The Luck of Brin's Five by Cherry; Wilder Page A

torchlight rested on Diver’s face: then with one shriek—at the sight of those blue eyes—the twirler fainted away.
    Diver hoisted the limp body, and we ran off into the shadows. Round two corners, with the sound of the riot fading, and Harper Roy was hammering on the door of Beeth Ulgan’s house, beside the weathermaker’s shuttered booth. We stood shivering until a deep voice answered.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œBrin’s Five!” cried the Harper. “Dear Ulgan, open to friends in need!”
    There was the sound of the door-pole being hastily drawn, and on the threshold in the dim light stood the tall, sagging figure of the Diviner.
    â€œGreat North Wind!” cried Beeth Ulgan. “Harper . . . and your eldest . . .”
    â€œRefuge we pray . . .” panted the Harper. “Pentroy vassals . . .”
    â€œI’m not surprised. Come in.”
    We pressed on into the house, where it was beautifully warm, warm as a proper tent. The outer room had a metal stove that scared Old Gwin to death when we visited. Beside it lay the Ulgan’s apprentice, a young townee, a male, not much older than myself. Diver laid down his burden on a pile of mats in a corner, and the apprentice went over curiously to attend to the twirler.
    The Ulgan held up a candlecone. “Let me look at you . . . What have you got there . . . a wounded twirler? And an outclip? An extra member for Brin’s Five? Winds forbid! How’s Brin? How’s the hidden child? How is Eddorn Brinroyan?”
    â€œOdd-Eye is dead,” said Harper Roy, standing like a child, with bent head, before the Ulgan.
    â€œAlas . . .” Beeth Ulgan stood clutching the candlecone and murmured a prayer of departure.
    The Diviner surprised me every time I beheld her. For a start she was fat, the only fat person I ever beheld before we went to Otolor and to Rintoul, and she was also very tall. Beeth Ulgan had a long, drooping face, very smooth and brown, with thick handfuls of white hair, plaited into great curtains and baskets around the head. The Diviner’s robe was of soft wool, of our own weaving, thickly embroidered, with loose sleeves full of magical trinkets, sweets and nuts and message skeins.
    â€œYou come in sad time,” she said, laying a gentle hand on my head, “but I must ask you again. Has my old teacher’s prophecy been fulfilled? How is the destiny of Brin’s Five?”
    â€œYou have asked that question for years now,” said Roy, “and at last I have an answer for you . . .”
    â€œWe are blessed with a New Luck . . .” I babbled.
    â€œHush!” said Harper Roy, pressing Brin’s message skein into the Diviner’s hand.
    â€œBeeth Ulgan, you were ever our friend and guide. What we show must be secret—”
    â€œSecrets?” The hooded eyes flashed in the dim light; Beeth Ulgan stared at the Harper as she fingered the message skein.
    â€œDiver,” said Harper Roy. Diver, rearranged in his cloak, stepped forward.
    â€œNew Luck . . .” whispered Beeth, “from Hingstull. Oh great earth and sky!” She seized Diver’s hand and led us all into the inner room, a wonderful bright place, full of tapestries and cushions.
    Diver stood erect before her, and his hood fell back. We had lived too much in shadow. Now the bright light of a dozen candlecones and two lanterns showed Diver for what he was. Utterly strange, a creature of essential difference, bred in the body’s weft. By comparison the grandees, whose fine trappings had made me gape, were like our very blood kin. A pale face, blunt-featured, a round head, curling hair with its true darkness still visible at the nape of the strong neck. Keen, round, frontal eyes of bright blue.
    Beeth Ulgan drew breath steadily, holding Diver’s gaze.
    â€œWho . . . what . . . are you?” she demanded. “What sort of being do you call yourself?”
    And Diver answered formally.