He produced a pouch and sprinkled dry leaves into one of the teapots. “Yes, Galadheon.”

“We didn’t do this last time,” she said, with mounting suspicion. “Is it going to do something to me?”

He looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “We did not do this before because of your condition after inhaling the smoke spirits. The tea will help you clear your mind and find focus, but it is also the manner in which it is served that is important.”

A ritual, she thought.

He took one of the teapots outside, and when he returned, it was filled with steaming water. He sat beside her and placed it on a tiny trivet of metal birch leaves.

“We use all the elements,” he said. “The fire to boil the water. Water, which steams into the air. The clay pot is of the earth. The tea leaves, too, are of the earth, but also need water, the fire of the sun, and air to grow.”

As the tea leaves steeped, an herby scent pervaded the air. He then poured the tea into the other teapot. He used that teapot to pour into the cup. The tea was a light amber color speckled with tea leaves. He bowed over it, spoke softly in Eltish, and then handed it to her.

“As you drink, remember the elements that have gone into the tea’s making. Feel the heat of the fire, the moisture that has rained from the sky. Taste the earth of the leaves and clay, and feel the steam on your face.”

It was, indeed, hot, so she took care in sipping it, and tried to do as Enver said without her own skeptical thoughts intruding. The tea had a nutty tang, but mostly tasted like stewed grass. Or, at least, what she thought stewed grass would taste like. Again, she tried to focus on the elements that created the tea and not her own sardonic thoughts.

It took only a few sips to empty the tiny cup, and he gave her instructions to relax and lie down on her stomach as usual, since sitting for any length of time would strain her back.

“When you are stronger, we will do this outside,” he told her, “closer to the wind, to leaf and petal, the living rock. For now, if you fall asleep, it is all right. We will try again another time.”

She was determined not to fall asleep, and she tried to visualize the peaceful scenes he described as he led her along a mind path. Breathing deep was also important to the process. At times he chanted quietly in Eltish. She tried to stay with it, but her nose itched, she had to yawn, her head ached.

The aching, however, soon dissipated with Enver’s soothing tones, or maybe it was the effect of the tea setting in, but the visualizations came easier with startling clarity. Finally, he led her into a starry meadow of dew-laden grasses.

“Listen,” he said, “to the breeze rustle the grasses.”

She did.

“Feel the cool damp of a summer evening.”

She did.

“Hear the chirping of crickets pass in waves through the meadow.”

She did.

He gave her more sensory details, the spongy earth beneath her feet, the sweet scent of grasses on the air, and on until she felt she was truly there.

“You are hearing the voice of the world,” Enver said.

She was?

“You will hear it more clearly with practice. Do you sense the Nyssa spirit there?”

“No.” Karigan’s voice felt disembodied, as though she spoke in her sleep.

“Is there anyone else there with you?”

“There is a horse,” she said with some surprise.

“Ah, that is very appropriate. Tell me about this horse.”

“A mare. She is white, so white that she radiates light in the dark. She is walking across the meadow to—to meet me. I am offering her a handful of grass, and she is . . . a little taken aback, I think. All right, she is going to try it. I think she is doing so just to humor me. Oh, dear.”

“What is happening?” Enver asked.

“She doesn’t like the grass and is spitting it out.” It was actually quite comical to see the beautiful horse with such a look of distaste on her face, and working her lips and tongue to expel the grass. “She does not eat grass, apparently. She is gorgeous, and I think made more of light than horseflesh, though she is so soft to the touch. She tells me her name is Seastaria, and she is telling me not to be afraid.”

Seastaria permitted Karigan to stroke her graceful neck, and it was like warmth and goodness and strength, and most of all, love flowed out from her.

“Her eyes are the sky in daytime,” she told Enver. “I can see clouds drifting in them. She says she is my balance.”

The mare then turned away and trotted off across the meadow, her tail flowing behind her. She vanished, and Karigan felt the weight of night in her absence.

It was some while before Enver spoke again. She thought she must have fallen asleep for his voice sounded very far off.

“This meadow is a safe place for you, Galadheon. Come to the meadow if you need to escape the Nyssa spirit.”

He guided her out of the meadow, reversing the path he’d used to get her there. When she was back to herself, she felt peaceful.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she said.

When Enver did not reply, she rolled to her side to look up at him. He stared incredulously at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Seventy-five years or more it took me to meet my aithen,” he said. “It took you less than an hour. And that was no ordinary aithen,” he continued. “A very powerful one. Seastaria is the day horse.”

“The day horse? What does that mean?”

Enver shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her. “She is deep in Eletian lore, and even in that of your people. She is what you told me, balance. The light to the dark, the feminine to the masculine, peace to strife, day to night. She is life. Your balance, Galadheon, has weighed too much toward the night.”