Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  Eventually they met in the middle of the floor. Menders held up a hand. Eiren raised hers to touch it and they circled that way three times, gazing into each other’s eyes before, with the final notes of the music, he closed his hand over hers.

  The Thrun burst into mad applause, Eiren blinked and Menders laughed, then caught her close and kissed her.

  ***

  Next morning, Menders reminded himself of his rule regarding those who willingly got drunk on kirz not moaning about their hangovers. He got up, made himself eat and was feeling reasonably human by the time the Thrun were ready to leave. Eiren had done the same, refusing his offer for her to stay in bed. She wanted to say goodbye and see them go.

  Menders was amused to see that Tharak had left out the pile of goods that he kept offering for Eiren and had added to it, including several beautiful knives, dresses, boots, bags of jewelry, furs and three more saddles.

  “It’s no good,” Menders said as Tharak meandered over. “No trade.”

  “It is no trade, Magic In The Eyes. I don’t have enough in the world to pay for her,” Tharak grinned. “It is a gift. For your wedding.”

  Eiren gasped and opened her mouth to protest that it was too much. Menders put a hand on her arm.

  “We accept with thanks,” he said. Tharak grinned more widely. Eiren and Katrin began inspecting the pile while Menders and Tharak walked some distance away.

  “You have the guns packed well?” Menders asked quietly. Tharak nodded. Covert messages sent with Kaymar had resulted in the first lot of weaponry arriving by mail train, packed in crates. The rifles were easy enough to disguise; it was the ammunition that was harder to camouflage. Menders finally ordered it shipped in tubs of butter. Casual inspection would reveal a two inch layer of butter, under which were bullets sealed in metal foil.

  “Packed away very well. I cannot thank you enough, my brother.”

  “I’ll send more. Check with my tenants when you return home. More weapons should be there by then. I wish you luck, my friend. I only wish I could do more to help you.” Menders looked up at the big Thrun, feeling grief for the losses he’d had, for the people who had been senselessly slaughtered by their own nation.

  “You help me every day, Aylam. When things are hard for me, I remember how hard things were for you when you were still a child. I remember how you lived through it and used it to become strong. Then things are not so hard for me. And now, I bid you farewell… until the circle turns again.” They embraced and Tharak turned away.

  Menders had enough time to gesture to Eiren to put her hands over her ears. Katrin was already covering hers and Menders followed suit as the enormous gong was struck. The drums began, the garzan moaned their deep, almost soundless note and the Thrun began to move away.

  Menders found himself alone in the road, watching the figures grow tiny in the distance. Then Eiren was with him, her hand finding and clasping his.

  “It’s so hard to see them go,” Menders said softly.

  “Because part of you goes with them?” Eiren asked.

  “Yes,” Menders replied, almost in a whisper.

  Standing together, hands entwined, they watched until Tharak turned and raised his arms in a circle. Then the Thrun were swallowed by the enormous landscape and were gone.

  (27)

  Borsen

  “Mama?” Borsen whispered, leaning close to the mattress on the floor. He knelt and dipped a finger into the gruel he had made. “Mama? I’m going to give you something to eat.”

  He rubbed his finger, wet with the lukewarm mush, across her lips and tongue. He waited and then stroked her throat gently, trying to get her to swallow. She didn’t. She had swallowed yesterday, though she hadn’t waked up.

  “Please swallow it, Mama,” he pleaded. “You need to eat so you’ll get well.”

  Her throat felt cold to his touch. The room was freezing – there was hardly any fire left.

  There was not much wood on the Sea Of Grass and what there was got picked up quickly. Mama was very tired and couldn’t fight over wood like stronger people could, so she often burned tufts of twisted grass. But now the snow lay thick on the grass and was frozen hard, so she had made a game out of using the furniture. Borsen remembered the day he woke and found the table broken up for firewood. Mama had given him some bread and had him eat it in bed, like she said kings and queens did, since they didn’t have the table to eat at now. He had tried to give her some but she said she wasn’t hungry.

  She had sewed constantly that winter after his father had disappeared one night, but it didn’t bring enough money. She’d finally said she’d found work and that he had to be a good boy and wait in the room for her, that he mustn’t go out alone. Then she tried to make herself pretty and smiled back at him before she went out the door.

  Borsen had waited, listening for rats. He hated killing them. They fought and bit, but they were food. There weren’t many rats this hard winter. Too many people were catching them. He’d heard a Mordanian man say, laughing, how there was not a cat that could match a starving Thrun.

  Mama finally came home late, with food. She gave it to Borsen, saying she’d eaten while she was out.

  Time had passed, with Mama going out every night to work, always bringing back food and sometimes a few sticks of wood. She slept through more and more of the days. The morning came when she didn’t wake up, no matter how Borsen called to her and shook her.

  That had been three days ago. The wood was gone except for two chair rungs. The only food left was a piece of bread. He got water by collecting snow off the windowsill by the broken pane. Until this morning Mama had swallowed it as he dripped it on her lips, though she’d stayed asleep.

  Borsen took off his jacket, the green one with grey trim that Mama had sewn for him last summer, and put it on top of the blanket he’d spread over her. He cuddled close, holding the cup of gruel. He rubbed more of it over her lips at intervals, but she didn’t swallow. It was very cold. There was ice on the inside of the windowpanes.

  The daylight was brief on this shortest day of the year. The early night was falling when the door of the room opened. Borsen started from a drowse and tried to see who was there.

  He knew the footsteps. It was his father. He shrank back against Mama, his skinny hand gripping her arm.

  “Come on, boy,” his father said roughly. “Time to go.”

  “No,” Borsen cried. “Mama!”

  “She’s dead. Get up, we have to move on.” His father’s hand loomed into sight and closed on his shoulder. Borsen flung himself away and pressed his ear to Mama’s chest.

  Her heart was beating, but he could barely hear it. It was very slow.

  “She’s not dead! She needs food! Why didn’t you bring food?” he shouted, trying to dodge his father’s grabbing hands. “If we give her something to eat, she’ll get better!”

  His father’s hand was gone from his arm but Borsen could hear him going through the pile of folded clothing that Mama had stacked on the floor after she burned the storage box. He was stuffing things in his pack.

  “Mama!” Borsen cried, shaking her desperately. “Please wake up!” His eyes filled with tears and spilled over. Now he couldn’t see at all.

  His father’s hand clamped on his arm so hard that he screamed in pain.

  “Get up, boy. You’re going to earn your keep now. Six years old but you haven’t done a thing, kept a baby by her. You’ll learn what it is to earn your way now she’s gone. You owe me a few years’ work.”

  Borsen fought, but his father was big and strong and heaved him up under one arm. He punched and gouged the fat around his father’s waist and screamed for his mother as he was carried away down the stairs of the tenement house.

  (28)

  The Red Beast

  Dear Cahrin and Olner,

  I’ve been remiss in my correspondence of late, with all the projects underway here. Not only is springtime a busy season due to all the preparations for planting, but The Sha
dows is being subjected to a number of construction projects which take a up a great deal of my time and energy.

  We’re up to our knees in sawdust. It is high time living conditions at The Shadows were more comfortable, now that we have completed the tunnels and guardhouses and other security measures.

  Franz, Ifor, Menck and I have spent weeks going over this enormous house. Some rooms have been closed up for decades. I must admit I’ve never managed to go through the entire place. Our exploration has resulted in the following: families living in the main house will now have suites of their own; one for myself, Eiren and Katrin; one for Hemmett and his parents; one for Cook and her Mister Oldstrom. There is plenty of room for more, should any of Menders’ Men decide to start families. One enormous bathroom and a number of smaller ones have been devised, so dragging the old tin bathtub around is no more, thank the gods.

  There is ample room for guests or for those of the Men who live in the various outbuildings here, should winter weather become severe. The second floor has been converted into workshops. Cook’s son, Tomar, is located up there with his tailor shop, and another room doubles as a planning room for estate business and a potential “battle room”, should the occasion arise for us to execute defensive action of any kind. A strongroom has been constructed on the ground floor, with direct access to the network of tunnels which now reach all the outbuildings and other locations on the estate.

  Since the household can swell to twenty-three people during the wintertime, changes have been made to the provision for meals. You were much amused at the notion of Menders’ Men being rostered for kitchen duty, but the practice continues, and they consider it easy work. The group “family” dinners now occur only once a month, making Cook’s life much easier.

  My marathon wood-cutting sessions are a thing of the past, as all the Men turn out for an hour after breakfast and invade the woodlot. This is an enormous relief for me, as you can imagine. It might have kept me fit, but the toll it took in sore muscles and exhaustion was enormous. I am also free of having to hunt for the larder, something I never enjoyed. There are many avid sportsmen among the Men, Ifor Trantz being the most zealous. Ifor organized a boar hunt in the autumn, with the Men setting off with enough spears, crossbows, rifles and knives to successfully invade and subjugate a small nation, their horses armored. They returned with enough pork to keep us all through the winter and to supply the estate farms as well.

  Not that I’ve become a gentleman of leisure. Katrin is growing apace, and her mind grows quickly as well. Eiren is away at her school each day, driving herself in a little governess cart pulled by a chubby mare named Rosie, and Katrin spends much of her time with me. I located a partners' desk in a disused room, and have it in my office, so that Katrin can watch me doing the estate work, or see to her own occupations, like reading, practicing writing, drawing and playing. Eiren devised a curriculum for her, and it is our hope that in time, with proper security measures, she will be able to attend some classes at the school as well.

  Katrin is also becoming quite a good young horsewoman, and not only rides her pony, Snowflake, but also the little farlin I got for her three years back. He is aptly named Trouble, but Katrin handles him well. She hugely enjoys our rides, and Hemmett joins us as well on his own pony, Smoke. Katrin was given a lovely boarhound puppy, Dara (the Thrun word for “grace”) for her recent fifth birthday, who doubles as a pet and guardian, as boarhounds’ protectiveness toward their people is legendary.

  Of late, Katrin has begun to be aware of her difference from other children. She plays with Eiren’s siblings as well as with other children from the estate. It has always been my intention that she know how to mix with people of all classes and to understand and appreciate their particular customs and problems.

  She has expressed a desire to play like the other children at times when the young Spaltzes tell her about their swimming and fishing excursions, where they run down to the river on their own – something that is impossible for a child in Katrin’s position. She has begun to chafe at her restrictions, but there is nothing to be done about it. So far, she has not been particularly rebellious, and we hope the trend will continue.

  Life here now is pleasant and far from the lonely and somber existence it was for five years. I wish you the happiness that we have.

  Your friend,

  M

  ***

  Katrin drew back behind the door to the Men’s lounge so that she wouldn’t be seen.

  That afternoon she and Hemmett had been playing in the old nursery while Kaymar read a book nearby. Haakel had brought up a letter for Kaymar with the news that his dear friend in Erdahn had died suddenly from putrid fever.

  Kaymar made a soft but terrible noise as he read the letter and then left Katrin and Hemmett in Haakel’s care. He disappeared into his rooms for the afternoon. When he came out, he was very drunk and went to the Men’s Lounge.

  Ifor Trantz had come looking for Menders, telling Eiren that Kaymar was very sick and needed help. Eiren went to find Doctor Franz and Katrin had crept away to see if she could do something to help Kaymar.

  She could see him sitting on a sofa while several of the Men tried to get a bottle away from him. His eyes were streaming and red, but he didn’t make a sound. His nose was pinched as he drew in rapid, harsh breaths, glaring at the people around him.

  Katrin thought about Kaymar’s heart and was afraid. His face was red with white patches on his cheeks. He didn’t like people crowding him.

  Why didn’t Eiren or Doctor Franz come? Katrin watched fearfully as Kaymar flushed even darker red and gripped the bottle so hard that his knuckles went pale.

  Rapid footsteps startled her and she peeped from behind the door. Menders and Ifor were running down the hallway. They ducked into the Men’s lounge.

  “All right fellows, thank you for staying with him,” Menders said quietly. He turned and looked at the door as if he could see through it.

  “Katrin, please go with Ifor. He’ll take you upstairs.”

  “But Kaymar is crying!” she protested, stepping into view. “Can’t I help him?”

  Kaymar looked up at her blearily, confusion on his face, his enraged expression smoothing away. He reached toward her.

  Menders shook his head firmly and indicated for Ifor to take her.

  “Not now. Please go with Ifor. I’ll help Kaymar,” he said.

  Ifor scooped her up and bore her away down the hall. She struggled a bit, looking back at the doorway of the lounge.

  “Kaymar wanted me to stay,” Katrin protested, twisting in Ifor’s arms. “He was reaching for my hand. I could help him feel better!”

  “I know, I saw,” Ifor replied in his rumbly voice that always made Katrin think of big stones. “Don’t hurt my back thrashing around like that.”

  “Please let me go back to the lounge,” Katrin pleaded.

  “Not now. Let’s have a game of DeGratz, and then you can plan to see Kaymar later on, when he’s more himself.” Ifor swung her down and guided her into the suite. “Perhaps you could take him some flowers. Right now he’s not at all well and he needs to be with Menders. That will calm him.”

  Katrin watched with frustration as Ifor took out the DeGratz board and methodically set up the pieces, ranging kings, queens, assassins, warriors and valets across the painted spaces.

  He looked up at her, his deep, dark eyes very kind but stern.

  “Go ahead, Princess, sit down. We’ll clear our heads with a game. Focus your mind on it and the time will pass.”

  Katrin sighed and sank down on the chair opposite, looking gloomily at the board. Ifor made his opening gambit, sat back and waited. Katrin considered losing fast on purpose, but she knew that would never fool Ifor. He was going to keep her from going back to the Men’s lounge.

  She picked up a warrior piece and sighed in exasperation.

  “You see, I love Kaymar very much,” she said abruptly, looking mutinously at the big man.

  To her s
urprise, Ifor nodded.

  “I know you do and that will be a great comfort to Kaymar,” he said quietly. “Would you like to know a secret? You have to keep it to yourself.”

  Her interest piqued, Katrin nodded.

  “I love Kaymar very much too,” Ifor continued. “I want to go and help him just as you do, but right now it would be too much for him to have us there. So we’ll occupy ourselves with a game and wait until a time when being near Kaymar will be good for him again.”

  Katrin studied his big, heavy, craggy face. He seemed sad and tired.

  “You should tell him,” she suggested. “It might make him happy again to know he has another friend.”

  “Not the time for it,” Ifor answered. “It might never be the time for it. Right now Katrin, the kindest thing we can do for Kaymar is to leave him to Menders and Doctor Franz. And if you’re going to open with the Warrior’s Gambit you’re sure to lose, so get to thinking and find a better strategy than that.”

  Katrin sighed again and looked down at the board.

  ***

  From Doctor Franz's files

  Kaymar, Baronet Schvalz

  Patient continues melancholic and restless, a consistent pattern since the death of his bonded. Periods of prolonged gloom followed by episodes of madness. Though patient denies it, I have seen evidence that he is experiencing auditory hallucinations, perhaps visual as well. He has been seen by members of the household speaking aloud to trees, walls and the air. His vocalizations at these times include the words "tainted", "filthy", "worthless". He can become very agitated and when approached or interrupted, barely restrains himself from violence. Guilt is a large factor in his illness because I know that his bonding with Mikail was not the most passionate. There was love and caring there, but it was far from a great romance for Kaymar - more a comfortable and welcome relationship after his past tragedies and hurts.