her age, the mild nearsightedness that had meant she needed driving glasses in her thirties and forties had been balanced by the farsightedness that came with age.
“We can phone each other once we’re home,” she reminded them, “if we think of anything else, but the plan should be to pack light, focusing on things we don’t think we’ll be able to get here, and trust our young associates to cover the rest. So, shall we plan to meet here again in twenty-four hours? We can coordinate our departures so we get back here about the same time.”
Hawtoor and Xerak had been moving things about, apparently preparatory to the ritual that would permit the humans to return home. Now Hawtoor straightened his shoulders and put on his lecturer mode again.
“One at a time, you’ll step through this arch.” He pointed, although it was obvious which he meant. “Xerak and I have told the spell to take you to your current home. When you wish to return to this shrine, choose a door in your home, grasp the handle or knob with the hand of the arm on which you are wearing your talisman. Make as if to open it in the reverse of the way you normally would—that is, if it is a door you would normally push in, pull. If you would normally open it toward you, push.”
“Very neatly arranged,” Meg said. “Which of you ladies wants to go first?”
“Wait!” Peg grabbed Meg by one shoulder, as if afraid the older woman would go racing through the gate. “Time! I was remembering old stories . . . Remember how in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when Lucy first goes through to Narnia she comes back thinking everyone will have been worried about her, but instead they laugh at her because, although from her point of view she’s been gone for hours, only a few minutes have passed at her home?”
Meg and Teg nodded.
Peg continued, panic making her voice rise. “Do we have any idea if time passes at the same rate here and there? What if it’s like Rip van Winkle and we return to find hundreds of years have gone by? We might not even have homes!”
“Are either of you wearing a watch?” Meg asked.
Teg shook her head, but Peg pushed up her sleeve to show a neat electronic model. “A smart watch,” she said, touching the button on the side. “A gift from young Henry. But it seems to be dead.”
“My watch is an old mechanical model,” Meg said, “an anniversary gift from my late husband. It was about eleven when we were summoned. A fair number of hours passed while we prepared the talismans. My watch now reads 6:00 p.m., which would be about right. However, that does not mean that time has passed at the same rate as at home.”
“Off the topic, but Meg’s smart watch frotzing does confirm something I’d been wondering,” Teg put in. “Looks as if we shouldn’t bother bringing computers or anything electronic. Even if we could figure out how to recharge the batteries, they probably wouldn’t work here. We’d probably better pack mechanical timepieces, too.”
Peg nodded to acknowledge Teg’s point, but asked anxiously, “Hawtoor, Xerak, is there any way you can check how much time has passed at home?”
Hawtoor clacked his beak in agitation. “Not in advance,” he said, “but if one of you go partway through the gate, once our worlds are connected, Xerak and I may be able to calculate something.”
“Oh!” Peg said anxiously. “Let’s get on with it. I don’t know what I’ll do if everyone back home is dead!”
The three inquisitors looked equal parts guilty and frightened. Clearly, they hadn’t thought through the implications of pulling other people from their lives and worlds, only about their own needs.
“I’ll go first,” Teg said. “Hawtoor, when you have the information you need, should I step back or go ahead?”
“Back if you can,” Hawtoor said. “That way you can learn the results of our calculations. I’ll call for you to step back into Hettua Shrine when we have gathered enough information.”
“Right,” Teg said, shouldering her purse and her messenger bag, just in case. “Through the arch, right? Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Ready,” said Xerak, touching one hand to the side of the arch as he braced his staff on the stone floor.
“Ready,” said Hawtoor, also touching the arch. Instead of a staff, he held a classic hourglass in his free hand. “Go!”
Teg did. For a moment she saw her bedroom, Thought and Memory curled asleep on the bed. Then, almost instantly, she heard Hawtoor say, “Back, Teg-lial!”
She felt a pricking in her shoulder, and realized it was Xerak’s clawed hand reaching to pull her back. Feeling as if she was pushing against a strong current, Teg stepped back into the shrine.
“Thanks, Xerak. The hard part was turning. Actually, going toward home was harder.”
Hawtoor was studying the hourglass he held in his hand, comparing it to another that rested on the floor just outside the stone circle, and scribbling calculations on a slate. He spoke in stops and starts as he worked his equations.
“That is because you were doing the equivalent of moving against the current. Apparently, time moves more slowly where you come from, more rapidly here.”
“Like Narnia, again?” Peg said. “I’m not sure I like that. Didn’t the four children—Lucy, Peter, Edmund, and Susan—grow up in Narnia, rule for decades, then go home again?”
“Yes,” Meg said. “That’s how the story went. However, when Lucy and the rest of them returned home, they were children again. I would guess that somehow they were rooted in the place in which they originated.”
“Rip van Winkle was rooted in his own timeline too,” Peg said. “Except in his case, he thought he was gone just overnight, but apparently overnight there was decades at his home.”
“There are a lot of stories like that,” Teg said thoughtfully, “in many cultures. I suppose we’ll just need to find out how the passage of time affects us in our own situation. That or quit and somehow—and I realize it’s different for you two, because you have families and all—but I don’t want to quit.”
“Me either,” Meg said quietly. “This is the most interesting thing I’ve done since I retired.”
“I don’t want to quit either,” Peg said, then added, “As I was telling Roberto the other day, we do our best to plan for old age—take out insurance, eat right, get exercise—but there’s no certainty that we won’t get hit by a bus. I could pass up helping these young people, then find out that I have cancer and don’t have long to live anyhow. Sometimes, you just need to take a risk.”
“So, what’s the time difference?” Grunwold asked Hawtoor, who seemed to have concluded his calculations and was now hooting softly to himself as he studied the results. “I hope it isn’t like this Rip van Winkle they keep mentioning. If a day there is a hundred years here, well, either they’d better do without their fresh underwear and spectacles or we might as well do without their ‘help.’”
His inflection on the final word made clear that he still wasn’t at all certain what help three old ladies might have to offer.
“There is a time difference, but it’s not that extreme,” Hawtoor replied. “Xerak, I’d like you to check my work, but I think that the difference is about one to seven. The time these ladies have spent here—even with the delay to make the yarn for the talisman—should have cost them about an hour in their own world.”
“That will make our being gone much easier to cover for as well,” Peg said. “If we go home for a day, that will give you young people a week to make arrangements for our journey, yes?”
Xerak looked up from the figures and nodded that he agreed with the old owl’s calculations. He looked frustrated, doubtless kicking himself for insisting on rushing the summoning since they would be delayed anyhow. However, Grunwold looked pleased. Teg wondered if this would give him time to make the travel arrangements he’d mentioned.
Vereez said with a cockiness that Teg was coming to think was typical of her, “If you ladies will delay long enough for me to get your measurements, a week will definitely give time for us to get clothing for you.”
When Hawtoor supplied a measuring tape, Teg realized that, if she didn’t think about it, the tape seemed to be marked in standard Arabic numerals. However, if she concentrated, she could almost make out the “real” numerals. Trying made the space behind her forehead ache, and she thought she’d settle for being grateful that the translation spell seemed to extend to at least some basic reading.
“Then we’ll see you in a week, your time,” Peg said when Vereez had finished. “Since my watch isn’t working, I’ll check the time as soon as I get home. Teg? Still want to go first? I’ll follow. That will get me out of the way while they figure out how to get the chairs to Meg’s.”
Teg nodded. “Talk to you in just a bit.”
Then she stepped forward, pushed, as if indeed moving against a current or a strong wind, and found herself in her bedroom once more.
Neither Thought (a longhaired grey-brown tabby) nor Memory (a pale golden shorthair) were very surprised to see her. After all, for them, Teg had been only gone for a couple of hours, and they’d had an early lunch.
Nonetheless, Teg paused long enough to hug each one tightly. Then she checked the clock on her dresser and noted the time: just past noon. On a normal day, they would be winding up the book club meeting, and deciding where to go for lunch. Methodically, Teg made a note of the time in one of the small blank notebooks she intended to pack, then checked the status of her wardrobe.
She’d just finished tossing a load of laundry into her machine so she’d have enough clean underwear when her phone rang.
“Teg? Meg. How large is the daypack you are going to loan me?”
“I’ve an assortment. How about I run over there and bring you a few choices? We can also check what style of straps fit you most comfortably.”
“That would be kind. I would like to wait here for the people who are coming over to get the chairs.”
“How did you manage to carry three chairs?”
“Hawtoor put them on a platform with wheels—sort of a primitive moving dolly—and I pushed them in front of me. I won’t lie. It was tough going, but I managed. I’ll bring the dolly back with me when we return. Anomalies would not be a good idea, just in case . . . ”
. . . we don’t make it back, Teg finished in her thoughts.
“Right. I can be to your place in about an hour. I need to get a couple cases of cat food. I also want to drop by a drugstore for some basics like extra-strength aspirin, muscle rub, and bandages.” And cigarettes.
“Good. I’ve been wondering. Do you think we’ll need to take our medication based on time there or time here?”
“I have no idea,” Teg said. “Do you take anything that will kill you if you get the dosage wrong?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been blessed with good health.”
“Me, too. My biggest problem is thyroid and I’m on a low dose of meds. I was thinking about splitting the difference. It’ll make the pills last longer, too. I never thought I’d be grateful that my insurance insists I buy three months at one time!”
“That seems like a sound compromise. See you in about an hour.”
Teg packed with her phone at her ear, making calls (Felicity the cat sitter was available and had no problems with Teg not knowing exactly when she’d be back) and taking calls when either Peg or Meg phoned to consult over some point or another. She dashed over to Meg’s and was able to outfit her friend with a lightweight pack with numerous outside pockets. At the store, she added cough drops and a freshly stocked first-aid kit to her list. Then she hurried home.
Teg had a lot of practice getting ready for fieldwork, but it had been years since she had to think about packing only what she could carry. Nonetheless, old habits reasserted themselves. Despite Vereez’s assurances that she would arrange for appropriate clothing, Teg had packed (and suggested the other two pack) lightweight rain ponchos; sturdy, flexible gloves; collapsible umbrellas; and a few other of those items that made modern life so much more comfortable.
At the appointed time, Teg shouldered on her sturdy daypack overstuffed with useful items and strategically placed crushable packs of cigarettes. Then, after hugging Thought and Memory, Teg grasped the knob on her closet door and pushed. She stepped into what felt like a rapid current, pushing her into her unlooked for but not unwelcome adventure.
When Teg arrived she was struck by the oddness of seeing Meg and Peg made unfamiliar by being wrenched out of the context in which she’d always known them. She’d never seen Meg wearing anything but a dress. Peg’s attire varied more, but she was always stylish in a slightly bohemian fashion, as befitted someone who’d claimed to have performed at the Fillmore West in San Francisco.
Peg liked to say that when the band Jefferson Airplane had been looking for a new female vocalist when Signe Anderson was planning to retire, the choice had been between Janis Joplin, Gracie Slick, and herself, only she’d still been a minor. Teg often wondered if this was true.
Today the elegant librarian and the once-upon-a-hippy were gone.
Both women wore work pants. Meg’s were cargo pants, somewhat dirt stained around the knees. Peg’s were jeans: not the lightweight, useless sort usually sold to women, but made from the thicker fabric reserved for men. With her jeans, Meg wore a practical ensemble of tee shirt, pocketed work shirt, and jacket. Peg’s tee shirt was topped with a heavy, hand-knitted cardigan. Both wore lightweight hiking boots, again showing evidence of prior use.
Meg had swept her silvery-white hair back into a neat pony tail, clipping the trailing wisps near her face into place with flat barrettes. She wore just a little makeup.
Given the lightning-strike sharpness of the streaks, Peg had probably taken some of her twenty-four hours to go to the beauty parlor and have her “do” freshened. Peg also wore makeup, but more subdued than what she wore to book club.
Like Meg, Teg wore cargo pants, hers reinforced at the knees with heavy patches. She also had gone for layers on top—long-sleeved tee shirt, canvas shirt, Army-surplus leather jacket. Her belt was hung with numerous sheaths, including ones for a trowel, knife, compass, tape measure, and cell phone. The phone would definitely be outside its service area, so she’d left it, but she’d figured the case might come in handy.
Unlike the others, Teg didn’t bother with makeup, having grown accustomed to not wearing any except for social occasions. She wished she’d thought to freshen up her hair dye, though. For the first time, Teg realized that the inquisitors and Hawtoor had probably taken this for her natural coloration. Well, it did go with her dark brown eyes.
The inquisitors and Hawtoor were looking at the three humans with astonishment.
“You are very altered,” said Vereez at last. “Did you not believe me when I said I would provide attire for you?”
“We did,” Meg said speaking for them all since they’d discussed this point at length on the phone, “but from what you said, this Library of the Sapphire Wind is in an isolated area—and a dangerous one. We thought it would be wise to have at least one complete change of our own attire suited for that environment.”
Vereez clapped her hands in delight. “Wise! Very wise! Now, if you will accept the clothing I have selected for you, we will explain to you the plans we have made this past week while you were away. I have set your new attire in the office you used once before—I even cleared up some of the mess so you can move about despite the clutter.”
Peg looked as relieved as Teg felt. She’d done her share of locker-room changing. On field projects where water had been limited, she’d even shared mixed-sex showers, but as she had grown older, she’d realized that the nudity taboos ingrained into American culture had not passed her by. Changing in front of strangers would have made her very shy. It was going to be hard enough in front of Peg and Meg.
Maybe because I know I’m not young and—if not “pretty”—my body shows the passage of time. These days I’m fit enough, but still . . . I’m not a strong, young animal anymore. I guess I feel more vulnerable.
Vereez led them into the office. “That stack is for Meg, this for Teg, this for Peg. Don’t open the boxes quite yet. The contents will take some explaining.”
The fox woman was obviously very pleased with herself. Glancing at the three heaps, Teg thought she had every reason to be so. Her shopping expedition had doubtless involved a hike into civilization, then a visit to a tailor. Or did this world have off-the-rack clothes?
“If you need any help figuring out how something fits on,” Vereez said, pulling the door shut behind her, “just call.”
Vereez had hardly completed her polite withdrawal when Grunwold’s voice came from the other room, slightly muffled by the door but perfectly understandable.
“After a great deal of discussion, we’ve agreed that our best option would be to use a conveyance belonging to my parents.”
The word “conveyance” sounded awkward, as if the translation spell had searched among numerous options and come up with the least incorrect.
“It will carry all of us and, even better, can travel well on both air and water. It is less suitable for land, but there is a conversion package. Even better, it has lockers above deck and several roomy cabins below, so we will be able to travel with ample supplies and in some comfort.”
By unspoken consent, the three women had taken their assigned pile of clothing, turned to offer each other a modicum of privacy, and were now stripping off their field gear. From the corner of her eye, Teg could see Peg pause in the act of pulling off her tee shirt.
“That sounds ideal, Grunwold. Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?”
Grunwold laughed. “Because if we are to use Slicewind, we will need to steal it.”
“What!” The exclamation was general and, if Teg heard correctly, included Hawtoor.
“Didn’t I tell you? My father has expressly forbidden anyone to attempt to find a cure for him. He says he doesn’t want anyone at risk.”
“I don’t suppose you could make an excuse for borrowing this ‘conveyance’?” Peg asked.
“Would you believe any of your children if they said they needed to borrow a craft such as I have described for any routine purpose?”
“No. You’re right. I wouldn’t.” Sotto voce, Peg addressed the other humans. “I can’t believe it. We’re going to start this crazy quest, or whatever you want to call it, by stealing the family sports yacht.”
“It is a wise solution,” Meg said, her voice pitched to carry. “I am not certain I could walk more than a few miles at a time, and it has been many years since I have ridden.”
Teg—remembering deer ears, lion ears, fox ears—wondered if raising their voices was necessary. Quite likely the three inquisitors—and maybe even Hawtoor, although she had no idea how well owls heard—had caught Peg’s comment.
“Riding animals don’t travel all that much faster than do people afoot,” Vereez explained, “at least over a long journey, although they do carry a great deal more weight. We did discuss the possibility of taking boats for much of the distance, then switching to mounts, but then we would need to worry about food for our mounts. We cannot count on good grazing in the area into which we are going. Foolhardy as it may seem at first glance, stealing Slicewind is the most practical way to travel.”
Grunwold took up the briefing, explaining more about what they should expect. Although Hettua Shrine was isolated, there was an arrangement with a village downriver that would ferry pilgrims to the shrine, then return for them. The plan was for them to leave the shrine that very day. The inquisitors had already booked passage on a larger boat that would take them to where they could travel to Grunwold’s family estate.
Even as she listened, the anthropologist part of Teg was busy trying to figure something out about the culture from the clothing she was now putting on. The bottom part of the costume—she couldn’t get away from the feeling she was getting dressed for an elaborate Halloween party—consisted of trousers that were loose without being baggy. She recalled that all four of the natives they’d met had worn trousers. No skirts or robes, although both Hawtoor’s and Xerak’s over tunics had been ankle length.
The trousers had a neat slit at the back, probably for a tail, but Teg couldn’t get away from the feeling that she had a tear in the seat of her pants. The trousers tightened at the waist with a drawstring, eliminating the need for a belt.
Next came a shirt, long sleeved and slightly blousy in the cut of the sleeves. Not quite pirate or Regency dandy, but something like. Over this came a sleeveless tunic that fell to midthigh. This also possessed a tail slit.
There was a belt to go over the tunic, with a neat leather purse that slid onto the belt. Teg thought she could probably get some of her tool sheaths onto the belt as well. The final touch was a garment that was too loose to be called a jacket, but it had sleeves, so it wasn’t really a cloak or cape. It did have a hood. Teg guessed that she’d be wearing that to help hide her physical oddities.
The boots were beautiful works of tooled leather, coming to just below the knees, and lacing up. Teg had noticed that the three inquisitors all wore their trousers tucked into their boots, so she followed suit, noticing that the trousers were tailored to fold in without causing undue bulk.
The cut of the clothing was a sufficient hybrid of what Teg thought of as Asian and European elements to be their own style. Nonetheless, there were only so many practical ways to cover a bipedal frame, and many of those choices had more to do with how easy it was to manufacture large pieces of fabric. If this took hard labor, you didn’t cut it into little bits. Instead you wore drapes, robes, tartans, and the like. Many of the flourishes of costume that made for fashion had nothing to do with need, were instead the result of custom, social role, and, frankly, the desire to show off.
So, Teg thought, looking at her still unopened box and wondering what it held. We have a culture in which textile production has reached at least that of the large loom. There must be a good trade network or Vereez wouldn’t have been able to lay her hands on fabrics as nice as these in what the translation spell is calling a “village.”
She slipped on her jacket and turned to inspect her friends. Teg had noticed without thinking much about it that the colors of her own costume were dominated by darker blues and purples. Now she saw that Peg’s ranged through the darker greens—emerald to forest—accented with golden yellows. Meg’s costume was built around charcoal and lighter grey, touched here and there with a cobalt blue that drew out the color of her eyes.
“Wow,” Teg said. “If Vereez ever wants a job as a fashion consultant, I know where we could get her one. You ladies look great!”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Peg said, patting her hair into place and trying to get a look at herself with the mirror on her compact. “I wish I had a full-length mirror.”
“Are you ready to see what’s in your boxes?” Vereez called from the other side of the door. She peeked around the edge, and then, seeing Meg’s nod, came in. She frisked between them, straightening a hem here, raising a collar there, but mostly looking very pleased.
“Go ahead,” Vereez prompted. “Open the boxes and I’ll explain.”
Teg did and found herself confronted with a lynx-faced mask, a set of gloves, and a stubby tail that coordinated with the mask. Meg’s mask was of a black-and-white badger, Peg’s of a pronghorn antelope.
“Sometimes the people who come to the shrine don’t want to be recognized,” Vereez explained. “After all, not everyone who comes here is a holdback looking for guidance. After you left, Hawtoor recalled that there was a chest with masks and prosthetic tails in one of his storerooms.”
“You’ll find they’re fairly comfortable,” Xerak said. “Given how flat your faces are, you can even slide food under them to eat, although drinking will work better if you use a straw. We have some packed.”
“We were lucky to find some sets without long tails,” Grunwold said. “We didn’t think you could handle long tails at all naturally.”
“Won’t anyone notice that we did not arrive in these disguises?” Meg asked, lifting the badger mask to her face and peering out through the eyeholes. Framed by the dark stripes, her pale blue eyes were startling in contrast.
Hawtoor shook his head. “If they do, they will not ask. They will assume that I advised you to change your appearance. I do, sometimes. That is how I acquired these.”
“This certainly will work for departing the shrine,” Peg agreed. “But what about after we arrive at the village?”
“We thought of that,” Grunwold said, sounding put-upon. “We came up with a bunch of possible options for why you’d stay masked, then settled on telling anyone who asks that you had suffered greatly in a fire. We are your assistants as you go to seek healing.”
“That’s clever,” Peg said. “Burn injuries are ugly. Very few are likely to even try to peek.”
“Even those who are rude enough to be curious,” Vereez said, “won’t have much of an opportunity. When we arranged for the ferry, we also reserved a suite at a dockside inn. You will stay in your rooms until it is time for us to catch the boat the next day.”
If she noticed the three humans staring at her in utter astonishment, Vereez did a very good job of pretending not to notice.