“Weary of fatherhood?” Kaymar asked fliply.
“Weary of you ignoring locks,” Menders snapped.
“You need someone to listen to you,” Kaymar said, unimpressed. “I saw you talking to her. It did not go well.”
“No.” Menders voiced his impression of Katrin resembling her grandmother while Kaymar listened silently. “What I most fear is that those influences I’ve tried so hard to eliminate in her will come to the fore no matter what,” Menders finally sighed.
“You misjudge the Queen, whom you have never had a chance to get to know,” Kaymar replied, lighting a cigar. “You can glare at me all you like, Cuz. There is a lot of good in the Queen and there was a lot of good in The Terrible. I didn’t know her, but I know our royal cousin well enough. Katrin has just had an attack of jealousy that wasn’t entirely unwarranted. She’s young, so it was childish and cruel. Don’t read so much into it.”
“Let’s not discuss the Queen,” Menders responded shortly, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Do you find, as you get older, that you no longer see things in black and white? When I was younger, I decided that I would never have children, because they would take away from my devotion to Katrin. Now that Borsen is here, I know that was a foolish choice. Black and white shifts to shades of grey.”
Kaymar barked a short sardonic laugh.
“Cousin, I have never seen things in black and white,” he drawled, leaning back in the chair and raising his eyebrows at Menders. “I have always seen all shades of grey and all sides of every question. There are few evil and few good people. The Queen is not evil, you aren’t good. It isn’t that easy. I live with shades of grey – and when I’m having melancholia, I even see in shades of grey. We all make choices we regret with the passage of time. We go on from here, as Borsen says.”
Menders looked at the handsome young man.
“What would you have done differently?” he asked.
“Knowing what I know now, that I would have ended up here, with Ifor?” Kaymar responded. Menders nodded.
“Not a damn thing, Cuz,” Kaymar smiled. “Not a damn thing. Let’s go get dinner, shall we?”
***
Dear Bumpy,
I don’t know if Borsen has written you about something that happened, but it’s really bothering me. Everyone, including Borsen, keeps saying that it’s all right and that things are all ironed out, but I still have moments of feeling horrible about what happened.
Basically, I got jealous of all the attention Borsen gets. I said some terrible things to him, including that I could have him sent away from The Shadows. It scared him to death and he had a crying fit that made him sick.
Then Menders and I had a set-to. Can you believe it? It was over fast and we ended up apologizing to each other but I think I really would have felt better if he’d scolded me properly. I was so cruel to Borsen, and one part of me was horrified even when I did it, while another part was really enjoying hurting him. Just as when I talked back to Menders – it was like someone who wasn’t me was trying to cause trouble.
Borsen and I talked about it. He said it was what Menders calls ‘the Red Beast’ – uncontrolled emotion that affects us all from time to time. But knowing and having everyone else being so understanding doesn’t seem to help.
I knew Borsen didn’t have an easy life before coming here, but I had no idea he had lived on the streets. He said he was what they call City Thrun, but I’m not entirely sure what that means. To me the Thrun have always been Tharak’s people, but from what I’ve been able to find out, the Thrun who go to live in the cities are different. Borsen mentioned sleeping on the streets when we had dinner outside the other night, but he won’t say much, just says ‘we go on from here’. He talks about his mother telling him to always ‘follow the way of light’. It sounds strange and mystical.
Do you know more?
I know I should just let the whole thing go, but I think I would feel better if someone scolded me just a little. Even Kaymar has been sweet about it, like I was the one who was hurt instead of Borsen, although right after it happened I am told he looked about ready to chew the handle off his dagger.
I hope everything is going well for you there, and exams are easy. I’ll be so glad when you get home! Perhaps I need my big brother to kick some sense into me – gently, of course!
Love,
Katrin
Dear Self-Reproaching One,
I’m flogging away studying for a tactics exam, but I wanted to answer your cry for someone to scold you. The gentle kicking can come later, given that no boot can reach several hundred miles. And no, I cannot imagine you having a set-to with Menders. The less said of that, the better, I think.
Borsen did mention the incident in passing, but he wasn’t making anything much of it. He’s a very accepting little fellow. The important thing to remember is that all this is new to him. He’s really not feeling secure yet. It isn’t like us, who have both been there at The Shadows with the family all our lives.
As for your question about City Thrun, yes there is such a thing. They aren’t like the Thrun you know. City Thrun are the ones who leave their tribes and go to the cities, thinking that they’re going to get rich. Instead, people in the cities don’t want anything to do with them, won’t hire them, won’t even give them money if they beg. So they start picking pockets and shoplifting. The children rummage through rubbish bins behind stores and restaurants. Lots of the women become prostitutes. Sometimes the biggest men can get work on the docks on a day to day basis, but they’re paid much less than any Mordanian dock worker. They live in the worst slums you can imagine, or under bridges, in doorways or culverts.
Borsen was City Thrun. His father was a piece of work, a thief, and they were always on the run. I’m sure there were plenty of times they slept on the streets. Borsen’s mother, who sounds a decent sort, died when he was six under bad circumstances. He hasn’t told me about that, but I overheard it one night, back when he was having nightmares and Menders would take him to his office and keep him there until he calmed down. Borsen would talk to him, and I was passing in the hall, going to the kitchen.
I can’t pass on what I heard, because Borsen didn’t tell me directly, and I don’t think he wants anyone to know. I can tell you this much – Borsen lost everything he ever loved when his mother died. He blames himself for not being able to help her, even though he was just a little fellow.
So when you threatened him, even though it was a bowl of horse apples, he thought he was losing the people he’s come to love and he went all to pieces. If you want some scolding, basically I feel like you hit someone a lot smaller than you who hasn’t had the blessings in life you have. It was a cowardly act – there now, I hope you’re cringing in shame. Just a little, anyway. But the important thing is that you made it up and I doubt you’ll do it again.
I know how you feel. Remember when I was nine and got that gun as a present and went out, all wild to shoot it, and shot that poor mother thrush? Not even a damn game bird we could eat but a songbird, and worse, with babies on the nest. To this day I feel horrible about that, even though I tried to feed the babies. They all died, of course, and I never felt so ashamed in my life. People do these things, Willow, but it’s pointless to go over and over them. Just learn from them and go on. That’s what Borsen means when he says “we go on from here”. It’s good advice.
And just to let you know I see both sides, yes, everyone has been very much in love with Borsen and it showed. I can see how you got mad about it. Personally, I feel he doesn’t need that much adoration either. It’s not good for him because it will keep him childish. Just like you and I are always having problems with people forgetting that we’re both big for our ages and expecting too much from us, people baby Borsen because he looks like such a little boy when he’s actually your age and might even be older. So I think the whole rumpus will straighten things out a little. It will, as my Moral Philosophy lecturer says, ‘Give people some perspective.’
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No permanent harm done, Willow, if you don’t allow it to be.
Now I have to get back to the damn books. And hasn’t my letter writing improved! My journal got the highest mark this term!
Love,
Papa Bumpy
Dispenser of Fatherly Wisdom to The Masses
(44)
Not Perfect Anymore
Katrin held Snowflake’s bridle and watched Borsen circle the pasture on her mare, Taffy. She had been trying to teach him to ride for weeks, after working to convince him to try to ride for a year. She was finally making headway.
Borsen was afraid of horses. Before he had glasses, he’d seen horses as large blurs. One had snapped at him when he was quite small, terrifying him as large square teeth had suddenly loomed out of the blur of his uncorrected vision.
Worse, he’d seen Demon throw Menders a couple of months ago. Demon had gone from fairly docile, which meant he only tried to bite Menders’ foot every fifteen minutes or so, to demented bucking, corkscrewing and spinning in the blink of an eye. Menders felt it coming and rolled as he fell, then somersaulted to his feet with an assassin’s lithe grace. But Borsen believed Menders was the greatest horseman alive, so if Menders could be thrown, what hope for the rest of us?
Katrin started Borsen out on Snowflake. After a couple of weeks of the boy nervously hauling at the reins, the normally placid pony became quite restive. Snowflake’s occasional kick or headshake of protest only frightened Borsen more.
She finally struck on the idea of having him ride her mare instead. Taffy was trained to voice commands. Maybe once Borsen felt more confident, he wouldn’t confuse the horse by hauling back on the reins in terror while urging it forward with his heels.
Borsen refused at first when she tried to get him to ride Taffy.
“What, ride on that sidesaddle?”
“Menders rides sidesaddle on the Mordanian saddles, like the Thrun do,” Katrin observed slyly.
Using Borsen’s idol as an example worked. “Can I have a Thrun saddle, like Menders does?”
“Learn to ride first,” Katrin said. “Saddles can come later.” She had no doubt Menders would buy a dozen of them for Borsen, if asked.
He nodded and clambered onto Taffy’s back.
It works, she thought jubilantly, watching him make another circuit. Now he’s thinking that hanging onto that saddle will save him, he’s forgotten to curl his backside under and hold on like a monkey with his legs. She called Taffy down to a walk again, and then whistled for another canter. Borsen was smiling and automatically rocking to the mare’s smooth gait, for the first time looking as if he might actually be enjoying the ride.
“Whoa, Taffy!” she called.
She kilted up her skirt, swinging aboard Snowflake. She rode over to Taffy.
“Now, swing your leg over her neck,” she told Borsen, while she leaned over to undo the reins. “I know there isn’t a stirrup there, but you’re still going to hang on to the saddle with one hand. Hold the reins in your other hand and keep it right down by the pommel, in case you need to catch hold with it too. All right, Taffy, walk on.”
She watched as Borsen smiled broadly as Taffy performed another gentle canter. He wasn’t really guiding the horse, but he wasn’t leaning back on the reins either. He actually had a talent for riding, once he forgot to be scared to death.
“I think we’ve sorted this out, Snowy,” she said softly to the pony, whose ears swiveled back lazily. “I’ll have to ride you for a while but that’ll help you forget Borsen yanking your mouth. Then he can ride you again.”
Just then two of the latest litter of boarhound puppies came tearing around the stable, yipping excitedly as they played. They barreled across the pasture and dove directly under Snowflake’s belly. The pony, rudely startled from his pleasant near-drowse with his beloved mistress on his back, bucked viciously.
Katrin wasn’t even aware of falling until she heard the terrible snapping noise and her right arm exploded in pain. She screamed before she could help herself, then slapped her own hand over her mouth, not wanting to frighten Snowflake to the point where he might panic and trample her.
She heard hooves thundering across the pasture and then the unmistakable sound of a horse jumping, and knew that Taffy had bolted. Oh gods, Borsen will fall too, she thought.
“Now then, Cuz, can you roll over?” Kaymar was there. He’d been right at the stable, watching them, though he’d been out of sight.
She nodded and did so, hearing his harsh intake of breath. She tried to look at her arm but he stopped her.
“Are the bones through the skin?” she asked fearfully. That meant infection – and worse.
“No, thank the gods, but it’s a bad break, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair.
“Where’s Taffy… and Borsen?” she asked. Kaymar’s face blanched. He stood abruptly, looking toward the house.
“He’s still on her!” he cried. “They’re going up the drive!”
“They jumped the fence?” Katrin gasped, trying to sit up. “Borsen stayed on?”
Kaymar was back by her on the ground.
“Do not sit up,” he said fiercely. “Hear me? Just lie there and don’t move.”
***
Menders heard Borsen screaming for him and ran to the door to see the boy clinging to Katrin’s mare, tearing across the lawn as if he was in the backstretch of a horse race. The little face was white with fear as he pulled Taffy up at the foot of the steps.
“Uncle, Katrin’s fallen, she’s hurt!” he cried.
“Move back!” Menders ordered jumping up as Borsen did so, shouting for the horse to go. They galloped back to the pasture. Taffy slid to a halt at the pasture gate, and Menders was off and over the fence by the time Borsen could get down and squeeze between the fence bars.
Kaymar was cradling Katrin’s head in his lap.
“She came off of Snowflake,” he said softly. “Her arm is broken, but no bones through the skin. It’s a terrible break. I haven’t let her see it.”
Menders stifled a groan when he saw the arm. Katrin now had a joint where a joint shouldn’t be, her forearm bent almost double in the middle. He forced a smile onto his face, and knelt by her.
“Well, you now will be able to scratch your right elbow with your right hand,” he said, looking for other injuries.
“Isn’t it disgusting?” she said, trying to sound cheerful. Her voice shook with pain.
Franz came running heavily across the pasture, bag in hand. He examined Katrin’s arm.
“Oh my dear,” he sighed. “This is a beauty, my girl, a real cracker. I’ve set worse, however, so let’s get you feeling better and in the house.” He opened his bag and extracted a small bottle of ramplane, holding it to Katrin’s lips. She swallowed, and then closed her eyes, waiting for the medicine to work.
Franz took Menders aside quickly.
“The moment that ramplane starts working, we have to get that arm set or I might never get those bone ends back together. She’d end up crippled.”
Menders nodded silently.
***
“She’ll sleep the rest of the afternoon from that dose,” Franz said, clearing up the medical paraphernalia he’d strewn about while setting and splinting Katrin’s arm. “She’s going to have a great deal of pain for a while. This is a very serious break. With her past history of fevers, I want her to stay in bed for a week. The more she rests now, the faster it will heal.”
“We’ll see to it that she stays put,” Eiren responded. “I’m going to get some more pillows for her. She’s going to want to sit up once she’s awake.” She left, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
“Now, just between you and me, how bad will it be?” Menders asked, sitting on the side of the bed carefully, stroking Katrin’s forehead. She smiled, not waking.
He was shaken to his foundations. Setting the arm had been the stuff of nightmares. Even with the ramplane numbing the worst of the pain, poor Katrin had screamed as Franz
worked over her. Menders had held her in his arms and talked to her – and knew for the first time the helplessness of a parent who is unable to assuage his child’s suffering.
“It should knit well, she’s young. It might end up somewhat weakened and perhaps a little shorter than the other arm. It’s going to ache like blazes in the meantime.” Franz said bluntly. “I have everything back where it belongs, but there’s a great deal of damage, not only to the bones, but to the soft tissues of the arm. I can give her ramplane to help her over the worst of it but she’s going to be an unhappy girl for a while.”
Menders nodded. From the look of the arm, it was what he expected. He could only hope that Katrin would regain full use of it.
“Once it begins to knit, we’ll start her with exercises to keep the arm strong and flexible. Don’t look so destroyed, my friend,” Franz said.
“You know how it is,” Menders replied quietly, not taking his eyes from Katrin’s face. “You worry, you plan, you try to keep them safe. Locks on the cupboards, guns stored away, poisons out of reach. Then they get bigger and want to do more, see more. You think you have it all sorted, and then…”
“I understand,” Franz answered. “She’ll be all right, Menders, I promise.” He patted Katrin’s hand and stood. “I’ll be in my office, I need to make up some more ramplane syrup for her. Organize a rotating watch on her. Keep taking her temperature too, watch for fever.”
Menders took Katrin’s uninjured hand and stroked it. It was now a young lady’s hand, despite the hard work she did around the house every day, making soap, tending chickens and milking goats. It was smooth and white, the skin soft because of the scented lotions she made and rubbed into her skin to counteract soapy water, lye and other harsh substances. At the moment though, he saw a smaller hand, grubby from catching tadpoles, tucked into his, and then even smaller, gripping the tip of his finger.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 55
