The Magehound

"In truth, an explanation would be in order," Matteo said. "For what are you searching? What is worth the risks that you've taken?"

For once Tzigone gave a straight and simple answer. "I'm looking for my ancestry."

Matteo's brow furrowed. "This is so important?"

"I can see why you wouldn't think so. You've never known family."

"All jordaini are taken to the school shortly after birth," he agreed. "It is the traditional way."

"But haven't you ever wondered who your family were?"

He gave that careful thought. "From time to time, I have wondered who might have given me birth. But the jordaini are my brothers, and I have known no real lack. Your situation is different, I take it?"

"Yes," she said shortly. "I had a mother, and I won't rest until I find her. Don't you ever wonder what happened to yours?"

"She was a woman grown when she gave birth. I understand that jordaini births are usually predicted by the matchmakers, so she knew from the onset that she would bear a child only to give it up. This is done willingly, for the good of the land. The parents are well compensated, as they have no children to care for them in their old age, and they are greatly honored for their sacrifice."

Tzigone stared at him for a long moment. "Come with me," she said abruptly and began to slide down the tree.

Less than two hours later, they stood in the doorway of a one-room cottage, one of several such cottages, all identical and clustered around a simple garden surrounded by a tall, thick wall.

"What place is this?" Matteo asked in a whisper. There was something about the place, pleasant though it was, that inhibited the spirit.

"Go inside," Tzigone said.

Matteo paused at the doorway and spoke the traditional pledge tradition required of all Halruaans, swearing that no magic would be worked within this house.

"Do not mock me," said a small, anguished whisper.

He came fully into the room and peered into the shadows that lingered by the unlit hearth. A woman huddled there, curled up on a chair like a weeping child.

"That was not my intention, mother," he said softly, using the polite form for unknown women of her apparent years. "My words were a greeting such as any might speak. They are also truth, for I am jordaini."

The word hit her like an arrow. She looked up, her eyes wild in her white face. "A jordain!"

Matteo couldn't comprehend her distress, but he had no wish to add to it. "Your pardon, good mother." he said, bowing. "We will go."

The mad light faded from the woman's eyes, leaving her face listless and dull. "Go or stay. It matters not."

Tzigone shoved at him from behind, prompting him farther into the room. While Matteo stood, feeling awkward and helpless, she bustled about, opening the shutters to let in the sun, plumping up cushions, building up the hearth fire, and putting water and a handful of herbs in the kettle. She brought the woman a cup of tea and curved her thin hands around it, guiding it to her lips until memory took over and the woman drank on her own. Through it all, Tzigone kept up a soft, steady stream of chatter-gently humorous tales of life in the city beyond these walls, entertaining stories that probably had no basis in reality.

Matteo listened with only partial attention as he watched the girl tend this unknown woman. And he knew, without understanding the reason, that his choice that day had been the right one.

Finally the woman drifted into sleep. Tzigone pulled a thin blanket over her and rose. Her eyes were bleak as she met Matteo's considering gaze.

"You are kind," he said softly.

She shrugged this aside impatiently. "There is little that anyone can do for her, other than the odd small kindness."

That the poor woman was insane was obvious to Matteo. "What happened, to shatter her so?"

"Magic," Tzigone said grimly, gazing at the pale, wasted face. "Once this woman was a powerful wizard, married to another wizard in a match made by still another. It was predicted that a child of their blood would likely be jordain.

"The woman wanted children of her own to keep and love, but she was assured that only one jordain was ever born to a family. So she did her duty and consented to the match.

"Time passed, but there was no child. She and her husband were greatly concerned. He offered to bring potions for her that would bolster her health and promote conception. For nearly five years, this continued. What the woman never knew," Tzigone said in a tight, angry voice, "was that she was taking potions that twisted the natural course of her magic and that of the child she would bear. All of the power that might have become magic was refocused, so that her child might have great talents of mind and body."

The words seemed too fantastic for belief. "Is this one of your stories?" he asked tentatively.

Tzigone focused her eyes on his and let him judge what he saw in them.