‘No doubt! What happened?’
‘She caught a fever a few winters back, and it was a nasty thing that settled in her chest. Coughing up blood she was, poor lass! With the spring it went away, but she told her mam plain as plain that it would return with the winter, and that she’d die. Her mam told her she was just ill and imagining things, but by the Goddess herself, come the first snow, the fever comes with it, and Lanmara was dead in four nights.’
‘The poor lass!’
‘Truly. It’s a pity you weren’t here with your herbs.’
A pity in more ways than one, Nevyn thought. Lilli, mayhap? She’d died of a consumption of the lungs, after all. Since that particular trouble had an etheric component, it might well have followed her from life to life. He had no way of knowing for certain, but the omen he’d felt earlier returned with a touch of ice along his spine. He went back to Wffyn, who was half-asleep at the table.
‘I’m just going to take my mule to the blacksmith,’ Nevyn said. ‘His shoes aren’t as new as they might be, and I don’t want to take any chances.’
The blacksmith, a short but heavily muscled fellow, had no other customers that afternoon. After he trimmed up the mule’s hooves and fitted him with new shoes, Nevyn bartered him various preparations of herbs in lard to treat skin burns and paid the rest in coin. For a few moments they stood chatting while Nevyn considered an opening for the questions he wanted to ask. Fortunately, the blacksmith’s young son came out to the forge to see what his father was doing.
‘You’ve got a healthy-looking lad there,’ Nevyn said.
‘I do, and I thank the gods for it,’ the smith said. ‘We’ve got an older daughter, too, and she seems to be a strong lass, so again, may the gods be praised.’
‘I don’t mean to pry, but it sounds like you’ve had illness in your family before.’
‘Terrible illness, good sir. My poor Lanni!’ He shook his head with a sigh. ‘Our first-born, but she died of a consumption of the lungs, and her just old enough to marry.’
‘Truly, that saddens my heart!’
‘Her mother’s not got over it yet. It was just two winters ago, you see.’
‘Recently, then. Was there a fair bit of fever in the town?’
‘There wasn’t. It came on her sudden-like.’ He paused to frown, and his voice tightened with old anger. ‘I’ll wager that wretched witch lass had somewhat to do with it, too. A friend of my daughter’s, good sir, if you can call a deformed get like her a friend. I told our Lanni to stop seeing her a hundred times if I told her once, but here she was sneaking round to see her on the sly!’
‘Did this lass have the consumption, too?’
‘She didn’t. She’s healthy to this day, which is why I’m sure as sure she cursed Lanni somehow. I wanted to go to our local lord and have the ugly little creature dealt with, but my wife, she talked me out of it. She was afraid the witch would curse us, too.’ He spat onto the ground. ‘Women!’
Naught more to learn here, Nevyn decided. He bade the smith farewell and led his mule away.
The Westfolk arrived just as the innkeep was serving yet another meal of boiled meat and stale bread. Nevyn, Wffyn, and their two apprentices were eating at a table near the hearth when three men strode into the tavern room. Gwairyc looked up from his plate, glanced at the men, and stared, his table dagger forgotten in his hand. They were tall and slender, as most of the Westfolk men seemed to be, all blond as well, and they moved with an easy grace even though they carried bedrolls and travellers’ bundles. One of them had a longbow slung across his back and a quiver of arrows at one hip; another carried an elaborate leather case that could only contain a small harp.
‘That must be our bard,’ Nevyn said.
The putative bard was looking around the crowded tavern room. Finally he spoke to the innkeep, who pointed at Nevyn. The bard smiled and led his two companions over to their table. As they came close, Nevyn heard Gwairyc swear under his breath, and Tirro gasp in surprise. The Westfolk looked much like ordinary men, except for their ears, as long and delicately curled as a flower petal emerging from a bud, and their deep-set eyes, marked by vertical pupils like a cat’s. A gaggle of gnomes materialized to dance around them, but those, of course, no one at the table but Nevyn saw.
‘Good morrow,’ Nevyn said. ‘Are you Devaberiel?’
‘I am.’ The bard smiled pleasantly. ‘And this is Jennantar and Yannadariel. Here, let us pile these things up somewhere, and then we’ll join you at table.’ He glanced at Wffyn. ‘And a good eve to you, too, good merchant. There’ll be an eager crowd waiting for you at the trading ground.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Wffyn said. ‘I’ve got many a fine thing to show you all.’
With a bard in the tavern room, the evening went by fast and pleasantly. He may have been tired from his long ride, but Devaberiel, like any true bard, couldn’t pass up a willing audience. He knew songs in Deverrian as well as in the Westfolk’s own language, and he’d barely finished the first one before the tavern room began to fill up. The news and the music had spread through the village. When the room could hold no more, townsfolk stood outside the windows and at the doors, so quietly that it seemed they barely breathed. No one moved until at last Devaberiel begged fatigue and began to loosen his harp strings.
In a swirl of talk and laughter, the crowd began to clear out. As Devaberiel made his way back to Nevyn’s table, the villagers pressed coins into his hands, which he took with murmurs of thanks and good-natured smiles. The innkeep brought a tankard of dark ale to the table and waved aside a proffered coin.
‘Not needed,’ the innkeep said. ‘Ah, it’s been a long time since we’ve heard you sing!’
Devaberiel smiled pleasantly but said nothing. This was the last time he’d sing here, Nevyn supposed, without his son to draw him. Some of the villagers began calling for ale, and the innkeep bustled away. Devaberiel took a good long swallow from his tankard, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘So, good Nevyn,’ Devaberiel said. ‘Our wise one is looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘And I feel the same about him,’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s a bit of good luck that we could travel together.’
‘It is at that. You know, Aderyn told me that he travelled all over with you when he was but a little lad. Would it be an imposition to ask your help after I’ve claimed my son?’ Dev’s smile faded. ‘The poor lad! I don’t have the slightest notion of how to care for him, either on this journey or at all.’
Nevyn suddenly saw the obvious.
‘Well, you know, he has a nursemaid already.’ Nevyn kept his voice casual by force of will. ‘The thought of losing him has been aching her heart.’
‘Of course! Poor little Morri! Do you think she might be willing to come with him?’
‘I certainly can’t see why she’d want to stay on her brother’s farm.’
‘Now that’s most assuredly true spoken! It’ll be a good thing for both her and Evan if she comes along, then.’ Devaberiel stifled a yawn. ‘If you’ll excuse me, good sir, I’ve got to get some sleep—and strength, just in case my son’s mother turns nasty on the morrow.’
Early on the morrow morning, Wffyn began to organize his caravan for departure. Devaberiel’s two friends would leave with the merchant, while Nevyn, the bard himself, and Gwairyc rode out to the farm to collect little Evan. They would catch up to the caravan on the road, since men on horseback could travel faster than a line of burdened mules led by muleteers on foot.
The news of the bard’s arrival had apparently reached the farm ahead of them. When they dismounted at the gate, they saw Morwen and Evan waiting for them on the little wooden bench. Evan was wearing a clean, unpatched pair of grey brigga and an embroidered shirt—his best clothes, no doubt, for the occasion. When Gwairyc reached over the gate to open it, Morwen stood up. She took Evan’s hand in one of hers, and in the other picked up a small sack that seemed to be full of clothing. As they strolled over Nevyn coul
d see that her eyes were red and puffy, though she put on a brave smile. At the sight of the horses and the tall strangers, Evan let out a wail. He stopped walking and began pulling on her hand as if to drag her back.
‘Now, come along, Evan,’ Morri said. ‘You remember your da, don’t you?’
‘Don’t.’ Evan pulled his hand free and dodged behind her skirts.
Devaberiel motioned to the others to stay back, then knelt on one knee near the boy. ‘You’ve not seen me in a while,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m your father, lad. You’re going to come home with me today.’
Evan threw his arms around Morwen’s legs and clutched. When Devaberiel held out his hand, Evan shook his head in a vigorous no.
‘Don’t you want to come visit your brother and sister?’ Dev said. ‘We’re going to ride on the pretty horses. We’ll go a long way.’
Evan stared at him for a moment, glanced at the horses, then back to him—and burst into tears. Apparently he’d understood enough to know he disliked what he’d heard.
‘My apologies,’ Morwen stammered. ‘You’ll be thinking I did a bad enough job at raising him.’
‘What?’ Devaberiel got up, then turned to her. ‘Not at all. I want to hire you as his nursemaid, in fact. He’ll need someone better than me to care for him. Would your kinsfolk let you come with us?’
Morwen stared at him for a long moment, then began to weep herself, but out of relief, apparently, because she was also smiling.
‘There, child.’ Nevyn stepped forward. ‘I told you I might think of somewhat to make things better, didn’t I?’ He fumbled in his brigga pocket and found a reasonably clean rag to offer her.
Her tears stopped. She handed Nevyn the little sack she’d been carrying, then took the rag and wiped her face. Before she spoke again, she stooped and picked Evan up. The bewildered child stopped weeping, but he threw one arm around her neck and clung to her while she wiped his nose.
‘Why should I care what my brother thinks?’ Morwen said at last. ‘Doubtless he’ll be glad to be rid of the burden of feeding me. Will you really let me come with him?’
‘Let you?’ Devaberiel paused for a brief laugh. ‘It would gladden my heart if you’d come along. Now, in all honesty, I have to tell you that it won’t be an easy ride for you, and life out on the grass is going to strike you as passing strange, but if you hate it or suchlike, Nevyn here can bring you back when he leaves us.’
Morwen smiled, and even though her split lip curled round its scar as always, she looked as triumphant as a warrior. ‘I’d like naught better,’ she lisped. ‘And I’d ride to the Hells for my baby if I had to.’
‘Well and good, then.’ Devaberiel laid a gentle hand on his son’s back. ‘We’re going home. Your Morri’s going to come with us. You won’t have to leave her here.’
Evan looked only at Morwen.
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you. We’ll have a nice ride with your da and his friends. Now, I’m going to pack up my things. Come along. You can watch.’
‘I suppose I’d best tell your sister,’ Devaberiel said.
‘Why? She’ll not care, and no more will my brother. They won’t have their ugly little witch lass spoiling Varynna’s fancy wedding this way. Nevyn?’ Morwen turned to him. ‘My thanks. My humble thanks, indeed! I’ll be forever grateful for this. I lacked the courage to ask to come with him, though truly, I was wishing for it.’
‘Well, then.’ Nevyn smiled at her. ‘It’s all worked out quite nicely.’
Morwen picked Evan up and carried him towards the house. Once the door shut behind her, Gwairyc muttered a few choice curses under his breath.
‘And what’s that for?’ Nevyn said.
‘Her kin,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Particularly that sister. Cold as ice and twice as sharp, if you ask me. She reminds me entirely too much of a woman I used to know entirely too well.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Devaberiel said. ‘It means I’m not the only man here with poor taste in women. Misery loves company and all that.’
Not counting her bedding, everything Morwen called hers fitted into one cloth sack, but she decided that her kin owed her a few things towards her new life since she’d cost them so little in the old one. With Evan clinging to her skirts she went through the house and took a good kitchen knife and a steel to sharpen it, a table dagger, a pair of her brother’s old brigga for riding, and a winter cloak. She rummaged through the cook house as well and filled another sack with food for the journey.
Evan still seemed bewildered, especially when they went back to the draughty little shed that had served as their bedchamber. Since she’d already handed his few possessions over to Nevyn, he wandered around as if he were looking for them. When she put the brigga on under her dress, he laughed at the sight.
‘We’re going riding,’ she said, ‘with your Da and his friends.’
He smiled and clapped. ‘Horses,’ he said. ‘Pretty horses.’
‘They are that,’ Morwen said. ‘Riding them will be much nicer than riding our old mule.’
‘Mama coming with us?’
‘She’s not. Does that sadden your heart?’
He merely shrugged as if he’d not quite understood the question.
Once Morwen was dressed for the journey, she rolled up her blankets and tied them neatly at both ends with scraps of cloth, then slung them over one shoulder. She picked up her two sacks of belongings, one in each hand, and shooed Evan ahead of her. Together they marched out into the sunshine. Devaberiel and Nevyn had already mounted their horses, but the herbman’s apprentice stood waiting. He took her sacks and bedroll.
‘I’ll tie these on behind my saddle,’ he said. ‘We’ll put them on a mule when we catch up with the caravan.’
‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘If Evan rides with his da, I can walk.’
‘No need for that. You can’t weigh more than a hundredweight, lass, and my master’s a thin stick of a man himself. His horse can carry the pair of you.’
Nevyn kicked one foot free of its stirrup to allow her to mount. With Gwairyc’s help she settled herself behind him on the horse.
‘You can hang on to me, if need be,’ Nevyn said. ‘I won’t mind.’
‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘Here, I was just wondering how I should say your name. Should I call you sir or my lord?’
‘What? Neither! Whatever for?’ Nevyn paused for a laugh. ‘I’m naught but an old herbman.’
‘You may be that, but you’ve done me the biggest favour of my life.’
‘Huh. Only because your life’s been short up for favours. Don’t trouble your heart about it.’
‘I won’t, then. But you’ll have my gratitude forever.’
As they started off, Nevyn took the lead. Morwen kept looking back to make sure that Evan was behaving himself. Every time she did, he would smile and wave to her. Apparently the novelty of riding on such a beautiful horse had made him forget his earlier fears. His father occasionally sang to him, as well, odd little songs that he was probably making up as he went along. Morwen felt like singing herself. Not only did she still have Evan, but she was free of the farm and her wretched kinsfolk, free of the contempt of the town. The only thing she’d miss about either, she realized, was her regular ritual of putting flowers on Lanmara’s grave. Still, at moments she was frightened, wondering if she’d jumped out of a tree only to land in a thorn bush, but during Devaberiel’s visits he and his Westfolk friends had never once stared at her lip or so much as mentioned it. She could hope that the rest of their people would treat her the same way, even though she’d heard that every single one of them was beautiful. After all, she thought, I’d be ugly anywhere, so it won’t make any difference.
Soon enough they caught up with the slow-moving caravan. Since the Westfolk had brought an extra horse with them, Morwen had her own mount, a sturdy dapple grey and easily the finest animal she’d ever ridden. When Evan began whining, she took him from his father.
‘Here
, now, you’re tired, little one,’ she said. ‘You’ve not had your nap. Gwairyc, if you’ll lead my horse, I can hold Evan while he sleeps for bit.’
‘Done, then. Toss me your reins.’
Finding a way to settle Evan into her lap took some ingenuity, since she’d never tried to hold him on horseback before. He fussed until he could rest his head on her shoulder, as he was used to doing when they were sitting on their bench with her back firmly against a wall. Eventually he got his chubby little legs around her waist, and she held him securely by wrapping her arms around his midsection. It only took a mile or so for her arms and back to start aching, but it never occurred to her to disturb him and insist he sit some other way. In her entire life only two persons had ever loved her, Lanmara and Evan, and he was now the only one she had left. Her comfort on that long day’s ride meant next to nothing compared to his.
That night they made a camp on the edge of the wild forest that had formerly marked the boundary of Morwen’s life. Devaberiel put together a shelter for her and the child by tying a long rope between two trees. He then draped extra blankets over it and weighted down the corners with rocks to form a triangular tent of sorts.
‘It’s a bit of privacy for you, anyway,’ Dev said. ‘Albeit not of the best.’
‘It will do splendidly, my thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘I can get Evan to go to sleep much more easily if he feels set apart, like, from everyone else.’
After the evening meal, and after the men had drawn lots to see who would stand a watch to guard the mules and horses, everyone but Nevyn went to their blankets. Morwen lay down next to Evan until he fell asleep. She’d been planning on going straight to sleep herself, but her mind kept scurrying around the events of the day, gloating at one moment, bringing up fears the next. Through the open end of the shelter she could see Nevyn, sitting in a pool of light from a little campfire. She found the sight oddly reassuring. Finally she crawled out of the shelter and went to join the old man at the fire.
The Spirit Stone Page 14
