Okay; that made no sense. Maybe we should try something less complex. "Is Rock your dog?"
"He's my friend. They were hurting him. I...Wait!"
Uncertain of just who had been told to wait, Jors watched Brock and the dog run across to the town well where a pair of women argued over who'd draw their water first.
Ignored in the midst of the argument, Brock began to draw water for them. He had no trouble with the winch, but while pouring from bucket to bucket, he splashed the older woman's skirt.
Suddenly united, they turned on him. By the time Jors arrived, Brock had filled another bucket in spite of the shouting-although his shoulders were hunched forward and he didn't look happy.
The older woman saw him first, shoved the other, and the shouting stopped.
"Ladies."
"Herald," they said in ragged unison.
"Let me give you a hand with that, Brock. You bring the water up, and I'll pour."
"Pouring is hard," Brock warned.
"Herald, you don't have to," one of the women protested. "We never asked this..."
When Jors turned a bland stare in her direction, she reconsidered her next word. "...boy to help."
"I know." His tone cut off any further protests and neither woman said anything until all the buckets had been filled, then they thanked him far more than the work he'd done required. He'd turned to go when at the edge of his vision he saw one woman lean forward and pinch Brock on the arm, hissing, "Now that's a real Herald."
"HERALD JORS!"
Across the square, the mayor stood on the steps of the town hall, chain of office glinting in the pale autumn sunlight, both hands urging him to hurry. Well, he'll just have to wait! Lips pressed into a thin line, Jors turned back toward the well, had his elbow firmly grabbed, and found himself facing the mayor again.
"Mister Mayor is yelling," Brock explained, moving Jors across the square.
"Let him. I saw what happened back there. I saw that woman pinch you."
"Yes." He turned a satisfied smile toward Jors, never lessening their forward motion. "I made them stop fighting. Heralds do that."
"Yes, they do." They'd almost reached the hall and Jors had a strong suspicion that digging his heels in would have had no effect on their forward motion. "You're stronger than you look."
"Have to be."
I'll bet, Jors thought as he caught sight of the mayor's expression.
"Brock! Get your filthy hands off that Herald!"
"Hands are clean."
"I don't care! He doesn't need you hanging around him!"
"I don't mind." Jors swept through the door, Brock caught up in his wake, both moving too quickly for the mayor to do anything but fall in behind.
"Heralds work together," Brock announced proudly. He clapped his hands as heads began to turn. "Be in a good line now. Heralds are here."
"Heralds?" a male voice jeered from the crowd. "I see only one Herald, Moonling."
"Heralds!" Brock repeated, throwing his arms around Jors' waist in another hug. "Me and him."
O h, Havens.
:Trouble, Heart-brother?:
:I just realized something that should have been obvious-Brock believes he's a Herald.:
:So? You'd rather he believed he was a pickpocket?:
:That's not the point.:
But he couldn't let the townspeople chase Brock from the hall as they clearly wanted to do and Brock wouldn't leave because it was time for the Heralds to hear petitions, so Jors ended up sitting him at the table and hoping for the best.
He realized his mistake early on. Brock had a loudly expressed opinion on everything, up to and including calling one of the petitioners a big fat liar-which turned out to be true; on all points. Unfortunately, short of having him physically carried out of the hall, Jors could think of no way to get him to leave.
:Have him check on Isabel.:
:How... ?"
:You're worried. You're projecting. And I'm only across the square. If he wants to be with a Herald, send him to check on Isabel. She's sick and she needs company.:
:That's a terrific idea.:
Gervis' mental voice sounded distinctly smug. :I know.: It worked. Jors only wished the Companion had thought of it sooner. A Herald's office protected him or her from the repercussions of a judgment-no matter how disgruntled the losing petitioner might be, few would risk the grave penalties attached to attacking a Herald.
Brock didn't have that protection. Good thing he's safely tucked away with Isabel.
* * *
"No, Brock's not here." Healer Lorrin continued rolling strips of soft linen. "He left at sunset for the tavern."
"The tavern?"
"He's there every evening. He fills their wood box and they feed him-him and Rock."
"He works there?"
Lorrin nodded. "There, and the blacksmith's whenever there's a nervy horse in to be shoed-animals trust him. I tried to have him deliver teas to patients, but if he's carrying something, there's always troublemakers who try to take it from him."
"I'm surprised." Jors rubbed his elbow at the memory. "He's quite strong."
"Is he?" She set the finished roll with the others and picked up a new strip of cloth.
"He's bullied all the time, but I've never seen him defend himself. Did you know that poorer mothers have him watch their infants if they have to leave them? I'll tell you something, Herald. When I came here a year ago, I was amazed to discover this town has almost none of those horrible accidents that happen when a baby just starting to creep is left alone and burns to death or drowns-that's because of Brock."
"Where does he sleep?" This far north, the nights were already cold.
"In various stables when the weather's good. By someone's hearth when it isn't."
"Has he no family?"
"His parents were old when he was born, old and poor. They died about three yeas ago and left him nothing."
"Why doesn't someone take him in?"
"He doesn't want to be taken," the Healer snapped. "He's not a stray cat, and for all he can be childlike, he's not a child. He's a grown man, probably not much younger than you and he has the same right as you do to choose his life."
"But..."
She sighed and her tone softened. "There are those who try to make sure he doesn't suffer for those choices, but that's all anyone has a right to do. Besides..." One corner of her mouth quirked up. "...he tells me that Heralds never stay in one place so no one thinks they like some people more than others."
Simpler language but pretty much the official reason, Jors allowed. "How long has he believed himself to be a Herald?"
"As long as I've been here. I'm surprised you haven't heard about him from other Heralds. You can't be the first he's latched on to."
"He wasn't in the reports I read and I..." About to say he doubted Brock would come up in casual conversation between Heralds, he frowned at a distinct feeling of unease. "I should go now."
"There's no need to go to the Waystation tonight, I've plenty of room." Her smile edged toward invitation. "I doubt anyone will accuse you of favoritism if you stay here."
"No. Thank you. I need to..." The feeling was growing stronger. "...um, go."
He doubted she'd be smiling that way at him again, but personal problems were unimportant next to his growing certainty that something was wrong. Taking the steps two at a time, he hit the ground floor running and headed for the stables. :Gervis?:
:We can feel it, too. Calida says it's close.:
It wasn't in the stables or the corral, but when Jors opened the small door, a pair of huddled figures tumbled inside.
Brock lifted a tear-drenched face up from matted gray fur and wailed, "Heralds don't cry."
"Says who?" Jors demanded, dropping to one knee.
"People. When I cry."
"People are wrong. I'm a Herald and I cry." He stretched out a hand, keeping half his attention on the big dog who watched him warily. Herald's Whites meant nothing to Rock, and he d
idn't lower his hackles until Gervis whickered a warning of his own. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"
"Heralds don't tattle!"
His various tormentors had probably been telling him that for years. "If someone does something bad, we do."
"No."
"Yes. If we can't make it right on our own, we tell someone who can. Bad things should never be hidden. It makes them worse."
Brock drew in a long shuddering breath and slowly held out his arm. Below the ragged cuff of his sweater was a dark bruise where a large hand had gripped his wrist.
"Is that all?"
"Rock came. The man ran away."
"Who was it?"
"A bad man."
No argument there. "Do you know his name?"
"A bad man," Brock repeated, wiping his nose against the dog's shoulder.
:You catch him and I'll kick him.: The Companion's mental voice was a near growl.
:Calida says she'll help.:
* * *
"It's a bad bruise, but it is just a bruise. Healer Lorrin wrapped it in an herb pack and she says he'll be fine. He won't stay, says he's not sick enough, but I can't just let him wander off into the night."
"Coors you cand."
"And I can't take him to the Waystation and I can't stay with him because that would be seen as losing impartiality. So, do you mind if he spends the night with Calida?"
Isabel managed a truncated snort. "Fine wid me, bud you'd bezd ask her."
Leading Gervis and the chirras out of the stable, Jors turned for one last look at Brock curled up against Calida's side. The elderly mare had been pleased to have the company and had positioned herself in such a way that Brock could pillow his head against her flank.
Rock had snuggled up on the young man's other side and although his face was still blotchy, Jors had never seen anyone look so completely at peace.
:Why do you two care about him so much?: he asked as he mounted.
:He believes he is a Herald.:
:Yes, but...:
:And he acts accordingly.:
* * *
The next day during petitions, the mayor tripped over Rock sprawled by the table.
Jerking his chain of office down into place, he snarled, "That dog is vicious and ought to be destroyed."
Jors pushed Brock back into his chair. "Who says this dog is vicious?"
The mayor's lip curled. "I heard he attacked a man last night."
"I heard that, too, Herald," called out one of the waiting petitioners.
"Brock, show everyone your arm." The bruises were dark and ugly against the pale skin. "The man Rock attacked did that and would have done more had the dog not come to his master's defense. This dog is no more vicious than I am."
"We've only your word on that, Herald. You can't truth-spell a dog."
"No, but I can truth-spell the man who made the accusation if he's willing to come forward."
No one was surprised when he didn't.
Mid afternoon, as Jors was returning to the hall after a privy break, the town clerk fell into step beside him and apologized for the mayor's earlier behavior. "It's just he feels responsible for the whole town, and it weighs on him and makes him short-tempered.
Believe me, Herald, he's a whole different man when he can take that chain off."
"Mister Mayor wears the town. The town swings heavy heavy."
Brock's explanation suddenly made perfect sense.
* * *
It had been arranged that Brock would spend another night with Calida.
"Companions need Heralds. Lady Herald is sick. I am not sick. I am here." He threw his arms around Jors. "I see you tomorrow, Brother Herald."
"No, not tomorrow, Brock. Tomorrow, I'm going to see the tanners." Tanning was a smelly business, tanners set up their pits downwind of towns, far enough away they could work without complaint but not so far they couldn't get skins or find buyers for their hides.
These particular tanners had chosen distance over convenience and had settled nearly a full day's travel away. The townspeople he'd spoken to about them had made it quite clear that the animosity was mutual. No one went near the place unless they had to. "I'll stay overnight, then go back to the Waystation the next day. The day after that, I'll be back in town. That's why I brought my chirras in today, so he won't be left alone at the station."
"No."
"It's okay. Gervis travels very fast, I won't be gone long."
"No!" Brock released him, stepping back just far enough to meet Jors' eyes. "Don't go!" Pulling the hair back off his face with one hand, he grabbed the Herald's wrist with the other. "See?" An old scar ran diagonally from the edge of a thick eyebrow up into his hairline.
"The tanners did that?"
"I bumped mean lady's cart. Don't go." His eyes welled over. "Mean lady is there."
Jors pulled free of Brock's grip and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll be fine. Really. The mean lady won't do anything to me." The sort of people who'd strike a frightened Moonling were unlikely to be the sort who'd strike a healthy young man in Herald's Whites. "But I have to go and check on them. They haven't been into town for a long time and it's almost winter."
"Not alone."
"Don't worry, I'll have Gervis." He gave the trembling shoulder another squeeze, then swung himself up into the saddle. "You stay with Calida, and I'll see you in two days."
He supposed he'd been half expecting it. When Jors came out of the Waystation early the next morning there sat Brock-which was the half he supposed he'd been expecting-on Calida-which was a total surprise. It wasn't often a Companion would choose to bear anyone but her Chosen-and those exceptions were almost always Heralds.
"Good morning, Brother Herald!"
Actual Heralds. "Brock, what are you doing here?" The young man's crestfallen expression insisted on better manners. Jors rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Good morning, Brock."
The smile returned. "It's early!"
"Yes, it is. What are you doing here so early?"
"I go with you. To tanners."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I go with you."
"No."
"Yes."
Jors hated to do it, but... "What about the mean lady?" The smile faltered as Brock sucked in his lower lip. "You don't want to see the mean lady."
"Don't want you to see mean lady alone." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I go with you."
"That's very brave of you." And he meant that. Courage was only courage in the face of fear. "But even though I know you mean well, you can't just take a Companion."
Brock's eyes widened indignantly. "Didn't take!"
:Calida says if she hadn't wanted him to ride her, he wouldn't be here.: Gervis scratched his cheek on a post and added thoughtfully. :He's very bad at it.:
:At what?:
:Riding.:
:No doubt. What does Isabel say about this?:
:Herald Isabel trusts her Companion.:
:That's not very helpful.:
:It should be.:
One more try. "Brock, by taking her Companion, you've left Herald Isabel alone."
"No." He leaned carefully forward in the saddle and stroked Calida's neck. "Left Rock."
Jors reached for Calida's bridle, but the Companion tossed her head, moving it away from his hand. "Calida, you have to take him back."
The mare gave him a flat, uncompromising stare.
:She says, "make me.": Gervis translated helpfully.
:Yeah. I got that. What do you think I should do?:
:Help him down.:
:You think this is funny, don't you?: Jors demanded doing as the Companion suggested.
:I think this is inevitable, Chosen. You might as well make the best of it.: Even with Jors' help, Brock stumbled as he hit the ground, fell, rolled, and bounced up, declaring, "I'm okay!"
:Now, get ready. : Gervis shoved at Jors' bare shoulder. :We'll be moving slowly and Calida says it's going to rain.:
&nbs
p; :And won't that make this a perfect day?:
:No. She says it's going to rain hard and I don't like to get wet. I want to be there before it rains.:
That began to look more and more unlikely as the morning passed and the clouds grew darker. Brock managed to stay in the saddle at a fast walk and Calida refused to go faster. Once or twice, Jors was positive he was going to fall off, but at the last instant he'd shift weight and somehow stay mounted.
:His balance is bad. But Calida's helping.:
:Why is Calida doing this?:
One ear flicked back. :So he won't fall off:
:No, I mean why is Calida allowing any of this? Why is she allowing Brock to ride her? Why is she allowing-insisting-he come along today?:
:She has her reasons.:
Jors sighed. He knew that tone. :And you're not going to tell me what those reasons are, are you?:
:He's very happy.:
:I can see that.:
Happy was an understatement. For all he held the pommel in a death grip, Brock looked ecstatic. This is really not helping his delusion that he's a Herald, Jors realized.
Something would have to be done about that and since the two of them were spending what was likely to be a full day traveling together, now would be the time to do it. Maybe that was why Calida had brought him.
There'd be no point in bluntly saying, "Brock, you're not a Herald." The townspeople said that all the time, shaded in every possible emotion from amusement to rage, and it had no effect.
"Brock, do you know what makes a person a Herald?"
"Heralds help people. Heralds can cry. Heralds tell when bad things happen." He beamed proudly. "I remember the new things."
"Yes, all those things make a Herald, but..."
"I'm a good Herald."
"...but there's other things."
Brock twisted in the saddle to look at him and Calida adjusted her gait to prevent a fall.
"Heralds wear shiny white."
"Yes..."
He looked down at his gray sweater, then looked back at Jors smiling broadly.
"Clothes are on the outside."
:And a Herald is on the inside.:
:I get it.:
A sapphire eye rolled back at him, distinctly amused. :Just trying to help.:
"Brock, all those things are part of being a Herald, but the most important part is being Chosen by a Companion. You don't have to be a Herald to be a really good person but you do have to be Chosen. Do you understand?"
Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-100 Page 18
