elven steward, and informed Belynda that it was a vintage regarded as one of the finest in Nayve. “Though of course each vineyard in the Fourth Circle has different strengths and weaknesses,” he allowed.
“Hmm… I’m sorry.” Belynda was embarrassed. “What did you say?”
“It’s not important,” Tam replied seriously. “But something is, I can see. What is it that’s bothering you?”
She drew a breath, collecting her thoughts even as she tried to answer the question. “I learned that Caranor died… by fire.”
“Caranor the sage-enchantress?” Tamarwind’s eyes widened. “How could that happen?”
“No one knows… she was mistress of fire, of all the elements. And yet she and her house were burned to ashes.” Even as she described the news, Belynda couldn’t bring herself to believe that it was real.
Tamarwind thoughtfully chewed on a piece of bread. He turned to look at a nearby table as a ripple of laughter wafted through the soft air on the terrace. Belynda looked too. The eight diners there were dressed as elves, in robes of green and white, but there were distinctive differences: These people were slightly larger than elves, and had as many different hues of hair color as there were individuals at the table. A woman at the end had tresses of flowing red, while near her sat a stout maid with short brown hair. Two men and another woman had hair with various shades of lightness, but none approached the gilded blondness of elven locks. Another man and two women had hair that ranged from chocolate brown to the purest black but was tightly kinked, complemented by a rich dark skin color.
“Druids, aren’t they?” Tamarwind said, politely averting his eyes from the strangers even as he asked the question.
“Yes… they live in the Grove, that great network of trees beyond the Senate.”
“They’re beautiful, in a rough sort of way.”
“Most of them are,” Belynda agreed. “Somehow humans seem more solid than do we elves… and many of our people, especially the males, find them appealing.”
“A sight you won’t see elsewhere in Nayve,” Tam noted. “Eight humans together. It must be ten years since even a single druid visited Argentian.”
“They rarely leave Circle at Center, or at least these lands around the lakeshore. They have everything they need here.”
“Do you know any druids?”
Belynda nodded. “I have become friends with several-one, in particular, called Miradel. The Goddess brought her here perhaps two hundred years ago.”
“From the Seventh Circle?” Tamarwind seemed very interested, and Belynda was relieved to have something to talk about, to take her mind off Caranor.
“Yes… the place they call Earth, where all humans come from.”
“Are they all so beautiful, so tall and proud?”
Belynda shook her head ruefully. “Hardly. The druids are only the most splendid examples of the race… they are brought here by the Goddess only after they have lived many lives in their world, and through them demonstrate goodness and virtue. They are very tame and wise examples of humankind.”
“Why do you say ‘tame’?”
“Humans are a dangerous breed, for the most part,” explained the sage-ambassador. “In many ways violent-not to mention prone to disease, and to incredibly rapid aging. Of course, here in Nayve they are not faced with those curses.”
“It sounds like a good thing that the Goddess is selective… and that other humans stay on their own circle!” Tam declared with feeling.
Belynda felt she had to explain further. “There is another way that a human can come to Nayve… without the will of the Goddess. Fortunately, it is a costly procedure… very rarely used.” Already she regretted opening this avenue of conversation. Though she herself had learned of the major druid spells during her centuries at the College, it was clearly not the sort of thing that ordinary elves needed to know, or should be encouraged to talk about.
“How?”
She felt herself blushing. She knew the particulars of the magic involved, but it was not anything she cared to discuss. “A druid can use her own power to summon a different kind of human… one who has made himself into a supreme warrior over the course of many lifetimes. These can be men of violence and impulse… If the druids are ‘tame’ humans, you might say that warriors are the opposite.”
“Sounds frightening-but rare, you said?”
“Yes.” Belynda felt uneasy. “The spell involved is costly… in a sense, it means doom for the druid who casts it.” She hoped that Tamarwind wouldn’t ask any more questions about that particular kind of magic.
Fortunately, at that moment the server approached with the dinners they had ordered-a roasted lake trout for Tamarwind, and a pepper stuffed with cheese for Belynda. She was relieved at the good timing, and amused by the smile of frank anticipation that curled her companion’s lips.
Abruptly Belynda felt a lurch that roiled her stomach and rocked her on her bench. The server stumbled, fish and stuffed pepper cascading across the table. Glasses shattered-not just here, but across the terrace. The sage- ambassador seized the edge of the table, wanting to hold onto something, and was shocked as the heavy slab twitched and tilted in her grasp. Tam’s face had gone white, and she heard screams and sobs coming from across the plaza, cries of alarm from throughout the city. As she looked into the night, she saw pitching waves roil the surface of the lake. Still Belynda could not accept the truth, not until Tamarwind shouted the unthinkable words:
“The world is moving!”
T he tremor rocked the floor beneath his feet, but Natac merely flexed his knees and waited for the earthquake to pass. It was not a violent temblor, though he knew that it might presage more significant jolts- perhaps in the very near future. He looked around the terrace, saw water splashing out of the bowl of the fountain, the leafy treetops swaying back and forth through the night air. In a sense the movement was almost a relief-it distracted him from the solitary brooding that had occupied him since twilight.
He heard a scream inside the villa. The sound was followed by a loud crash, and then the warrior was racing into the hall without further thought. The old woman screamed again, the sound coming from the kitchen, and he ran in to find her grasping the heavy wooden cooking bench, her eyes wide with horror.
Natac lifted her up in his arms and she clung to him, sobbing. Mindful of the chance of a subsequent tremor, he carried her carefully through the hall and under the open sky of the garden. There he found Fallon, who stared at them wide-eyed, trembling. “What’s happening?” demanded the gardener.
“It was a small earthquake. Don’t be frightened,” Natac replied, wondering again at this childish display of fear.
He looked across the valley to see waves rippling and churning the lake, while from nearby ravines landslides tumbled down the steep slopes. He watched until the debris rattled and rumbled to rest at the bottom of the incline, much of it spilling into the lake.
Only then did he notice that the old woman was still crying, clinging to his arms and shoulders with her head buried against his chest.
“We’re safe here,” he said. “You only have to get out of the building-the real danger is having the roof fall on your head.”
She drew a deep breath, and though her sobs softened, she still clutched him, obviously terrified.
“See,” he said, trying to calm her-and mystified as to why she was acting like such a child. “It’s gone now- and anyway, that wasn’t even a bad one.” He remembered at least a dozen earthquakes notably more violent, several of which had brought houses and temples crashing down in ruins.
“Nayve-the world moved!” said the woman with a moan.
“It hasn’t happened before?”
She pulled her face back to stare into his eyes, still holding him by the shoulders. “Circle at Center is the foundation of everything. It cannot become unbalanced!”
“The foundation of everything-even Mexico and Mictlan?” Natac was still mystified, but her terror at the quake had served to restore much of his confidence. Oddly, he felt as though he now stood upon firmer ground, while her own beliefs had been shown to be somewhat tentative.
