Meredydd opened her mouth to say that it meant a great deal, when a sharp voice called over the welter of conversation in the room.
“Gwynet! Gwynet, where are you? I heard that laugh of yours. Get over here!”
“Yes, mistress. Right here.” Gwynet popped obediently to her feet and moved toward the bar. Meredydd followed her.
The house-mistress was glowering into the semi-dark room, her eyes lighting unpleasantly when they fell upon Gwynet. “Here you are, girl. My stupid daughter’s having her sickness again. Take her upstairs and see to her. Then take up her chores.” She glared at the pregnant girl, who was now cowering beside her just behind the bar. “Someone’s got to do them.”
Gwynet’s head bobbed. “Yes, mistress. At once, mistress.”
She moved swiftly to the older girl’s side and helped her to her feet.
Even in this dark hole, Meredydd could tell the girl was pallid and sweating. Her eyes were like two bruised jets set in her pasty face; they were devoid of any defiance and held a hopelessness that Meredydd found hard to bear. Instinctively, she found herself moving to help Gwynet with her huddled charge.
“Who are you?”
Meredydd swung about and found herself face to face with the girl’s mother. “I’m Meredydd, Moireach. I’m...a friend of Gwynet.”
“A friend, is it? And of Gwynet? And how does such a filthy little urchin collect friends? Where’re you from, girl?”
“From Nairne, mistress,” answered Meredydd without thinking.
“And how do you come to be in this hole, Meredydd from Nairne?”
“I was...just passing by and came in to-to get a bite of food and visit the Cirke.”
The woman laughed. “Did you hear that?” she said to the room in general. “This little lady wants to visit our Cirke. Well, I doubt it’ll be a pleasant visit, little lady. Our Cirke-master has a way about him that visitors seem to find odd. He’s a strange one, our Cirke-master.”
Meredydd nodded. “I’ve met him, thank you. I found him...most interesting on the history of Blaec-del Cirke.”
“Oh, aye.” The woman nodded. “Him and his Wicke stories.”
“Aren’t they true, then? The story of the Wicke buried under the Cirke, and the altar stone and the windows?”
The woman eyed her speculatively. “Oh, they’re true enough, I suppose, as true as any two hundred year old legends might be. But that fool really believes that some Wicke is going to challenge him in his own Cirke. Free the souls of the dead Sisters.... Tell me, girl. You didn’t come to Blaec-del to hear tales of Wicke and live burials.”
“No, Moireach. I came here to...to find a new situation. You see, my parents are dead and I’ve no home to return to and”
“Oh, dear God, another weepy Tell!” The woman rolled her eyes and moaned. “This place is full of tales of orphans and death and homeless urchins. You’re just one more story, here, cailin. But look here, do you cook, sew?”
Meredydd nearly smiled. It seemed that question had been put to her once today already. “No, Moireach. I do neither. I’ve a way with herbs, is all.”
The woman’s brows rose. “Healing? That’s not something you’ll get to do around here. Only men and Wicke heal. They’ll take healing from the one and bury the other alive.”
Meredydd tried hard to pierce the darkness—to receive a clearer view of the other’s face. “You’re not from here either, are you, Moireach?”
“No, I’m not. I married myself to this God-lost place. Fool.” The disparaging comment was clearly directed at herself. She grimaced and shook her head. “So, it’s a situation you want is it? Well, I’m short of girls right now. One’s more pregnant than even Flann, here, and another left just last week with some sheepherder. Since you can’t cook and you can’t sew and you can’t heal, you might just want to think about setting yourself up here.” She jerked her head toward the stairs. “The men hereabouts are a crude lot, but except for a few, they’ll leave you in once piece.”
Her smile was one that made Meredydd’s blood run absolutely cold. She was innocent, but not enough to mistake what sort of “situation” the woman was offering.
“Ay, Hadder!” A man leaned against the bar several feet away and set his mug down on the pitted wooden surface with a sharp crack. “’Nother ale.”
The woman nodded briskly then gestured up the stairs with one hand. “Get her to her room before she’s sick all over my lodge. Stupid girl,” she added, and went to serve her customer.
So, Meredydd thought, as she and Gwynet helped the
unfortunate Flann up the stairs to her bare little room, that was the fearsome Hadder. It was not surprising Ruhf Airdsgainne trembled a bit at the thought of her wrath.
When she and Gwynet helped the mute girl out of her dirty gown, Meredydd’s empty stomach curled in on itself. The girl’s distended belly still bore the marks of what could be taken for any number of things: buck’s hooves and upside-down cloven hearts among them. The scene in the mercantile came back as clearly as an aislinn vision, rocking Meredydd in a sea of sudden nausea.
Chilled completely, she sat back on the edge of Flann’s bed and watched Gwynet gently minister to the older girl, cleansing her sweat-soaked body and easing her into a ragged but clean gown. Through all, the child kept up a running monologue in a sweet, musical voice—soothing the ears, quieting the mind.
Flann ceased shivering and even seemed to regain a little color.
“I know an herbal medicine for this,” Meredydd said after a while.
Flann’s eyes moved sullenly to her face, but she said nothing. Gwynet, on the other hand, smiled broadly. “Oh, do you, mistress? Is it easy to get?”
“Well, yes, if the herbs are available—and they should be around here. It’s a really simple thing—some grasses and leaves. Do you know where there’s some chamomile and mint?”
Gwynet nodded. “Surely. We’ll get some as soon as I’ve got my chores done.” She glanced at Flann. “Is that good, Flann? Can ye wait?”
The older girl finally spoke. “Must I? Please, if ye can take away this pain—” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and leaned forward. “It’s awful, really it is.” Her eyes, pleading, had more life in them than Meredydd had yet seen.
“I’ll help you with your chores, Gwynet. That way they’ll be done more quickly.”
“Please!” moaned Flann. “Please don’t make me wait.”
Gwynet put a gentle hand on the girl’s forehead. “Now, now, Flann. Don’t ye fret so. We’ll get the herbs and Meredydd’ll make ye a wonderful tea, won’t ye Meredydd?” Her eyes, too, pleaded their concern for the pregnant girl.
“I think I can do something right now to help take the pain away,” Meredydd offered, regretting the words as soon as she’d spoken them. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“Promise,” Flann said immediately and Gwynet nodded.
“All right. Lie down and close your eyes and be very, very quiet and still. You, too, Gwynet. Be very still.”
Gwynet nodded again, her eyes bright and intent.
When Flann was lying quietly before her, Meredydd got to her knees beside the low pallet and began a silent meditation. She focused her mind in on itself at first, collecting her senses, gathering her resources. Then she began a healing duan, starting at a whisper and allowing it to grow until her voice filled the little room.
The warmth flickered behind her eyes and in her abdomen at once, then moved to coalesce behind her breastbone. A tingling sense of the blue power trickled down from Beyond, through the crown of her head, and pooled with that warmth. She continued to sing, concentrating the energies, one ear trained on the hallway, listening for a footstep. In this village, an eavesdropper would be dangerous, but so too, could splitting her concentration. She forced the open ear to close and gave to Flann the sum of herself.
She stretched out her hands, feeling the blue healing course down her arms to coil beneath her palms. She pressed those pal
ms very gently against Flann’s swollen belly and poured out the healing. For a minute, perhaps more, she concentrated in this way, then, feeling the draw from Flann’s body lessen, she let the duan return to a whisper and brought the Healweave to a close.
She opened her eyes. On the cot, Flann slept. Already dreaming, her eyes flickered beneath the blue-tinged lids.
Gwynet stirred restively, moving to stare at the sleeping girl. “Tha’ were wonderful, mistress,” she breathed and threw her arms around Meredydd’s neck. “Ye’re a saint.”
“I doubt Cirke-master thinks so.”
“Well, Cirke-master mayn’t know everything.”
“Cirke-master certainly mayn’t know what happened here.”
Gwynet made a lip sealing gesture. “I’d have no call to tell him.”
Meredydd rose. “How about your chores? What are we to do?”
“Oh, clean the rooms mostly. There’ll be the traveler’s rooms and then the girls’ quarters.”
“Hadder’s girls?”
Gwynet nodded, glancing aside. “Aye. Come now, we’ll do linens first.”
“Tell me about Hadder and Flann,” Meredydd pressed as they worked on the first room together. “Did Flann really.... Those marks on her stomach, the ones that look like buck’s hooves—”
Gwynet glanced at her sharply. “She told her mother she met a magic buck in the forest.”
“That’s what Ruhf said,” prompted Meredydd. “Of course, there wasn’t any magic buck.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“It was Ruhf, wasn’t it? And he’s afraid Hadder will find out.”
Gwynet hung her head. “Please don’t make me say, mistress.”
“But Hadder’s not stupid, Gwynet. She doesn’t believe in magic bucks any more than I do.”
“Ah, she knows, all right. I’ve heerd her say so. She knows who the father of Flann’s child is. But, she’s waitin’ on somethin’. I’m not sure what. Maybe she thinks the child will look like its pa and that’ll be tha’. Too, she thinks Flann was willing. She wasn’t willing, Meredydd. But, she won’t say tha’, and she won’t speak the words that’ll point to Ruhf.”
“Because she’s afraid.”
“I ’magine.”
“You can do more than imagine, can’t you, Gwynet?” Meredydd asked gently. “Why don’t you leave here?”
“Where would I go, mistress?”
“Please call me Meredydd. And you could go almost anywhere else. There’s a whole world out there where the Sun shines and the streets are clean and the Cirkes are really places of worship and the people are kind and caring.”
“I surely couldn’t know tha’.” She paused. “But I’ve dreamed of it.”
“When I leave, you can come with me,” Meredydd told her. “I’ll take you home with me, back to Nairne. Osraed Bevol—he’s my guardian—he’ll take care of you just as he’s taken care of me.”
Gwynet studied her face. “He doesn’t hit you, does he?” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“No, Gwynet. He doesn’t hit me. He never would. He loves me. And he’d love you, too. I know it.”
The girl smiled. “I’d like tha’. To be loved. I’d like tha’.”
“Then it’s settled. When I leave, you’ll come with me. All I have to do, I think, is get that crystal from the Cirke-master.”
Gwynet had stopped just short of throwing a bundle of dirty linens out into the hallway. “But, Meredydd...who’ll take care of Flann?” She turned back into the room and pierced Meredydd with the most anguished expression she’d ever seen. “If I leave, there’ll be no one to care for her. No one to keep Hadder from her throat. No one to keep Ruhf away.”
Meredydd stared at her. “Keep Ruhf away?”
“Aye. He gets in these tempers sometimes. And it’s poor Flann he wants at. He gets all scared and mad at once; afraid she’ll stop the Magic Buck Tell and give up the real Tell instead. You saw how he was, Meredydd. All ready to hurt somebody—you or old Okes, it didn’t matter. There’s times he talks of comin’ here and making sure she’ll tell no one nothing. I got to be here, then. I can stop him.”
“By letting him beat on you, instead.”
Gwynet shrugged—a queer crook-shouldered little movement that made her look, just for a moment, like a wizened old hag instead of a little girl. “It keeps him off Flann,” she said.
“Well, maybe we can find some other way of keeping him off Flann.” And as they worked, Meredydd tried very hard to think of some way of doing just that.
They finished the rooms quickly, with both of them hard at work, and reported back down to Hadder. The lodge was nearly empty now, and the house-mistress sat before the hearth, sipping a mug of ale. She seemed skeptical when they told her they were finished with their tasks, and she made some noise about checking up after them, but she didn’t stir from the fireplace, only gazed at them as if she only half saw them. Meredydd wondered how much ale she’d had.
“How’s my daughter?” she asked unexpectedly.
The two girls traded surprised glances. “Asleep, Moireach,” Meredydd answered.
The woman smiled wryly. “You seem bent on granting me more importance than I deserve. I’m no Moireach, cailin. Just a wayhouse keep. I own the building, the furniture, the linens and an interest in the girls I keep. That’s it. No land. No estate.... Still, you can call me that if you will. It strokes the ears.”
Meredydd tried a smile on her. “I will, Moireach.”
“So, my lazy daughter sleeps, does she? And what wrought that miracle? The poor creature hasn’t slept night or day for weeks.”
Meredydd swallowed. “I sang her to sleep, Moireach. A song my own guardian taught me. It always worked on me....”
“A song?” The woman’s glance was sharp. “A duan, you mean? Oh, yes. I understand about these things. I’m from up Nairne-way myself. And I’ve heard the morning’s gossip. You visited the Cirke. The Cirke-master’s mouth is famous in these parts for that which comes out of it. A Wicke, he styles you.”
Meredydd blanched. A Wicke. And she already knew what they did to Wicke in Blaec-del.
Hadder laughed. “Oh, I doubt he’ll bury you under the Cirke with the rest of your ilk. Leastwise not while you’re under my roof. Not if he’s kept a scrap of sanity in that bald little head.”
“We’re going to get some herbs, mistress,” Gwynet confided breathlessly. “For Flann. Meredydd thinks they’ll help settle her poor stomach and help with the sickness.”
“Really? Well, I suppose I should thank you then, Wicke Meredydd, for saving my worthless get some anguish.”
“Surely, she’s not worthless, Moireach,” protested Meredydd. “Surely you don’t really believe that.”
“Don’t I? Letting herself be fouled by that Ruhf Airdsgainne. Now there’s worthless, for you.”
“Pardon, Moireach, but I don’t think she let herself be fouled by anyone. I heard the men speaking of it—in the mercantile down the street. I don’t think your daughter had a bit of choice in the matter.”
There, it was out. Now, if Ruhf Airdsgainne ever found out...
Hadder peered at her intently, leaning forward to study her face. “You wouldn’t lie, girl?”
“No, Moireach. I would not. It’s what I heard. And that he’s afraid she’ll tell.”
“And she’s afraid, too,” added Gwynet. “He’s a mean.... I mean to say, he’s a-a powerful man, mistress.”
Hadder sat back in her chair. “I believed she was willing.”
“No, mistress,” whispered Gwynet.
“That bastard! Well, that’s the picture then, is it? And my poor stupid daughter has to make up some tale of a magic buck with faery eyes. Well, he’ll get nowhere near my girl again, I swear.” She glanced at the two of them standing there and flicked her fingers at them. “Well, go pick your herbs, then. The sooner we get Flann over this sickness of hers, the sooner she can be of help to her mother around this place.” She got t
o her feet and walked away toward the stairs.
Gwynet grabbed Meredydd’s hand and dragged her out the back door of the wayhouse into the wilds of the yard. It wasn’t a yard, really. It was simply a no-man’s land where the forest encroached on Blaec-del. The grass was ankle deep and darkly green and the mist hung in silver scraps like fishnets caught in driftwood.
“I think there’ll be some mint over here,” said Gwynet and led the way into the woods. Meredydd followed, her eyes alert for any sign of usable herbs.
They found much more than merely mint and chamomile and, before two hours had passed, had filled their pockets and tunic skirts with all manner of useful stuff: Yarrow and verbena, valerian and nettle, foxglove and rosemary. They were busily inspecting a growth of fennel when the crashing of underbrush startled them almost into flight.
Meredydd knotted her fore-skirt and stood, ready to bolt, her eyes in the direction from which the sounds came. Gwynet huddled close to her and a little behind, her pale eyes wide and fearful.
“Are there boar in these woods?” Meredydd asked in a whisper.
“I’ve ne’er seen any and I’m out here a fair bit.”
Meredydd straightened her shoulders, a hand going to her neck. “It’s probably just deer. I’m sure we’ve nothing to be afraid—”
It was not just deer. It was Ruhf Airdsgainne and he appeared to be in a towering rage. “Where’ve you been, you filthy brat? I’ve looked all over for ye. What’re you doin’ out here with this schemin’ cat?”
“Just-just pickin’ herbs, sir,” said Gwynet.
“Pickin’ herbs?” Incredulity poured over his face in a flood. “What for? Who told ye to?”
“Hadder,” said Meredydd loudly and clearly. Her fingers locked around her amulet. “Hadder has us picking herbs for her daughter’s illness. To make a healing tea.”
His eyes grasped her face so forcibly, she swore she could feel them pinching her cheeks. “Ye’ve met Hadder, then, girl?”
“Yes, sir. I have. She’s a shrewd woman.”
“Is she?” He stopped and merely stared at them. Then, “The Cirke-master says ye’re a Wicke.”
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