“You seem to be in some distress,” said Celeste, riding forward.
“My string, my wood,” wailed the hag, holding up the cord and gesturing at the scatter of sticks. “How can I cook my meals if I cannot gather wood? And how can I gather wood if I have no string to bind it?”
“Madam, let me help,” said Celeste, springing down from her steed.
“Cherie,” said Roel, an edge of warning in his voice.
But Celeste took the twine from the hands of the crone and quickly tied it, and then gathered the branches and woody twigs in a pile and swiftly bundled them. “Roel, would you please bear this into yon cote for the widowed goodwife?”
With the frail hag yet on her knees, Roel looked at Celeste and noted the keeper on her long-knife was loose, the weapon ready should there be a need. Sighing, he dismounted, and took up the sheaf and bore it into the cottage. Even as he passed through the door, the goody again glanced at the sun.
“By the mark of the day, I name you Verdandi, I name you Lady Lot, She Who Sees the Everlasting Now,” said Celeste.
A shimmer of light came over the hag, and of a sudden there stood a matronly woman with golden eyes and yellow hair, and there came to Celeste’s ears the sound of looms weaving.
“Clever, Celeste,” said Verdandi. “How did you know? I could just as well have been a witch.”
“When we first espied you the sun was just then entering the noontide, neither morning nor afternoon, but in the place between, the time of the Middle of the Three Sisters. And the moment you first glanced at the sun, I became suspicious, for my family somehow seems bound to you Three, and I knew I had to act.”
“Ah, no mystery, then?”
“I was not certain until you glanced at the sun a second time. And of course I now see you as you are and I hear the looms.”
Verdandi smiled and said, “Perhaps you see me as I truly am, but then again perhaps not. Regardless, I have come to aid you.”
“Say on, Lady Lot.”
“You must first answer a riddle, for that is a rule we Three live by.”
Celeste nodded and said, “Might we wait for Roel?”
“He will not be coming,” said Verdandi. “ ’Tis yours alone to answer, and to you alone will I give my rede.” Celeste sighed. “Ask the riddle, then.” The sound of looms increased, and Verdandi said:
Celeste’s heart sank, and she despaired.
Verdandi laughed. “Princess, did you realize you just now made a rhyme of your own?”
Celeste frowned. “I did? Oh, I see: ‘lost by day’ and
‘the name I say.’ I did make a rhyme. -Oh, wait: I merely repeated the rhyming words in the riddle.” Verdandi glanced at the sun riding across the zenith and said, “Child, we must hurry, for I have a rede to speak and some advice to give you as well as a gift.” Unconsciously, Celeste’s hand strayed to her chest just above her left breast where a silver needle was threaded through her silk undershirt.
Verdandi nodded and said, “Yes, another gift, one to go with that given you by my elder sister, Skuld.”
“Elder? But she is youthful and-”
“Hush, child. Ask Camille; she will explain it.” Verdandi again glanced at the sun and once more the sound of looms swelled, and she said:
Celeste’s eyes widened. “Kill all who speak?” Verdandi’s face fell grim. “You know I cannot answer, Celeste. Yet this I will tell you for nought: blunt half of your arrows, for you will need them. . both to kill and to not kill.”
“But Lady Lot, I do not understand,” said Celeste.
“Heed me, you will,” said Verdandi. Again she glanced at the sun, and the thud of batten and the clack of shuttle swelled, and Verdandi said, “Here, you will need these,” and she stretched out her hand, something gleaming held in her fingers.
Celeste reached forth, and Verdandi dropped the gift into her palm, and in that moment the trailing limb of the sun left the zenith, and the sound of weaving looms vanished, as did Lady Lot and the sod-roofed cottage as well.
“What th-?” Roel stood in the middle of the grassy clearing, his arms curled as if holding a bundle of branches, but he embraced only empty air.
Celeste frowned down at the gift she held: a pair of golden tweezers, their tips so rounded they would be hard-pressed to grasp anything.
20
Qualms
“Lady Lot? The crone was Lady Lot?”
“Oui, though she changed from a crone to a matron.”
Roel looked back at the place where the sod-roofed cottage had stood, where now was nought but the glade.
Sighing, he said, “First Lady Wyrd and now Lady Lot. I suppose next it will be Lady Doom.” He shook his head.
“My love, it is as you say: you and your family are somehow involved in the intrigues of the Three Sisters.”
“All mankind is caught up their weavings, though in my case-hence, yours as well, Roel-it seems they take a more direct hand.”
“And this was Verdandi,” said Roel, his words not a question.
“Oui,” said Celeste, “and she gave me these.” The princess handed over the golden tweezers.
Roel took the Fate-given gift and clicked together the smooth, rounded ends. Perplexity filled his eyes. “Skuld gave you a silver needle, and now Verdandi, golden pincers; whatever for? I wonder.” He handed them back to the princess.
“She gave me a rede as well, along with some advice.”
“Advice?”
“Oui. She told me to blunt half my arrows so as to kill and to not kill.”
“To kill and to not kill? What kind of advice is that?” Celeste shrugged. “I know not, cheri, yet I will follow it. Surely it will come clear.”
“And the rede. .?”
“Ah, that. It seems quite straightforward in places and totally horrifying in others.”
“Say it, love, and we will puzzle it out together.” Celeste smiled. “Just as we puzzled out the first rede, eh?”
Roel laughed. “Perhaps we can do better with this one.”
