Keeper Of The Light Read Free Page A

Sabha would say nothing except her husband’s name, over and over again. She seemed not to know that anyone else was there.
    Rioghan reached beneath the neckline of her own black wool gown and lifted out a slender chain of gold. The chain was Sidhe made, delicate and beautiful, and hanging from it was a long, slim pendant of polished crystal.
    Holding the pendant with one hand, Rioghan sat up and placed her other hand on Sabha’s head, smoothing the woman’s long dark hair back as she did. “Now, Sabha,” she said softly, “show me what you wish me to know. The crystal of seeing will allow me to see it, too. It will show me what you wish me to know. It will show me all that I need to know.”
    “Airt,” whispered Sabha, and Rioghan closed her eyes.
    Into her mind came the image of a house—this very house, Rioghan realized, for the arrangement of doors and windows and ledges was identical. The same bunches of dried primrose and red clover hung on the wall near the window, the same dented bronze pan rested beside the hearth, and the same gray-black tunic lay in the straw near the head of the sleeping ledge.
    On that ledge, lit now by the pale, filtered light of the late-afternoon sun, were the same fur cloaks stitched together from the skins of badger and hare, and the same soft leather cushions stuffed with straw…but on those furs lay a slender blond woman, naked in the cold winter air, moaning in pleasure and grasping her lover’s back as the young, dark-haired man kissed her hard on the neck, pinned her down, and mounted her.
    There were no gentle caresses, no words of love between the pair. They grunted and groaned and coupled like animals.
    Rioghan realized that there was something strange about this man: there was a faint discoloration to his bare skin, a grayness, as though something unclean, something poisonous, had come over him. She frowned, even as she kept her eyes closed—and then, in her vision, the door of the house opened and Sabha walked inside.
    Rioghan could feel rather than hear Sabha’s wail of despair. The man in these images was her husband, Airt, and on this day he had brought another woman into their house and the furs where they slept.
    Rioghan released the crystal. “Oh, Sabha,” she whispered, and held the other woman like a child. Sabha collapsed with her head on Rioghan’s lap, clutched her around the waist, and wept at last.

Chapter Two
    Rioghan lifted a small bronze cauldron from the fire and placed it on the hearth. The water inside was boiling. Opening her black leather bag, she took out a handful of dried white-and-yellow flower heads and added them to the pot. A brief search of the house yielded a clean wooden cup and a little honey.
    After the flowers had steeped for a time, she poured some of the cauldron’s mixture into the cup, added some honey, and stirred it with a slender wooden paddle.
    Sabha still lay in the straw, though now she wept instead of chillingly calling her husband’s name. Rioghan carried the steaming cup over to her and sat down on the carpet of straw. “Sabha,” she said, giving the woman a little shake. “Sabha, sit up now. I have brought you something to drink—and I must ask you a question.”
    Slowly Sabha opened her red and swollen eyes, and then she sat up to look at her visitor. “Rioghan,” she said. “Oh, Rioghan—what has he done?”
    “I know, I know. I have seen it all. You need not tell it again. Here…drink this.”
    Sabha took the cup and sipped at the strong, sweet tea. In moments the cup was empty, and she allowed it to fall to the straw and roll away. She turned back to Rioghan. “You said you wanted to ask me a question.”
    Rioghan reached out and took Sabha’s hands. “This thing your husband has done…I can tell you it was not his choice alone. I could see the touch of dark magic on him. This woman, whoever she is—”
    “Coiteann.” Sabha’s voice held the utmost contempt. “She is the servant who makes dyes,