Lamma's Night (anthology)

Jemuel was stoking the fire with a poker and raised an eyebrow. 'A little before my time, but he was alive when I came to this village.'

'Was he in trouble?'

Jemuel replaced the poker in its stand and wiped his hands on his gown, and took a seat in his chair. 'Aren't we all, at some time or another?'

'I want to show you an image, and I want you to tell me if it is Stephen.'

Jemuel nodded, slowly. 'All right.'

Miranda lay back and whispered something, and brought the image forward, of the wizard whose spirit she had been talking to so much, and of late had shown such ardor in the library. The wizard she saw fighting with another man at the well on Stephen's land. She saw the images and drew from them, one after the other, here a profile, there a badly lit front view. An image from a mirror. She extracted the details and set them in the image of a man, and cast it at Jemuel.

Jemuel sat, receiving the image, and studied it. After a while he turned the image away. 'Hmm.'

'Is it Stephen?'

'This is the spirit in Stephen's house?'

'Is it Stephen?'

'Of course not,' Jemuel snapped. 'You knew that, too, or you wouldn't have come all the way out here to ask me. Wrong question. Try again, Miranda.'

'Who is it?'

Jemuel smiled and wagged his finger as he got up from his chair and went to his shelves. 'You know, I spent some time on special assignment with the Circle as well, before I received placement. If you pay attention you can find out interesting things. Secrets are hard to keep among wizards.' He pulled out a book and held it at an angle, and Miranda could read the title, in gold: Roster, under Fredren. 'Fredren was the head of the Circle when I was young, this is a roster of the Inner Circle. I think we'll find what we're looking for here.'

The older man flipped through the pages, and letting out a small exclamation, lay the book on his desk. He beckoned to Miranda. 'Here's your Stephen.'

Miranda looked. She had no surprise to gasp out, either. There, in a woodcut of the Inner Circle of Stephen's time, was the image she had carried here. Pointed chin and wide cheekbones, a good, hawklike nose. And under it, the name. 'Dervish,' she said.

'You know him?' Jemuel asked.

'The names of the Inner Circle are kept secret, aren't they?'

He nodded. 'For the period in which they serve, yes. I got this much later.'

Miranda thought for a second. After recounting what she could from the journal entries, she said, 'Why would the Circle have sent one of their own to pose as a village idiot and get into Stephen's good graces?'

'More than that,' said Jemuel, 'Why would he then allow his wizard abilities to show?'

Miranda sat back on Jemuel's familiar rug. 'To entrap Stephen. Maybe they thought he would preach the Gospel of the Opening, as it were, to Dervish.'

Jemuel said, 'And how do you feel? Do you feel entrapped?'

'In what way?'

'Have you been doing a little preaching, Miranda?'

Miranda leaned forward. 'What we speak of must never be mentioned again.'

'Of course, ' Jemuel said. 'I'm too old to go about burning witches. At any rate, I trust you to keep what must be kept to yourself.'

'I understand. This spirit, Dervish apparently, wants me to cast a spell. I have two choices, come Lammas Night.'

'And they are?'

'Banishment, or flesh.'

'I don't see the problem.'

'There is a spell attached to the flesh spell. I understand Dervish wanting to be flesh again, but the attached spell is not the kind of thing I think such a die-hard Circle man would approve.'

'I'm not sure I want to know its nature,' said Jemuel, in all seriousness. 'Is it the kind of spell Stephen would want?'

'Yes.'

'But...'

'But it doesn't add up. If these two were enemies in the end, why would Dervish's reward be tied to Stephen's?'

'Things are not always as they seem.'

'Indeed,' said Miranda,

'I think if I were you, I'd try to talk to the real Stephen,' said Jemuel.

Miranda was staring into the coals of the fire. 'I think I know just where to go. I must excuse myself, Jemuel, you've been very helpful.'