Brightly Burning

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I’ll help with the chores,” Lan said, suddenly moved to offer by the recollection of how many chores a farm family usually had. “I don’t mind, and that will make sure you get some time to have some fun, too.”

  “That’ll make things easier, thanks,” Tuck said gratefully, without any awkwardness over the offer. “I usually get wood chopping and water carrying when I’m home—we don’t have a pump in the kitchen, so we fill a cistern above it; there’s no well under the house, so we’re kind of stuck. That’s a lot of water.”

  “Well, it’ll be half of a lot of water,” Lan laughed. “Which ought to be some comfort to you!”

  THEY reached Tuck’s home just at sunset, with scarlet light streaming across the white snow and the entire sky on fire. Tuck’s home looked very like every other farm they’d passed; the house was a trifle larger, perhaps, but otherwise it was the same: stone building, stone barn, thatched roofs, chicken coop with its own thatched roof, dove cot, pig sty, and cows coming in from the field to be milked. This was primarily a dairy farm, close as it was to Haven; the income came from milk, cream, butter, cheese, and eggs, and the vegetables and animals they raised mostly went to their own table. As a consequence, the barn was enormous. The cattle were a pampered lot, cossetted and petted. Each had her own stall with her name over it; each was cared for tenderly. Tuck’s family didn’t even slaughter their own cattle for beef; weaned bull calves were sent elsewhere, and the cows who could no longer give milk were allowed to play nursemaid to the newly-weaned female calves until they were old enough to join the milch herd.

  Not that they didn’t eat beef; they traded for it. They also raised a few sheep as well as pigs for meat, but no one was allowed to make a pet of them.

  All this Lan knew from Tuck’s stories of his family, and it all made very good sense to him.

  As they turned off the road and took the path leading to the farm, someone came out of the house and spotted them. Waving wildly until they waved back, the figure jumped up and down, then turned back and ran into the house. A moment later, more figures poured out of the house, until there were a good dozen waving at them and shouting greetings.

  Tuck and Dacerie launched into a gallop; Lan and Kalira continued at a more sedate pace. When Tuck reached his family, he spilled out of the saddle and into their arms for a hearty exchange of embraces and back slapping. Lan grinned, although he couldn’t even imagine his own family indulging in such antics.

  By the time he and Kalira reached the group, most of the greeting was over. He dismounted with a bit more dignity and took the hand that Tuck’s mother extended to him.

  “I can’t begin to thank you for this hospitality, Mistress Chester,” he began, when the rosy-cheeked woman waved his thanks aside, and clasped his hand in both of hers.

  “Call me Ma, youngling,” she insisted. “Or Ma Chester, if you’d druther. No formal nonsense amongst friends in holiday, I always say.”

  Ma Chester’s ginger-colored hair and sparkling green eyes were the duplicate of her son’s, and although her figure was ample enough, she was by no means the roly-poly dumpling that farm wives were portrayed as in city stories. She worked hard, and she was as sturdy and well-muscled as any of her sons.

  “Well, you still have my thanks, Ma Chester,” he replied, grinning. “And I promised Tuck I’d share his chores with him, so don’t you try and sneak him off to do them alone!”

  “A promise is a promise, so I shan’t,” she agreed, smiling broadly. “Pa Chester’s a-milking, so you’ll see him soon’s you take the ladies to the barn, and about half the rest of the brood, but I’ll make you known to the flock—”

  She introduced him to her four youngest children, who stared at him merrily from blue or green eyes. One boy and three girls, they were, with the youngest being the boy—Sheela, Trinny, Cassie, and Jan. The rest of the mob were servants or hired workers, whom she introduced just the same as her children. The hired workers took the morning chores, allowing the master and his children to sleep a little past dawn; in return, the master and his children took all the evening chores, permitting the hired hands to have their dinner and go home to their own families early.

  With the introductions over for the moment, the crowd returned to dinner, and Lan and Tuck led their Companions into the barn.

  A dusky light filled the barn; carefully shielded oil lamps placed in wrought-iron cages fastened to the great beams that supported the hayloft gave off a diffused illumination. The cattle were all in their stalls, some munching placidly on their hay, the last few being milked. A sweet odor of hay and milk filled the barn, and the swish-swish of milk spurting into pails was the only sound besides the munching of hay and the occasional hoof stamp or snort.

  “Aye, Tuck!” called Pa Chester from the back of the barn. “Ye’re here, then! And hallo to ye too, young Lavan!”

  “Heyla, Master Chester!” Lan called, “Glad I am to be here! I’ve given your lady my thanks, but you must take them as well.”

  “Ah, ’tis naught, we’re glad for your company, youngling!” Pa Chester replied. “And you’ll be calling me Pa, same as Tuck, an’ ye please!”

  “Yes, sir!” Lan replied, stifling a chuckle.

  He followed Tuck, who led Dacerie to the rear of the barn, and there were two stalls—open, box stalls, with ample mangers filled with hay and oats, hock-deep in sweet, fresh straw, and buckets filled with fresh water. The stalls had no doors, so that Dacerie and Kalira could come and go as they pleased, exactly as in the stalls in the Companions’ Stable at the Collegium.

  Greatly pleased, though not surprised, Lan unsaddled Kalira and gave her a good rubdown, covering her with her special fitted blanket. Saddle and saddle blanket went over the sides of the stall, bitless bridle was hung on a peg at the front, and then he picked up his packs and left Kalira to her meal. He emerged just in time to be introduced to the rest of Tuck’s family.

  These were three boys and two girls; Merry, who as Tuck had prophesied, immediately began to make eyes at him, her sister Ajela, and Tuck’s brothers Hal, Stane, and Guy. Pa Chester he already knew, a hearty blue-eyed, straw-haired farmer, plain as a post and cheerful as a sparrow. The boys were like him; Tuck clearly took after his mother. Merry was blonde as well; Ajela a true strawberry blonde and much the prettier of the two, though Lan doubted that she was aware of the fact.

  With dusk fading and the stars beginning to come out, the group trooped into the kitchen for dinner, as cheerful an affair as any meal at the Collegium. Tuck’s brothers and sisters bombarded him with questions about the Collegium; Lan kept quiet and listened. Tonight’s meal was rabbit pie, mashed turnips with sweet butter, scones, clotted cream, and plenty of jam. There was more than enough for everyone; seconds, and even third helpings were the rule in the Chester household. Everyone worked hard and had the healthiest of appetites.

  There was one other member of the family that Lan had not yet met, to whom he was introduced before dinner. This was Granny Chester, Pa Chester’s mother. Though very old, she was not at all frail; it was she who still spun most of the wool knitted into stockings and winter garments for the family. She did a great deal of the knitting itself. She taught the girls to sew, weave, and embroider—taught the boys, too, if anyone could catch them often enough to make them sit still for the lessons. Tuck was one of the few boys at the Collegium who had the skills to help out with the sewing and mending, and he made no bones about the fact that he greatly enjoyed being the only rooster in the henhouse.

  Lan bowed over Granny’s hand like a very courtier; she snatched it away from him and gave him a playful rap on the knuckles, but dimpled with pleasure like the girl she once was. Snow-white hair peeked from under her cap in flossy curls; her blue eyes, surrounded by a maze of fine lines and wrinkles, twinkled at him.

  After dinner, the family cleared away the plates and everyone helped to wash up; Lan took his turn drying the heavy pots. They pushed the table aside and brought in the cushions and easy chairs; the
huge kitchen did double duty as a sitting room in winter, for there was no reason to heat two rooms when one would suffice. The sitting room was kept shuttered and closed off from the rest of the house until spring, when it would be opened up and used as a retreat from the heat of the kitchen.

  Granny Chester got pride-of-place right next to the fire in the chimney corner; the girls brought out knitting or fine sewing, the boys carving or more knitting. Even Tuck dashed upstairs and brought down a basket with a half-finished pair of stockings, evidently left from the last time he was here.

  Seeing what they were up to, Lan rummaged in his packs, which were in a corner of the kitchen, and got out a book. He cleared his throat, and the others looked up at him, some with curiosity, but Tuck with a glint of anticipation.

  “I thought maybe some of you might like to hear a tale or two before bed?” he half asked.

  He needn’t have been so tentative; his suggestion was met with an enthusiasm that would have charmed a practiced Bard.

  The book he had brought with him was, in fact, one of the ones that the Bardic Trainees were taught from. As with all songs, many things were left out of the great songs that were famous all throughout Valdemar; this book, and the others that Lan had brought with him, filled in the blank spaces of many of these famous songs.

  “I know you’ve all heard the Bards sing ‘Berden’s Ride,’ but there’s more to the story than that,” he began, opening the book to the first page. “And here is how Berden’s story really began. . . .”

  As they all listened raptly, knitting needles clicked and knives whittled tiny slivers, and the fire crackled and popped, making a comfortable, domestic background to the story.

  When at last he finished—telling them, for the first time, how Berden settled down at the Collegium, minus a leg but plus his own true love, to live to a respected and ripe old age teaching the Trainees what it meant to be a real message rider—they all sighed with pleasure.

  “I do believe that’s the finest I’ve ever heard anyone read, young Lavan,” Pa Chester said, speaking for them all. “And a fine thing it is to hear the whole of a tale!”

  “Aye, to that,” Granny Chester agreed with satisfaction. “Me own Ma used to call me Curious Kit, because I was allus asking ‘what else happened,’ and she could never tell me!”

  “Well, I have enough tales in my books with happy endings to read one every night I’m here, if you like,” Lan offered, tickled by their response. From the clamor that followed this offer, it was very clear that everyone did, indeed, “like.”

  Ma Chester produced a round of warm cider and chestnuts to roast; fierce betting ensued as to which chestnut would “pop” first. When the last nut was a memory, and the last sip of cider was gone, Granny ordered them all to bed.

  Lan was not at all averse to bed; it had been a long day. He and Tuck fetched their packs from the corner of the kitchen and headed up the stairs with the rest.

  The bedrooms were chilly, even the ones arranged around the central chimney, but hot bricks had been placed in the beds right after dinner. Lan shared Tuck’s bedroom, taking a trundle that rolled out from beneath Tuck’s bed.

  “Well?” Tuck asked, after they had both burrowed under their warm blankets, and the candle was blown out. “Think you’re going to be able to stand my family for a fortnight?”

  “Huh! I think it’s more whether they’re going to be able to stand me! This is going to be great, Tuck, and thanks again for asking me here.”

  “Happy to,” Tuck muttered, pleasure in his voice. “You know . . .”

  But Lan never did find out what Tuck was going to say, because at that point, he was ambushed by sleep.

  FOURTEEN

  THE Collegium was uncharacteristically silent, the hallways dim. The one or two Trainees who remained here over the holiday had already been “adopted” by those who had families here, and were spending the day with those families. Without fires burning, the building itself was cold, but it did not have the forlorn sense of abandonment that Lan had expected. Instead, the feeling as he walked down the hallway to his room was of a rest before activity resumed, as if the Collegium were taking a welcome breather until the Trainees returned in force.

  His arrival had been anticipated, however, and despite the fact that this was a full holiday, someone had been in his room, built up the fire, and brushed and laid out his Formal Grays for him.

  There was even a brand new pair of boots to go with them, something he had not expected, adding the perfect touch of completeness to the uniform. The fire had been going long enough to warm up his room completely; he banked it to await his return before going to the bathing room and cleaning up.

  He had gotten up before dawn in order to get to the Collegium before noon. He wanted to arrive on his parents’ doorstep just before the servants put out the array of finger foods that would sustain the guests until the great feast just after dark. He would stay through the feast, then leave and spend the night at the Collegium before returning to the Chester farm in the morning.

  Fully scrubbed, carefully turned out, he surveyed himself in the full-length mirror at the end of the hall. He straightened unconsciously, and was astonished at his own reflection. A sober-faced stranger stared back at him, clad in a form-fitting, silver-trimmed uniform that lent him a personality somehow more impressive than his own.

  :Time to stop admiring yourself and get out here!: Kalira laughed. :If you want to make a properly-timed arrival, that is.:

  Lan grinned at his reflection and went to fetch his cloak.

  This time he took the gate opposite the one that led the way he and Tuck had used to leave the week before. With a cheerful wave to the Guard, he and Kalira stepped out onto the street outside the walls. Although there were many impressive mansions here as well, these were of the newer sort. And from the look of things, they were all full to bursting with guests—probably relatives come in from outlying areas, for Midwinter Festival at Court was a time of great festivity, fetes and balls, for seeing and being seen, and went on for the full fortnight. Every window held a candle, and garlands of greenery festooned the doors and lower windows. These homes had gates of wrought iron rather than the solid wooden gates of the older homes, and as Lan and Kalira rode past, they saw hordes of happily shrieking children at play in the snow-filled gardens. He hoped that on the other side of the Palaces, the ancient walls of the Great Houses were echoing with as much laughter.

  Things grew quiet again as they entered another section of shops and workshops, mostly workshops with shops attached. A variety of craftspeople worked here; chandlers, booksellers who rebound their wares in fine covers, craftsmen of strictly ornamental objects. There wasn’t a sign of anyone in this part of the city; even the most ambitious shopkeeper knew better than to try to compete with Midwinter Feast. Only where there were taverns and inns was there any sign of where people had gone. Ah, but a turn of the street later found folk gathered around street entertainers in a tiny park filled with lanterns, and the sound of music and dancing echoed through the empty shops. A few enterprising vendors had set up temporary stalls with hot drinks and pastries, and there was no doubt that a good time was being had by all. Another turn, and a different sort of music met Lan’s ears as the cheerful dance tunes faded; the sound of hymns from one of the temples, a chorus swelled manyfold by the folk crowded inside its walls.

  Turn again, and he was in the quarter he knew well; passing Leeside Park where even now a group of brightly-clad young folk trotted their horses, and another group skated and slid on the frozen ice of the central pond. With houses full to bursting with relatives—most of whom insisted on treating adolescents like infants at this holiday season—this lot would probably stay in the park as long as they could get away with it. Vendors of hot food and drink with semi-permanent stalls lined one side of the pond, and at the other side was a warming shed where skaters surrounded an open fire, perched on encircling benches. None of them gave him more than a curious glance, and
he didn’t stop to examine them very closely, although he thought he recognized several from the school. He was no longer a part of their world, nor they of his; if he did recognize either former acquaintance or foe, he really would be at a loss for what to say to them.

  :I’d like to see Owyn, though,: he told Kalira as they turned away from the park and into his parents’ street. :Maybe not right now, but some time soon.:

  :He was a better friend to you than either of you expected,: Kalira replied. :I think you should.:

  Here, the houses were festooned with more greenery than their little gardens ever saw in the height of summer; even the lamp posts were twined with garlands of evergreen and hung with bunches of mistletoe. From the tiny yards behind the houses rose the sounds of more children playing—not with the same boisterous abandon as the ones out in the park or the streets, but still having a good time from the sound of the laughter.

  Kalira’s bridle bells chimed cheerfully, echoing up and down the street, and the sound drew children out of the yards to come see what made it. Lan sat up straighter as round eyes peered at him and took in the familiar sight of a Companion, but the unfamiliar uniform. He heard murmurs of speculation, and suppressed a smile.

  But then, as he drew nearer to his own house, the offspring of his own relatives piled out of the yard, and one of them finally recognized him. A cousin, a very young one, stared at him with mouth and eyes going equally round, then suddenly burst back into the house through the front door, squealing at the top of her lungs.

  “Mama! Mama! It’s Cousin Lan, an’ he’s a Captain Herald!”

  That brought a veritable flood of relatives out into the cold, giving Lan exactly the hoped-for opportunity for a dramatic arrival. Kalira went into a parade gait called a pavane, a kind of slow-motion trot with feet raised as high as possible, as Lan sat very straight and still in the saddle.

  As his mother and father pushed their way through the rest, Kalira came to a graceful halt. With a flourish of his cape, Lan swung out of the saddle, and tied his reins over the pommel. With a brief but very low bow of her head, Kalira whirled on her heels and returned up the street at a now-brisk canter.