by Shannah Jay
Only a few days later, Loral was brought to bed of a son, a fine lusty little fellow, with his father’s black hair and a voice loud enough to waken the whole house. Karialla attended the birthing, and got permission from Loral for Heth and Ferilla to observe, but her skills weren’t really needed. Some women gave birth easily. She couldn’t understand why Loral hadn’t conceived before, though she’d seen this late flowering a few times and it had helped keep a faint spark of
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hope alive in her, a spark of both hope and pain. Loral would probably have another babe or two now. It usually happened that way.
The training schedule Deverith devised for the apprentices was very thorough, better even, Karialla thought, than her own had been, though Thera had been a good Mentor. It included some skills she herself hadn’t learned, so she sat with them for those lessons.
Deverith grinned at her when she asked how he’d learned so much in one lifetime. ‘I was lucky. I had good Mentors and good experiences. And now you’ll have to learn it all before I die, Karialla, or it’ll be lost. I won’t last for ever, you know.’
‘Could I ask how old you are, Deverith?’
‘Too old. I wonder sometimes where all the years have gone.’
She didn’t pursue the point. She knew him well enough by now to be certain that if he didn’t wish to tell her his age, nothing she said or did would change his mind. He could be very stubborn at times. And after all, it was his own business. She didn’t need to know his exact age.
Only - she still kept reacting to him as a man and he must have noticed, surely, but he said nothing to show whether he approved or disapproved of her interest in him. Though he did give her the occasional quick smile and sometimes the very air seemed to stand still around them as they exchanged glances. Why did he say nothing if he felt the same reaction? She couldn’t understand it. There was nothing to prevent them coming together as a man and woman, well, nothing she knew of.
Fortunately she was so busy she had little time to worry about this.
‘We’ll have to give our fullest attention to these two apprentices,’ Deverith said casually another day. ‘We can’t train the others in the way we’ll have to train these two because it takes much more effort. Heth and Ferilla will be needed to help you teach the next generation and they’ll move straight from Second to First Cadre training, if things go as I expect.’
Then he changed the subject and began to discuss calming infusions.
She had started to write down as much as she could of what Deverith told her, and he would check over what she’d written. He looked at what she’d done and nodded, saying it’d make a book to help people understand things later. No-one could hope to know everything, however hard they tried, and all new healers ought to have their own copies of such books.
They’d removed everything useful from the cellars at the Healers’ Courts now and she heard one day that a group was coming in soon from the nearby settlements to start a food trading domain there, something which made Rojan very angry. He’d wanted to take over the land, apparently, but others had pressed their rights and won.
She was glad. She’d have hated to think of him in that place.
***
The feeling of hope had spread to everyone in Tenebrak now and a veritable orgy of renewal was taking place.
Flower gardens were being replanted, ground cleared of the debris of war, new domains marked out and linked groups of dwellings built. The property of those who’d been killed was assigned by the Council of Elders to groups they considered worthy of it, but somehow, nothing was done about the land up on the Ridge. There was much talk of grandiose schemes and the Ridge became a favourite place to walk in the evening for many people, the two Healers and their apprentices included.
‘That land will come to you when you’re ready to build on it, lass,’ Deverith announced calmly one day when he caught Karialla staring up at it longingly.
She gaped at him. ‘How can you possibly know about that?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a gift I have sometimes. Knowing things. I’ll tell you more about it another time.’
He often made cryptic comments like that.
‘We could do with someone strong to run this town,’ said Deverith one day, ‘someone who enjoys managing things, and has the skills and integrity. Not a gentle, kindly man. They don’t make efficient rulers, you know.’
‘What about Rojan, then?’ she mocked. ‘He’d love to be ruler here and he certainly enjoys managing things.’
‘That man lacks the integrity,’ Deverith said scornfully. ‘Worst of all, he can’t decide whether he’s a good or a bad person.’
She stared at him in surprise. Her own opinion was that Rojan was evil, not infected with discord madness certainly, but filled with another sort of evil, a hunger for power and control over others. He was trying very hard now to extend his sphere of influence from the Circle to the town. She heard it on all sides. Rojan wanted this. Rojan suggested that.
Rojan wouldn’t approve of something being done this way.
‘Have you heard the latest?’ Heth asked a few evenings later as they all sat eating together.
‘No, what?’ Karialla asked.
‘Rojan wants the Council to take a tithe of everyone’s income or produce each year, to be used for the good of the
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whole town.’
‘And what do the townspeople say to that?’
Heth grinned. ‘Oh, some of the people who let Rojan lead them around by the nose say maybe we should think about it, but most folk are up in arms at the mere idea.’
Evril came to see them the next day, to find out what the healers thought of Rojan’s suggestion. It had happened once or twice now since Deverith’s arrival, that a Council member came to consult him.
‘Tell us what you think first,’ Deverith said quietly. ‘You’re an Elder. You were there for the preliminary discussions.’
‘Not much discussion.’ Evril’s voice was sharp with indignation. ‘Rojan just told us what he’d decided. He had everything worked out already. And of course, Fresler supported him. He always does. But there are enough of us Elders who can think for ourselves, thank goodness.’
‘Then you don’t approve of Rojan’s idea?’ Karialla prodded gently.
‘No, I certainly don’t. In fact, I think it’s greedy and unnecessary, and so I told him. You’d have to employ someone to collect the tithes, and then you’d have to build somewhere to store them, because most folk would have to pay in produce or goods, not coin. No, it’s one thing to pay a levy if the town has a specific need - no one minds that - well, not much - but quite another to pay a tithe every year whether more money is needed or not. And anyway, the town already has some regular income from market stall fees and such. Why do we need more?’ He looked at Deverith seeking his opinion.
‘I agree with you absolutely. And you, Karialla?’ Deverith would never give advice without bringing her into the discussion.
‘I agree, too. Regular tithes indeed! It’s a form of robbery.’
There was no further discussion, for someone knocked on the door just then, asking Karialla’s attendance at his wife’s birthing.
As she walked home afterwards, she decided she’d never been this happy in her whole life, not even, she hesitated, then finished the thought - no, not even when she was living with Pavlin in Harmony. Guilt surged through her, but she couldn’t deny the truth.
Healing was sheer joy to her, a craft which enabled her to do good in the world. She’d been wrong to give in to Pavlin about going to found a new settlement. Her love for him had blinded her to her own needs.
She wouldn’t do such a thing again, no matter who asked it of her. What was born in you should never, ever be denied expression.
***
There was joy in the whole town the next day because a traders’ wagon turned up, the first for a while. The goods the traders had for sale were ver
y limited still, but the news they brought more than made up for the lack of goods. And the deleff, browsing placidly in the town field, were a source of wonder to a new generation of small children, some of whom had never seen the huge creatures before.
People took a break from their daily work just to go and see the traders, talk to them and hear the news. Soon the day had turned into a celebration, and folk brought out their food to share and then started dancing in the market square, as they used to do in the old days.
Only Evril’s insistence made the townsfolk keep watch still throughout that joyous evening and the nights which followed, but he was quite adamant about it. The Discord Wars were over, yes, but bullies and raiders were still travelling the land.
And since people were beginning to respect his opinions, the Council of Elders organised things as he asked, even in the face of Rojan’s scorn.
***
A Grand Celebration was to be held at the One Circle when the roof repairs there were completed and new benches had been fabricated to replace the beautifully carved ones burned by Farran. A big crowd was expected and Karialla was asked by two or three of the members whether she was coming.
Smilingly impervious to previous rebuffs, Rojan called at the house one evening to extend a personal invitation to the healers to attend the Grand Celebration.
Karialla knew he’d be conducting the ceremonies himself and that thought made her shudder. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, trying to close the door but finding to her indignation that he was holding it open.
‘But - ’
‘I’m sorry. I can’t stay to talk. We’re very busy tonight.’ Again she tried to close the door and again he used his superior strength to hold it open.
‘It’s important that people like you set a good example,’ Rojan insisted. ‘Both of you should be there on this important occasion.’
This evening they were having an important ethics discussion with the two apprentices. Out of courtesy, Karialla
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explained why she couldn’t stay to speak to him just then.
His eyes brightened. ‘As First Elect in the One Circle, ethics are surely more my province than yours.’ He pushed the door right open and took a step inside.
Deverith, who had stopped speaking and come into the hall, moved forward. ‘Go away and leave us alone, Rojan. If we ever want to join your celebrations, we’ll know where to come. At the moment, we’re busy.’ As Rojan opened his mouth to argue, Deverith added, ‘Go you and tend to your own business and leave us to tend to ours. Do not return to this house uninvited.’
As had happened once or twice before at important moments, his words seemed to echo slightly. Karialla glanced quickly sideways at him.
To her surprise, Rojan looked around him blankly, then turned and walked out of the house without further argument.
‘How did you do that?’ she asked Deverith later, when they were alone.
‘Do what?’
‘Send Rojan away.’
‘I forced my will upon his, something I dislike doing, but that man cannot take no for an answer.’
‘Forced your will upon his? I don’t understand.’
‘You will one day.’ He touched her lightly on the shoulder and smiled, refusing to explain further.
She felt the warmth of Deverith’s touch for a long time afterwards.
And Rojan never came to the house again, because they certainly didn’t invite him.
***
Among the people who did attend the Grand Celebration was Loral. Karialla asked her friend why she continued to go to the gatherings.
‘I don’t know. I just . . . well, I feel better to think that there’s someone, or something, keeping an eye on us. I mean
- we’d be very alone without our gods, wouldn’t we? I don’t think I’d like to feel so alone. I’m not strong like you, Karialla.’
‘I’m no stronger than you are.’
‘Yes, you are, love. You survived all alone in the wildwoods. I could never have done that. I need people about me.
I’d have gone mad being on my own for so long. You have great strength within you. Everyone can see it.’ She grinned slyly. ‘And we can also see how that irritates Rojan.’ The grin faded. ‘I wish someone else was First Elect. He takes the joy out of everything, that man does. I don’t go when he’s running one of those special gatherings of his.’
The other woman’s explanation of why she liked going to the meeting house caused Karialla to lie awake at night, pondering. One phrase in particular came back to her again and again: ‘We’d be very alone without our gods, wouldn’t we?’
She did feel alone sometimes, in spite of her friends, in spite of Deverith, even! She missed the loving relationship she’d shared with Pavlin, and although time was healing her grief, nothing quite filled the gap his death had left in her life. Pavlin would always be a part of her, but he was dead. And she was alive, very much alive, more alive than she had been for years.
You needed to love someone, she’d come to realise, every bit as much as you needed to be loved. She had companionship but it wasn’t enough, not for her anyway. And not enough for her body, either. A healthy woman needed a mate.
And Deverith showed no interest in her. Why not? What was wrong with her?
CHAPTER 13 Balas
In Harrak, Balas proved to have an aptitude for working stone, to his own amazement and delight. From the first time he held it, the chisel Jerrith gave him seemed to fit his hand and all the other tools were the same. Even the triangular metal wedges they used to help split the stone seemed like old friends to him.
‘You were born to cut stone,’ Jerrith told him solemnly. ‘That’s why the gods brought you to us.’
‘I like the feel of it,’ Balas confessed, running his fingers across the rough surface and feeling its solid strength with deep satisfaction.
‘I shall train you as my apprentice. No doubt it’ll take you a while to catch up with the other lads, but that won’t matter. The important thing is to learn your trade well.’
As he grew skilled in stone working, the moody and quarrelsome nature that had developed in Balas over the years of failure began to mellow. Jerrith, who had no children to follow him in his trade and care for him in his old age, adopted the boy formally as his son, and although no one can replace your blood father, Jerrith found a special place in
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the lad’s heart.
But it was Ilennia whom he grew to love most - even more, in the end, than he’d loved his own mother - for Ilennia was a healer of souls as well as bodies. Jerrith said she should have gone to train as a healer in Tenebrak, but her parents had needed her. You could say anything to her, take any problem to her. And many people did.
For all the remaining years of his youth Balas worked with Jerrith, and spent periods with the other stonemasons, too, for each had different skills to teach. He was eager to learn and had such an affinity for cutting stone that he learned the skills more quickly than anyone had ever seen before and soon overtook the other lads of his age, for all his late start. This might have caused some jealousy, except that everyone recognised him for what he was - a master stonemason in the making. And anyway, his sense of approaching danger was much valued in Harrak, which he’d already saved from destruction.
Truth to tell, Balas could have been named a trained mason by the time he was sixteen, but custom forbade that.
Not for him the fumbling and miscuts, the fractured building blocks. He could cut clean and square, with little wastage, and already his stones were being set apart from the other apprentices’ work, in the piles which would fetch higher prices once the Discord wars ended.
Twice during these years Balas sensed danger approaching and was able to warn the Harraki. The groups of raiders were too small to overcome a village girded in stone and although they did some minor damage to the surrounding area, they soon wandered off again with no loss of Harraki lives.
There were times, however, when Jerrith and the others lost patience with Balas, for all his skill, because as he grew more adept he began to come up with strange new ideas about working the stone.
‘That isn’t the right way to cut,’ the older men would tell him.
‘But it’s quicker and the line it gives is more true to this piece of stone.’
‘We’ve done it this way since anyone can remember!’ Jerrith would yell at the lad, ‘and so shall you.’
‘But - ’
‘You hear me, boy?’
Balas didn’t argue when his adopted father got that look on his face. He had too much respect for Jerrith’s strong right hand, which could fell you before you knew what you were doing if you spoke out of turn. He would go back to his labours, muttering, ‘Well, there are other ways and pieces of stone are different from one another.’
He attempted once or twice to speak about his ideas to his foster-mother. Ilennia also worked with stone, but she was a small woman, not as strong as some of the other village women, who worked next to their men in the quarry, so she did the finer cutting to shape the smaller blocks, and also some simple carving, though that wasn’t a skill the Harraki were known for. They mostly left the decoration of stone to others.
‘Balas, you must learn to fit in with our ways,’ she counselled. ‘Some things don’t need changing.’
He was thrown into gloom, for he’d expected her to be more open-minded. ‘Well, I’d like to try other ways sometimes,’ he muttered. ‘It wouldn’t hurt just to try them.’
‘When you’re your own man, you can do anything you like,’ Ilennia said sharply. ‘Until then, you must do as others tell you.’
He accepted that in the end. But he vowed that once he was grown, he’d do things his own way.
