Pattern

by K. J. Parker

  (So that was that, Poldarn said to himself; from an abandoned weapon to a useful farm tool in six heats – seven, to include the tempering. Once he’d done that, drawn out the brittle hardness and left it springy and tough, it’d be a hook. Anybody looking at it would assume it had always been a hook, there was nothing to show that it had once been a spear. It had been purged of its old memory and supplied with a new one. There was no risk that it would ever remember its old life and suddenly uncurl back into a spear, like a shoot standing up out of the earth in spring, and there was no reason to suppose it would be likely to suffer from unpleasant dreams.)

  ‘Sorry,’ Asburn said, noticing him, ‘did you want to get to the fire?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Poldarn gripped his silly little shaving of iron in the small tongs and snuggled it into the coals, while Asburn ground off the scale and burnt oil from his hook. ‘Just the job, that spear,’ he said, ‘as it turned out.’

  Asburn nodded. ‘Nice bit of hardening steel,’ he said. ‘It’d have been a pity to waste it.’

  How true, Poldarn thought. His scrap took no time at all to heat up, and he transferred it to the other anvil and started to draw it into a taper. Almost at once the wedge flew out of his hammer. He swore and looked round for it, but it could have been anywhere. ‘Might as well make a new one,’ he grumbled. ‘Quicker in the long run.’

  He found a piece of thick iron strap in the trash and drew it down in two heats into a fan; then he closed in the sides and cut it off with the hot sett. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was what he needed, and it went in smoothly enough. He rapped the bottom of the handle sharply on the anvil to settle the head, and dunked the hammer in the water tank to swell. It’d have to stay there overnight before it was fit to use, so at least he wouldn’t have to make any nails that day.

  He managed to get an hour or two of sleep that night, which left him wide awake in the early hours of the morning, at the time of day when even small worries cast long shadows. He lay in the dark, staring at the shadow where the roof ought to be, and wondered what it would feel like to be a bean-hook that suddenly woke up remembering what it had been like to be a spear. It was a ridiculous notion, not the sort of thing you could contemplate without grinning at any other time of day, but it clamoured for his attention like an obstreperous child, and wouldn’t go away until he played with it. What would it be like to be a farmer who suddenly realised that he’d once been a soldier, a leader of armies, a deviser of strategies, figuring out the best way to achieve an objective through the use of violent force? An academic question if ever there was one, but interesting, as a case study in human temperament.

  As he lay there, he felt the stuffed-straw mattress under his back soften into the churned mud beside the Bohec; and somewhere nearby, two people were talking.

  You again, said one voice. How many times have I got to tell you, we don’t want you here.

  We, the other voice repeated, that’s a new one. Since when have you been we? Oh, I forgot, you’re married. You’re in love. Two hearts, one mind, one flesh. Excuse me while I do the figures; is this the third time, or the fourth?

  It’s the last time, the first voice said firmly. This is the time that matters. She’s having my baby, and we’re going to stay here and grow old together. And three’s a crowd. Go away.

  Sure, replied the other voice, that’s what you always say, there’s a definite pattern to it. Every time, before you snap out of it and come back to me, you find some girl, father a kid, it’s some kind of gesture you feel the need to make so I’ll know you don’t need me. Then you realise that you do need me after all, and off we go together. Actually, I’m glad. I’m patient, but not that patient. It’s about time.

  You just don’t listen, the first voice said angrily. You’re out of the picture, you don’t exist any more, you’re buried and cremated and gone. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for both of us.

  The other voice laughed; a cold, patronising laugh that made Poldarn shiver. That’s what you always say, it said, around about this stage in the proceedings. I love it when you’re predictable.

  The first voice tried to object, but the second voice overrode it. Imagine what it’d be like, the second voice said, if you were a farmer who woke up and remembered he’d once been a soldier, a master of a free company. Think how you’d feel, bending down to prod cabbage plants into the dirt, knowing that once upon a time, all you had to do was say the word and cities would burn. Think of the shame—

  Exactly, the first voice put in. Shame, guilt—

  I didn’t mean it like that, said the other voice calmly. You know perfectly well what I meant. I’m talking about the shame you’d feel at how low you’d fallen, how little and pathetic and grubby you’d become – it could break your heart, knowing that. But we don’t have to do it that way. All you’ve got to do is come with me, and it can be smooth and easy and enjoyable—

  Never, the first voice said. That’s where you completely fail to understand me, because deep down, we’re totally opposite, no common ground between us whatsoever. Which is why I pushed you out of my life, and why I won’t ever let you back. What’s so difficult to understand about that?

  It’s a lie, the other voice said simply. It’s not true. So there’s nothing to understand. It’s just you playing hard to get, as usual. Or are you trying to pretend you don’t remember us having exactly this conversation about ten years ago, in Mael? Or five years before that, in Deymeson?

  Of course I don’t remember, the first voice said. Obviously. That wasn’t me back then, it was you. Really, what kind of an idiot do you take me for?

  It’s the other way round, the second voice replied, as if explaining something simple to a backwards child. You’re trying to make me believe something that’s patently untrue. I could take offence at that, if I didn’t love you so much.

  You don’t love me. You never loved anybody.

  That’s a lie. The second voice flared into anger, then slipped easily back into its quiet, superior tone. Don’t be ridiculous, of course I love you. For pity’s sake, just look at the things I’ve done for you. I’ve burned cities to the ground, churned up a whole empire, killed thousands of people. You can try and bury my love, but that just makes things worse; you can pile a whole mountain on top of it, and it’ll still burst through and come streaming down the mountainside in fire. I’ve moved heaven and earth for you, literally, so don’t you ever say I don’t love you. And I’ll tell you another thing, the voice went on, quieter and more urgent; if you care a damn about that woman of yours, or about any of these people, you won’t let them come between us. You know what happens to people who come between us. If you’re capable of any kind of affection – well, I won’t spell it out, you’re not that dense. But you need to think about stuff like that before you go plunging into things. You’ve got obligations, you ought to remember that.

  I hate you, the first voice said.

  Really? The second voice sounded insufferably amused. That’s something else you always say, just before we get back together again. Come on, don’t be a pain. Give in easily for a change, it’ll be better for everybody, you’ll see. All you’ve got to do is close your eyes.

  I don’t care what you do, the first voice said, you do what the hell you like, because it’ll be your fault, not mine. This time I really mean it. We’re finished. I’m going to stay here, even if you turn the whole place into a desert.

  I can do that, the second voice said pleasantly. You’ve seen how I can do that: all I’ve got to do is push a little harder, and the next time you won’t be able to deflect me so easily. Oh, for crying out loud, you don’t think you did that? You don’t honestly believe you pushed me aside, do you? You didn’t push me, I got out of the way, to please you – and because I could see where it’d lead, of course, where you’d have me believe you couldn’t. You know me, I’m the dog you throw sticks for. You tell me to go right instead of left, I can do that, for sure. You tell me to make a
loud noise so the bad guys will look the other way, I’ll do that too. And when you ask me to come and huff and puff and burn a little house down, that’s not a problem, I come running – and exactly on time, I hope you noticed, I was in position to the minute. I hope you noticed that.

  I was busy, the other voice whispered. I didn’t see.

  No? Pity. Never mind, I held up my side of the bargain. Now you’re obligated. And don’t pretend you didn’t know – you knew perfectly well, the moment you started it all.

  I didn’t start it, the first voice said, almost pleading.

  The hell you didn’t. Let’s see, where exactly did it all start? Was it when you cut that man’s throat, out by the washing pool? Or when you diverted the fire-stream, or when you hid the beef barrel, or when you took in your killer waif off the mountainside? Or was it earlier than that, even – you know, I lose track sometimes, you’re so busy when you’re on your own, always getting up to mischief. That’s why you need me, to keep you on the straight and narrow, not dissipating your energy on silly little jobs. Anyway, it was definitely you, each and every step of the way. It could only have been you, because of course I wasn’t there. I’ve got the perfect alibi, you see. I wasn’t there, because you turned me away, told me to get lost. You do understand that, don’t you? Because it’s absolutely crucial. You can’t blame me for anything, because it was all you.

  All right! the first voice shouted. It was me, it was me. But it’s all your fault, because you made me like this. Even without you, I still do these horrible things. That’s why I can never go back to you. Because if I do, it’ll be worse—

  No. There was a smile in the second voice, an audible grin of triumph. The only difference between what you do on your own and what you did when we were together is that your solo efforts are meaningless, they don’t achieve anything, they’re just random chaos and destruction. All right, when we’re together we do the same sort of stuff, but just think for a moment about what we’ve achieved. That’s the difference. You know, the voice went on, you seem to believe that I’m the bad side and you’re the good side; but that’s horseshit, it’s the other way around. You and I together, we were getting somewhere. On your own, you’re just a fox running through a cornfield with a burning switch tied to its tail. Besides, by any standards, what you do on your own is worse. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just blind malevolence, like the volcano.

  There was a long silence. Then the first voice said, No. All right, so maybe some of what you’re saying is true. But that doesn’t change anything, it really doesn’t matter. I don’t care if I’m as evil as you are, or worse, even. I don’t care if I’m the devil incarnate and you’re an angel. I hate you, and I’m never going back. Not ever—

  Poldarn sat up. His face and chest were dripping wet with sweat. Beside him, Elja grunted irritably and clawed at the blanket. ‘Go to sleep,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘I heard something,’ he replied. ‘Stay there, I’m going to look.’

  He slid out of bed and crept across the floor in his bare feet, out through the partition door into the hall and onto the porch. At once he looked up towards the mountain, expecting to see a river of orange fire; but there was nothing, just a smear of dawn. He sat down on the chair Raffen had made and started to shake, though he hadn’t a clue why.

  After a while, the shakes wore off; he relaxed, told himself it was just a bad dream, nothing unusual about that. He watched the red seep into the clouds on the skyline and tried to remember the rhyme: red sky in the morning – it was either good or bad, but he couldn’t recall which.

  ‘Shepherd’s warning,’ said a voice to his left. He recognised it.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘it means rain later or something like that. What are you doing here? I thought I heard somewhere that you died.’

  ‘I did. And it was a nasty way to go, too. Blood poisoning, after I gave birth to our daughter. To be honest with you, I can’t really say it was worth it. I mean, she’s a nice enough kid, quite pretty in a washed-out, everyday sort of a way, but not a patch on me.’

  ‘True,’ Poldarn replied. ‘But that’s a pretty high standard you’re setting her. There’s not many that could measure up to it. And she’s kind and understanding and loyal, and she’s got a great sense of humour.’

  ‘And I bet she’s mustard at embroidery and brewing, too, but who gives a shit about all that sort of thing?’ Whoever she was, she laughed. ‘Listen to me, I’m jealous of my own daughter now. No, I’m not, because I know for a fact that she can’t compare to me. If it came down to a straight choice, right now, you’d dump her and come away with me without even having to think about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Poldarn said, ‘I would. But you’re dead, so the question doesn’t arise. It never did. You were married, to that moron Colsceg, and you wouldn’t leave him.’

  She laughed again. ‘Oh, I’d have left him like a stone from a sling, if the right man had come along. But he didn’t. Instead, I got you. And it killed me. I suppose you could say it served me right, but I’m not convinced. I deserved better, a whole lot better than either of you. Instead—’ She sighed. ‘Instead, by the time I was her age, I’d been dead six years. Not much of a fair go, was it? Eighteen years, that’s all I had, and in that time I was wonderful. Oh, he didn’t appreciate me, my useless turd of a husband. I think you did, a bit, but you were just a kid, you’d only just learned how to tie your bootlaces. No, you always were inclined to think with your dick, especially back in those days.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Poldarn said equably. ‘If things had been different, if we could’ve got married and settled down, things would have been so much better for everyone—’

  ‘Oh, please.’ She was laughing at him. ‘What on earth makes you think I’d ever have married you?’

  ‘Well, you married Colsceg. This suggests that you weren’t inclined to be picky.’

  ‘Shows what you know. I married him to get out of my father’s house, simple as that. He was exactly what I needed at that time: he had his own house, he wasn’t living under the shadow of his father or his grandfather or anybody else, so I’d be in charge at home, no raddled old cow telling me what to do or how things should be run. He had two sons already, so he didn’t have any call to use me as a brood mare. And since we’re being honest, which I don’t remember ever happening back when I was alive, he might have been stodgy and middle-aged but he was twice the man you were. There was never anything much to you. In fact, God only knows what all your other women ever saw in you.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Poldarn said. ‘It’s so kind of you to tell me that.’

  ‘Well, for pity’s sake,’ the voice said contemptuously. ‘Just look at them, will you? There’s been so many of them, and every single one of them about as interesting as last night’s porridge. I mean, take that mimsy little blonde bitch, the prince’s daughter—’

  ‘I loved her,’ Poldarn objected.

  ‘Did you hell. You only married her so you’d have her father by the balls.’

  ‘Oh sure, to begin with,’ Poldarn admitted readily. ‘That was the original idea; but then I fell in love with her. She was so giving, so—’

  ‘Weak and pathetic,’ the voice cut in. ‘A doormat, a little plaster doll. How you managed to stay awake when you were seeing to that beats me, really it does. And what about the last one – sorry, the one before last, it gets so confusing. You know, the one who never washed, with the hairy armpits. You’re not seriously asking me to believe you were ever even fond of her.’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact,’ Poldarn replied. ‘Actually, she reminds me a lot of you.’

  For a moment, the other voice was too angry to speak. ‘That’s sick,’ it said. ‘I know you only said that to annoy me, but you shouldn’t say things like that, even in spite. And so, all right, maybe you were fond of her. You were absolutely besotted with me.’

  ‘Very true,’ Poldarn said, ‘I was. But as you yours
elf said just now, I was only a kid at the time. Shallow, immature, only interested in one thing. You can’t have it both ways, you know.’

  She giggled. ‘Very true,’ she said. ‘You know, you’ve somehow managed to get a bit of an edge since the last time I saw you.’

  ‘Really. Next you’ll be saying, haven’t I grown?’

  She ignored that. ‘About time, too,’ she said. ‘God, you were so damn soppy back then, it turns my stomach just thinking about it. Giving me flowers all the time. I don’t want to sound hard or anything, but what earthly use is a bunch of dead vegetation? If I’d wanted flowers, I’d have picked my own. As it was, soon as you were gone, I buried them in the compost heap. Oh, now I’ve hurt your feelings; but be reasonable, I couldn’t very well have gone back home with them. First thing he’d have said, where did you get those?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Poldarn said. ‘I thought you liked them. You always said you liked them.’

  ‘Dear Ciartan,’ she said, ‘I was just trying to be nice. You know, pretending. I always did a lot of pretending when I was with you. After all, you were so terribly brittle, one word out of place and you were no good for anything. Of course I pretended, it’s what we all do. Or did you really think I was melting at your every touch?’

  ‘Fine,’ Poldarn replied. ‘You know, if I was so useless, I don’t know why you bothered.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘It was something to do, I suppose.’

  ‘Something to do,’ Poldarn repeated. ‘Have you got any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?’

  This time, she sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Me? For heaven’s sake, if anybody’s the victim, it’s me. You’re not the one who died in childbirth, remember.’