A citrus smell clung to the clothing of her rescuers. The sharp, slightly sweet fragrance had always been a part of Kale’s bedding at home. Mariones had an earthy odor clinging to their bodies. Kale had noticed when she was quite young that her skin smelled different from the babies she rocked for the village mothers.
Kale nestled against the strong chest of the o’rant male who cradled her wrapped in soft, citrus-smelling blankets. The sorrow in her heart wanted to bury itself in this sensation of being surrounded by something curiously familiar. Kale didn’t want to figure it out. She didn’t want to think too much. She closed her eyes and shut out the world.
She awoke in a soft, warm bed in a room with painted walls and a rug that covered the floor. Warmth radiated from a crackling fire in a brick fireplace. A landscape painting in a gilt frame hung above an oak mantle. Curtains draped the windows. Sunbeams danced through multiple beveled panes of glass set in a finely carved sash.
The room smelled of citrus.
Kale sat up and looked out the window. Thick snow blanketed the countryside. Two stone walls topped with frothy caps marched down a straight country road. Bare-limbed trees in an orchard held aloft puffs of frosty snow. The sun sparked reflections on a myriad of tiny ice crystals covering every field, tree, bush, and building.
Kale closed her eyes against the brilliant beauty.
There should not be any beauty left in the world.
Merry whistling and light footsteps announced the approach of someone beyond the polished wood door. A slight tap and then the sound of the door shushing across the plush carpet preceded a cheerful “hello.”
An o’rant woman entered with a tray. The tray had legs to fit over Kale’s lap. The woman wore a rich blue skirt with a matching short jacket, an ivory blouse underneath, and a lace cap on her head. She smiled with straight, white teeth looking pretty and natural in her pleasant face. A few wrinkles sprang out from her eyes and lips as if they had been etched by years of friendly good cheer.
“Tea and toast.” The woman walked briskly across the room. “Then more sleep for you. You needn’t get up today or tomorrow if you don’t wish it.”
She set the tray down on the bedside table.
“Here, let me help you pile those pillows so you can sit up proper and eat a bite.”
She grabbed three pillows and stacked them against the headboard. “Try that.” She reached for the tray. “My name is Mistress Sanci Moorp. I’m the head housekeeper here at Ornopy Halls.”
Kale sat back against the pillows, pulling the covers up around her waist. She stared at her hands.
“I’m clean.” She held out her arm and inspected the delicate linen nightshirt sleeve. “How—?”
“Oh, you were exhausted all right when you came in late yesterday afternoon.” Sanci Moorp fit the tray over her guest’s legs and poured a cup of tea. She dipped two spoonfuls of fine white sugar into the brew and stirred vigorously. The silver spoon chimed against the porcelain. “You don’t remember soaking in the warm tub?”
Kale shook her head.
“Drink that now. It has herbs to help you sleep and heal.”
Mistress Moorp sat on the chair and watched as Kale picked up the cup and took a sip. The lace cap bobbed on the housekeeper’s head as she nodded her approval.
“You were chilled clear through. All of you were. Your wizard has caught cold. The tumanhofer has broken legs. Cuts and bruises the like I’ve never seen, on all your friends. But they’re on the mend. We have good doctors here in the valley. Librettowit will have to curtail any adventuring for some time. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s been mumbling about books and was right pleased when I had a footman carry books up from Master Ornopy’s library. The tumanhofer gentleman cannot sit up yet, but he seemed comforted to have a stack of thick tomes on his bedside table.”
“He’s a librarian.” Kale spoke around a mouthful of toast.
“So I have been informed. Also that he does not go questing. Your wizard is a very old man. I don’t think it was the wisest thing for him to have gone questing, either. But wizards have remarkable stamina. Let’s hope rest and good food will be enough to cure him.”
“Dar?”
“The doneel?” At Kale’s nod, she smiled. “Oh, I love a nice doneel. They are such pleasant houseguests. He’s busy replenishing his wardrobe. Called for material and thread. His feet were injured, and he had a gaping wound in his back.”
Kale gasped.
“Not too bad,” Mistress Moorp assured her. “More than a scratch, less than it could have been. He’s content to putter around his room until he has time to put together some suitable clothing.”
She hopped up to replenish Kale’s empty teacup.
“Your other friends are sleeping. Even the kimens. At least, I assume they’re sleeping. They take care of themselves, you know. I did get to serve them some of my sweet cakes and a berry juice I put up last summer. Such dear little creatures.”
“Leetu Bends is all right?”
“The emerlindian?”
“Yes.”
“She’s sleeping, which is what you should be doing. You are getting drowsy, aren’t you?”
Kale nodded and raised a hand to cover a tremendous yawn.
Mistress Moorp smiled with satisfaction and took the tray. “You cuddle back down, and when you awake, I’ll have a nice bowl of chukkajoop for you.”
Kale slid under the covers, knocking two of the pillows aside in the big bed. “Dar once told me chukkajoop is the o’rant national dish. I’ve never had any.”
Mistress Moorp chuckled. “Well, if we had a national dish, I guess chukkajoop would be it.” She pursed her lips in a comical moue. “Doneels love to tease. And they make good friends. You are fortunate to have him among your companions. He’s been worried about you.”
Regret intruded on Kale’s comfort. She hadn’t been a very good friend to any of her companions. This room, the food, the good housekeeper’s kind attention, none of it should be wasted on her. “I don’t deserve to be treated so well.”
Mistress Moorp frowned fiercely at her young charge. “In this house we don’t wait for someone to deserve to be treated decently, my dear.” Her voice had a hard edge, and Kale realized she had in some way offended the woman.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
Mistress Moorp’s expression softened. “No dear, I’m the one to apologize. I forgot you haven’t been taught the ways of the o’rants. But that will change now. You can stay with us as long as you like. Master Ornopy has already said he’d take you in as one of his daughters. He’s a generous man, and your story touched his heart.”
“My story?” Kale struggled against the sleep that pulled her away from Mistress Moorp’s words. “Who told him my story?”
“Why, Paladin, dear. He was among those who went out to rescue you.”
“Paladin?” Kale tried to sit up again, but she could not even keep her eyes open. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t want to face Paladin. He would be so disappointed in her.
“Rest, dear, and heal.” The shush of the door opening and closing over the carpet followed Mistress Moorp’s soft words.
A tangy smell of something delectable pulled Kale out of a deep sleep. The fire crackled and sparked, warming the room with its golden glow as well as a pleasant heat. In the chair where Mistress Moorp had sat earlier, a man rested, his head against the high, cushioned back. His long legs extended straight out with polished black boots crossed at the ankle. Kale blinked and looked closely as the fire played a flickering light over his features.
“Paladin!” She sat up abruptly.
His eyes opened slowly, and a gentle smile spread across his lips.
“Little Kale, it’s good to hear your voice.” He reached for a bowl on the table at his elbow. “Mistress Moorp sent up chukkajoop. I’m partial to this stew myself, and Mistress Moorp makes some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Kale crossed her legs under the bla
nket as she took the thick ceramic bowl into her hands. It fit in one, and warmth spread through those fingers as she picked up the spoon with the other hand. Hunger rose up at the smell of the rich dark stew. She took a mouthful and savored the flavor.
“I do like it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Dar said it was made of things from underground. Only roots and things.”
“Doneels.” Paladin shook his head gently. The grin on his face widened.
Kale took another bite and peered into the bowl. There was not enough light for her to see it very well. “He also said it was blood red.”
A dark candle on the table sizzled. The unlit wick suddenly burst into flame. Paladin picked it up and held it over Kale’s bowl.
“It is!” Kale grinned up at Paladin. “The broth is red.”
“Eat it, Kale. It’s good for you.”
Paladin sat comfortably stretched out in his chair while she ate the entire bowlful and scraped the last drops out of the bottom with her spoon. She handed the empty bowl to him, and he put it down on the table. Only then did it strike her as appalling that Paladin himself had served her and sat quietly beside her while she ate. She hadn’t even offered him polite conversation as the mariones did around their fancy tables with important guests.
“Now, Kale.” His voice held a note of reprimand. “We’ve been very comfortable together. Why have you gone tense, and why do you look ill? Did the chukkajoop not sit well in your stomach?”
She knew the last question was a jest. It sounded very much like something Dar would say. Of course the delicious stew had not made her sick. Kale looked down at her hands folded in her lap. What does he want me to say? What should I say?
Only two words came to mind. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Gymn and Metta are dead.”
“I know what happened to Gymn and Metta.”
“I lost the meech egg.”
“I know what you did.”
“I hit the lever and made the gate close. When I opened it again, it fell apart. Everything fell apart.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t do one thing right. And Gymn and Metta are dead.”
“Wulder is in charge of life in our world, Kale. He gives it, and He takes it away. And when He takes life from one of His creatures here where we stand, He moves it with His infinite care to another place we know very little about. You are not mighty enough to be in charge of the giving and taking of life. Not your life. Not Gymn’s life. Not Metta’s life.”
Kale scrubbed the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. Paladin offered her a handkerchief.
“Blow your nose,” he ordered kindly.
The noise embarrassed Kale, but everything about being with Paladin now embarrassed her. He should be visiting with Wizard Fenworth or Leetu or Dar. Not her.
Paladin reached out and took her hands in his. He leaned forward and smiled a small, tender smile that somehow warmed her with love and peace. “I want to visit with you, Kale. You are more than my servant. You are my friend, my child, my vision of the future.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side. Paladin could not be wrong. But what he said didn’t make sense. She was a slave girl who didn’t even follow orders very well. Who didn’t do the right thing. Who caused all sorts of problems. Who caused terrible things to happen.
“Kale, what happened when you first found the meech egg and you tried to walk away?”
“I was stuck.”
Paladin nodded. “Sometimes we cannot walk away from our responsibilities. What happened when you left the cape and reentered the tunnel to open the gate?”
“Nothing. I mean, the meech egg didn’t hold me.”
“Sometimes the order of importance of our responsibilities shifts. What was crucial at one moment moves down to second place, or third, under different circumstances.”
Kale wrinkled her brow, trying to understand.
Paladin squeezed her hand. “What do you think Wulder wanted you to do? Sit and cradle the meech egg, or try to help your friends?”
“Help?”
Paladin nodded. “You did the right thing, Kale. You didn’t sit and reason it out. You jumped up and did the right thing. You are a better person than you think. Wulder is pleased with who you are.”
“But it was my fault.”
“You have the power to crack a mountain in two? Amazing! I thought you were just a slave girl.” The twinkle in his eye took away the sting of his words.
A smile played at the corner of Kale’s mouth. “I guess not.”
“You have choices to make now, Kale.” Paladin let go of her hands and leaned back in his chair. “You can return with Dar to The Hall. Or you can stay here in the o’rant valley. Either choice is all right with me. If you go to The Hall, you will be trained, and much will be required of you.
“If you stay here, you will learn more about your people. Things will come across your path that will require you to help friends and even strangers.”
Paladin sighed and leaned back in the chair. He looked perfectly content and at ease, not troubled by wicked wizards and all the evil they created. “It is quieter here. The likelihood of adventure is less. But still you will be my servant. I will be pleased with you. You are mine, Kale, and I do not scorn those who have given their service to me. You won’t be bored here, either. There will be plenty of opportunities to do good.
“You don’t have to decide tonight. In fact, you can wait until spring.” He stood up and stretched.
Kale watched him. His strong body silhouetted by the fire looked much like that of any young man, yet Paladin had been around since before the Battle of Ordray. Her eyes widened at the thought. Wizard Fenworth was that old too. Paladin was special in ways Kale could not understand, and he had claimed her as his friend, his child.
She looked down at her callused and scratched hands. She didn’t seem a good candidate for service at The Hall.
“I didn’t much like questing,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Paladin nodded. He didn’t look surprised or upset over her admission.
Kale remembered Fenworth’s words. “Questing is often uncomfortable.”
Paladin smiled, and Kale knew he recognized the wizard’s thinking.
“Unpredictable,” he added.
Kale nodded, looking into his eyes and knowing he would not condemn her for her choice, no matter what it was.
He left, carrying the empty bowl. Kale got out of bed and sat in the window seat, gazing out at the peaceful countryside. Its blanket of fresh snow glowed under a full moon in a clear sky.
There must be a million stars in that sky. Librettowit said that Wulder knows each of their names. Paladin knows my name…so does Wulder. She tucked her chilly toes beneath the long nightgown. I don’t have to decide tonight. I don’t have to decide until spring.
The days that followed gave Kale a most wondrous taste of belonging. She sat with Ornopy’s girls and learned to sew at Dar’s instruction. Librettowit regaled them with hours of stories and taught them history. They danced with the kimens and did chores with Mistress Moorp. And the chores were not drudgery, but fun because of the companionship.
Librettowit and Fenworth told legends and tales of old. Leetu and Dar demonstrated juggling feats. Everyone gave it a try but only ended up laughing more than catching the objects thrown in the air. Brunstetter and Lee Ark knew an astounding number of games. Members of the household and guests played every afternoon in the light of the sunroom. Contented, Kale took pleasure in each moment she spent as a part of this happy entourage.
The days lengthened. Crocus and springbuds poked their colorful heads through the last of the snow. Birds flew back into the o’rant valley from the south and began nest building. Lambs, calves, and colts frolicked in the pastures.
Kale made her decision.
One day, when the breezes chased away puffy clouds that had
sprinkled the newly sown fields, she looked at the broken slopes of the shorter peak of Tourbanaut and sighed.
“There is one thing I must do first,” she said to the empty road. “I must go find the meech egg, or what’s left of it.” She did not look over her shoulder at the massive bright walls of Ornopy Halls. She didn’t go back to gather provisions from the ample supply of kitchen cupboards. She wrapped the shawl she’d knitted at Mistress Moorp’s hearth around her shoulders. She set her eyes upon her goal and started the long walk back to the wrecked entrance of the abandoned tumanhofer mine.
50
STANDING TOGETHER
Muddy waters swirled in the streams coming off the mountain. With the spring thaw, melted snow washed down the slopes, creating rivulets that ran together, making tumbling brooks and swift, quiet rills. White mountain dewdrops, tiny flowers on mosslike plants, covered the ground.
The smell of new grass, damp earth, and sweet dewdrops filled Kale with exuberance. She climbed rapidly, using paths well worn by shepherds and their flocks. As the sun began to sink to the west, she stopped and surveyed the countryside now spread below her. Sighing, she sat on a boulder and gazed with contentment at the valley of the o’rants. She easily picked out Ornopy Halls, three beautiful buildings with an elegant wrought iron fence around them and a straight road running out its front gate.
It’s been home to me as if I’d never had a home before. But Paladin put a claim on my heart as well as my life. I want to go to The Hall.
She stood and began the more arduous climb up broken granite and shifted crags. The cool mountain air penetrated her clothing. Shivering, she wished she’d brought something a little more practical than the shawl.
Granny Noon’s moonbeam cape always kept my body warm. I must find the cape and the eggs.
Her foot slipped on some loose rocks. Some of the pebbles fell into her boot. She sat down to remove it and shake out the debris, but as soon as her backside touched the ground, she sprang up again.
Kale frowned and bent to sit down. Her legs straightened and she took two more steps up the mountain. Every muscle in her body strained to go forward.
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