Knife Children

by Lois McMaster Bujold

“Patroller humor. You learn to read it. …Ah, don’t try out any of that yourself until you know a lot more. There’s rules.”

  “I… ‘spect so,” she echoed dubiously.

  The reunion broke up in the assignment of chores for the impending all-Foxbrush picnic. After an anxious test of the doneness of the pig, Barr and Lily won the task of laying a big basketful of winter-wrinkled yams into the coals to bake. It was too early for strawberries, but there would be a few spring greens, and a big kettle of Shirri’s rhubarb cooked with honey, the dried fruits and plunkin strips everyone was tired of, and some real bread made with wheat flour. Yams for all and then some. Food could get a trifle odd when winter’s dearth lingered into the first deceptive warmth of spring, but Tent Foxbrush knew how to make do.

  The pig, finally uncovered, drew a drooling audience like a gathering of wolves, if wolves came complete with their own offerings of foodstuffs. For a while, all was chaos not unlike, Barr imagined, the recent scene at the patrol paddocks. Near forty Foxbrushes at last sorted themselves out on blankets and logs, and fed each other with enthusiasm. Tales were exchanged like sustenance.

  Most of his relatives had pressed Barr’s Luthlia stories out of him in bits over the past five days, so he was content to sit back and let Bay, elation badly concealed under a veneer of nonchalance, go on about his first malice kill. Lily seemed quite riveted by his word-picture of ‘their’ malice’s final fate. Whether instigating or trying to be helpful, Bay then drew Lily up to tell her tale of the finding. Only her repeated practice allowed her to stand up to this larger audience, Barr thought; if not with the enthusiasm of Bay’s bragging, at least not as if she were facing a hanging, quite. But she scuttled out of the firelight in a hurry at her first chance.

  To Barr’s side, he was vaguely warmed to note. He offered her more shreds of pork. “You did good.”

  “They were laughing at your part,” she growled. “I didn’t think it was funny. I’d never been more scared in my life.” A glum pause. “Except for the fire.”

  “What you did to that mud-man… rescued the funny so’s we could have it now. It’s not a bad thing.”

  She hunched, chewing. “Hm.”

  * * *

  All the cleanup took them through the sunset, so it was well after dark that Barr found himself finally alone with his father, sitting on upended logs and watching the last of the embers burn out in the big firepit. The blessed lack of an opinionated audience favored what Barr wanted to accomplish, and he wondered if that feeling was reciprocated. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to start. A younger Barr might have jibed and jabbed, coaxing lumps just to get it over with. Now he was content to wait.

  “So,” said Oris, and leaned forward with a stick to poke a few last orange sparks skyward. “You’ve known about this girl for fifteen years?”

  “Twelve, but yeah, more or less. I first found out about her the winter after Remo and I got back from that trip to the Graymouth. She was rising two, then.”

  He wondered what memories his father was sorting through, fixing this in place. “And you said nothing.”

  “Was I wrong? Then?”

  A shrug. “Twelve years ago, maybe not. It might have been the last straw in a whole big heap you’d piled up, and I was already hankering to set your hair on fire. You had such a talent for making me furious. Amma, too. She could never decide whether to be furious along with me, or blame me for your existence, so she did both. Still more so, right after you and Remo broke his great-grandmother Grayjay’s primed knife and fled down the river.”

  That had been a conflagration already in progress, Barr thought. It had hardly needed more fuel. “Strictly speaking, Remo fled. Amma sent me after him. And I did bring him back—eventually—so, patrol accomplished.” The coals glowed dully in the dark, tamed by time to use, not hazard. “And a whole lot of other things along-with, that I’d never have learned otherwise.”

  “That I did observe. Even back then. Watching you work up your farmer-patroller scheme, after, you surprised me with your sticking-to. It hasn’t gone near as bad since then as I’d feared it might, either. Still a lot to be proved, mind.”

  His father had been one senior patroller whose, if not support, at least lack of opposition had allowed Barr to push the idea into tentative reality, all those years ago. And he’d accepted groundshielded farmer apprentices into his own patrol, teaching them right along with the camp youngsters. Barr owed him a lot for that.

  “At least we’re getting a chance to prove it. Not just argue about it, around in useless circles.”

  Oris nodded in a conceding sort of way. After a few minutes, while the firepit’s heat grew fainter against their faces, he went on, “Been thinking this about your Lily. If I, or you, or any other patroller, were to encounter some lost orphan on the road with Lakewalker powers, it’d be our clear duty to bring that child into camp for taking care of. Some camp, somehow. I’m trying to work out the ways this is different, with her parentage being known, and not really seeing… Well, there might be special complications. Amma said you two’d written a letter to her farm?”

  “Yes. There’s hardly been time for anyone to write back, though.”

  “I can see a half-a-dozen troubles might come of that for the tent, or the camp. From awkward to ugly.”

  “So can I,” Barr sighed. “But I can’t guess which one to brace for at this range. I tried to keep the letter simple, but I figured it had to go out as soon as might be, to relieve folks’ minds of the main worry for her safety. After that, maybe they can think less frantic. I did send a word-of-mouth to Bluebell to let her know about Lily’s powers, which was bound to make her mull. I’m hoping any reply will give me some hint what to say better. And more time to think it through.”

  “You expect a letter? Not her mama showing up at the camp gate to demand Lily back?”

  “No, not Bluebell.” Of that, Barr was tolerably certain, though he noticed Oris’s Lakewalker assumption about which parent was the tent-head. “Even leaving aside how tangled her feelings are about Lily, she’s four months pregnant and has a toddler and two other youngsters nailing her feet to the farmhouse floor. And poor Fid was still recovering from his burns. A letter’ll be tricky enough to deal with.” Much would depend on whether it was addressed to Barr or Lily, or both, and which Mason wrote it, and what they knew and what they wanted, and how Lily reacted, and, and, too many other flailing loose ends, too many of which were not Barr’s to tie.

  “Hm. At least it’s good you’re thinking about it. Nothing more to be done about it right now, I guess.”

  Barr let this undisputable remark sit for a time, as the cool damp of the evening rose from the river, and the first frogs of the season peeped in the distance. Muted voices and an infant’s indignant wail sounded from the nearby tents, and someone out on the water, calling. The mutter of the riffle, always on the edge of hearing, filled in.

  “So,” Barr said at last. “You’ll not be pushing to throw both me and Lily out of the tent on our ears?”

  “You think you two come as a pair, now?”

  “Just like boots,” Barr affirmed.

  Oris took in this declaration, seeming to digest it for a while. “Well, you know, it’s your grandmother Foxbrush who has the final word. Not me.”

  “Not an answer. I can ask her myself. I asked you.”

  A conceding head-tilt. “Then, I’m not opposin’ you.”

  Slithering in. Smooth enough for going on with. “Thank you.”

  “So formal, boy!”

  Barr shrugged to conceal his relief. “I wasn’t looking forward to being forced to chose my child over my parents.”

  “And would you have?”

  “Yes.” And was startled at his lack of hesitation.

  Oris tossed his stick onto the coals and hoisted himself up to go inside, smiling a bit bleakly. “Well, if so… you’d be doin’ it right. I don’t know where you learned that from, but I’m glad you did.”

  Bar
r sat a moment, getting over the unexpectedness of the exchange. But he did raise his voice to call, as Oris lifted the tent flap, “I hope you like porcupines!”

  A pause in the shadows, then a short, fathoming laugh. “I promise I’ll take care how I touch her.”

  * * *

  Five days after the pig picnic, Barr strolled, not hobbled, over to the medicine tent to return his stick and get his stitches taken out. By Verel himself, officially. It did mean he had to sit down in the front room and endure being basted with Verel’s stinging spirits, as the threads were clipped and, ow, pulled one by one.

  “Not bad,” said Verel judiciously. “The scars are still going to be tender and swollen for a little while, but they didn’t blow up into a roaring infection after all.”

  “They tried, for a bit.” Giving Barr a feverish headache for a couple of days. “Yina’s reinforcements pushed that back pretty good. She took care of the adhesions that were grabbing hold, too.” He twisted his neck to demonstrate the lack of internal tugging, and Verel tch’d and tapped his chin to still him. “She looks to be coming on for a strong maker.”

  “Yes, she’s my best apprentice in quite a while. She could start working on her own any time, back at Log Hollow. I wish I could devise some way to keep her here at Pearl Riffle.”

  “I, ah… noticed she doesn’t seem to be string-bound. Does she have a fellow here?”

  Verel snickered. “She has fellows here following her around like a herd of moonstruck foals. She didn’t tell you all about Rett, back at Log Hollow?”

  “No?”

  “Huh.” Verel pulled another stitch.

  “Who’s Rett?”

  “A right paragon of a young man, to hear her tell it. He does everything better than anyone, and is waiting for her faithfully. Writes to her regular. There might be poems.”

  “Oh,” said Barr, slumping on the stool.

  “Sit up.” Clip, tug.

  “Mph.”

  “But she didn’t tell you?”

  “Not a word. Although I can’t say as I asked. She was always in a hurry, and there was Lily to check, too.”

  Verel grinned. The expression was disturbingly sneaky. “That’s interesting.”

  Barr was reminded of his feelings about that term in medicine makers’ mouths.

  Verel went on, “Because she tells everyone about Rett. Yet not you.”

  “So?”

  Verel leaned over and flicked him on the forehead with a strong, albeit clean, fingernail.

  “Ow! Stop doing that, Verel!” Barr batted at his hand, careful not to actually connect. “What riddle d’you think I’m supposed to be solving now, with no blighted information as usual?”

  “Rett is a tarradiddle. Yina didn’t want distractions in her studies, so she made him up. She’s very determined.”

  “Oh.” Barr blinked. “…Really?”

  “She’s worked out his whole life story. I make suggestions to add, now and then. It’s been fairly entertaining.”

  “And no one’s guessed?”

  “She has patroller-grade groundshielding. And can be very straight-faced.” Verel smirked.

  “Unlike you. …And how was I supposed to figure that out?”

  “It could be a test.”

  Barr scowled, or tried to. His lips kept tugging up. “Then why are you helping me cheat?”

  “Maybe because some things are just too painful to watch? I mean, despite the amusement.”

  “Proud to serve,” Barr growled. But, after a moment, “So, uh… has Yina said anything about me?”

  “That would be telling.” Clip, tug. “Well, she’s reported on your recovery, and Miss Lily. But I haven’t heard much news about Rett lately. Poor fellow. I suspect he’s fated for a sad end.”

  “A fatal accident?” Barr could come up with some suggestions. Tarradiddles, heh.

  “Mm, I’d vote for a last heartbreaking letter telling her how he’s tired of waiting and has found someone else, and is moving after her to another hinterland. Much tidier.”

  “I can see that.” A last clip. “Thanks, Verel.”

  “The rest is up to you, mind.” Tug. “Don’t muck this one up. I’d be peeved.”

  “There’s not a rush, I guess. Is there?”

  “She wasn’t planning to return to Log Hollow for a couple more months, no.”

  “Is she tent heiress there for the Minks?”

  “Nope. Younger sister. Of four. So somewhat detachable, I’d gauge. If she had a strong enough reason.”

  Younger sisters were known to move out and start their own tents, time to time, if things grew too crowded and tense. Like young queen bees. Conditions had to be just right, though. Hmm.

  Verel turned away to tidy up, and said over his shoulder, “So how is your Miss Lily doing, down among all the Foxbrushes?”

  “Not… badly. She’s a lot calmer than when we first arrived. I was afraid I might have to fight to defend her, which would have set folks’ backs up something fierce. But really, it seems to be working better to just let things slide quietly along until the question is settled without anyone, y’know, actually settling it.” Barr mulled how to sum this up. “She’s learning a lot very fast, and most of it isn’t even coming from me. Raki’s taken her all around the camp. The horse-girls have been showing her how they use groundsense tricks to control the horses, and practicing shielding, because a lot of them are just learning that skill themselves. All the tent chores aren’t too much different from what she did back on the farm, apart from some groundwork flourishes added. She has a temper, but the occasional knock she encounters for being farmer doesn’t seem to kick it up. I’m not sure why that is.”

  “She doesn’t know it’s supposed to be an insult?”

  “Maybe… No, I don’t think it’s that.” Barr’s lips twisted. “I can’t tell if it’s because she expects not to have her feelings considered, or she doesn’t feel secure enough to hit back. Or if she just brushes off crap from fools. Which would be pretty mature for her age.”

  “Or any age,” agreed Verel.

  Barr touched his fingers gingerly to his dotting of new scabs; Verel, with a mild sigh, knocked his hand away.

  “So am I cleared to go back to patrol?” Barr had uncomfortably mixed feelings about that. He’d been looking forward to reestablishing himself at Pearl Riffle, but then things had got… complicated. Lily still seemed like a fresh-transplanted seedling, raw and torn, with no roots put down yet enough to hold her in a high wind. Who would look to watering her every day if he were gone from the tent? So to speak. He imagined her irate response to such a comparison, and pressed out a grin.

  “At need. The rest will be up to Amma, now.”

  “Isn’t it always.”

  * * *

  Two days after that, a young messenger from patrol headquarters ran Barr to earth at Tent Foxbrush, where he was sitting out front in the sunlight mending riding leathers, to breathlessly announce he was to report at once to Amma, along with Miss Lily.

  Barr set down the awl. “Is it an emergency?” A call-up for a reserve patrol should not have included Lily. His glance around saw no signs of a sudden rise in the river, flash flooding from unseen rains far upstream needing all available hands to help at the ferry. No smoke billowed up from anywhere across the camp marking some out-of-control fire.

  The youth shook his head. “I don’t think so. But she did say not to dawdle.”

  “Did she, now?”

  The runner smirked. “Well, she actually said to tell him to hustle his dragging tail, and bring his other tail, too.”

  “Close enough.” Barr waved acknowledgment, and the runner trotted off to deliver his next message wherever.

  Barr detoured to the patrol paddocks to pick up Lily. The stables were quiet, confirming no patrol crisis in progress. He found her having a commune with Moon, lying atop his bare back as he nibbled his way peacefully around the pasture. She slid off and bounced over to Barr at his beckoning wave.


  “What is it?”

  “Amma wants to see the pair of us.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Runner didn’t say.”

  They trudged southwest along the valley’s slope, headquarters-ward. The noon air was hazily bright, soft with the familiar smell of the river. Barr went on cautiously, “Now, I know Amma can be pretty, uh, blunt, but don’t let her scare you. She generally only gets a bur under her saddle if it’s something important.” Or if a fellow had irritated her one time too many, but they’d hardly spoken in the past few days.

  “I didn’t think she was all that scary. I like her.”

  “Angry Amma?” said Barr, startled. “Whyever?”

  Lily frowned and shrugged, plainly trying to piece together some new idea. “Thing is… she may get mad, but she isn’t whiny or naggy about it. She doesn’t store it up like a, a compost heap, all hot on the inside and rotting. She’s angry like she has a right, and no one disputes it.” She added after a moment, “Or tells her to be a good girl, or be quiet, or apologize. Or go to her room.”

  Barr’s brain sagged, trying to imagine anyone trying any such thing on Amma. She must have been fourteen once, too, but he found he could only picture young Amma as a sawed-off version of her current self, complete with the gray braid and the gift for sarcasm. He shook his head to clear the image.

  “I like the way she’s angry,” Lily concluded, in a tone of bemused discovery. “It’s just all out there in front of you, not lying up hidden to ambush you later.”

  It was a view of Amma he’d never considered. “You have a point, Porcupine.”

  She made a wry face at the nickname, which looked to be here to stay. Like the girl herself, he trusted. “If I really am a porcupine, I ought to have a lot of them.”

  Barr’s lips twitched up. “Could be.” A belated question occurred to him. “So when have you seen Amma enough to talk to?”

  “Oh, she comes around to the paddocks pretty often, to check on the horses and gear, and tell people what’s going to need doing. And figure out what she can count on to do it with. She lets me help her with some things.”