The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  Those gathered in the hut concluded their discussion, and Billy's kinsmen departed. Billy looked at Ibin and sighed. Ibin sensed the heaviness on Billy's sagging shoulders, and his own feelings of weariness were nothing compared to the expression on his friend's face. Billy nodded, though, and tried to smile. However, it was Ibin's smile, appearing at last, that gave the most comfort.

  "Iwillgo, Iwillgowithyou, BillyBosk," he said.

  • • •

  "I must stay, Robby," said Mirabella that same hour in the hastily prepared building that would serve as a ward for the sick and wounded. Pulling her son aside to be out of the way of the men bringing in cots, she spoke in low tones. "I would have you stay, or flee after your father to Glareth, except I see that your mind is made up to go. And I would go with you if I could, but the need here is so great. These are my people, too, and I will not abandon them. Not only are there women and children and hurt ones to attend to, but I think my sword will be needed again."

  "I understand, Mother." Robby nodded. "I do not want you to go with us. I want you to be here when Daddy returns, and I want you to keep safe, if you can, and be with those that need you. The winter will be hard, I know, and the Redvests stubborn."

  "The winter will not be as hard nor the enemy so stubborn as we, I think." She managed to smile. "When do you depart?"

  "We meet tonight for more reckoning on that. But I think as soon as we can make ready."

  "Come to me as soon as you know."

  • • •

  "Find a place an' get some sleep, dearie," Frizella ordered Sheila. It had been a long night, making and applying clean bandages, soothing the wounded, and holding the hands of the dying. Sheila cried with the survivors as eyes closed for the final time, and she cooled brows of the delirious with wet rags to somewhat ease their pain. Now, away from the wounded and the sick, her thoughts were as muddled and indistinct as the gray predawn light, and she walked without knowing which way she went. She stumbled into a small throng of lost children being tended by Mr. Broadweed. Seeing her weariness, he invited her to have some blankets and gestured at a place under a wagon where she could lie down and rest. She accepted his offer, in spite of her dislike of the schoolmaster, and curled up on the ground between the wagon wheels. Sooner than she knew, she slipped into a deep and profound sleep. She never noticed when Broadweed came and gently covered her over with several more blankets. It was Broadweed, too, who woke her midmorning to offer her a bowl of steaming-hot oatmeal.

  "Wake up, Sheila Pradkin," he said to her, touching her shoulder. She roused herself and saw him crouching under the wagon on his knees to reach her, two small boys peering cautiously at her from behind him. "That's a decent sleep you've had, I hope. And here is a modest breakfast for you."

  Sheila sat up on one elbow and took the bowl and spoon he offered.

  "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Broadweed," she said.

  "Not at all, my dear!"

  She ate a couple of spoonfuls of the honey-sweetened stuff and felt life come back to her. Mr. Broadweed was clumsily backing out from under the wagon when she asked, "Who are these children you have with you?"

  "Why, I suppose they are my charges," he said, stopping to kneel next to a wagon wheel so that he could chat. "Younger students at my school who are separated from their parents, or, in the case of Sam and Tom, here, those who have none. I suppose they look to me, now, for things other than letters and numbers. At least for a while, anyway."

  Sheila understood something she had missed all her life. There were adults who would not abandon children, or beat them, or do other worse things. There were a few to be trusted, and there always had been. She should have known this, from her knowledge of Mr. Ribbon and Mr. Bosk. As a brat, she had revolted against Mr. Broadweed and his school. But now she realized that his school had been a shelter for his students, even if only for a few hours each day.

  "You have no children of your own, do you?" she asked.

  "If I take your meaning, no. Alas, Mrs. Broadweed and I have none." he sighed. "But I try to treat any child who comes to me as my own as far as I can."

  "I remember you," she said. "I remember you and your wife coming to see my uncle. I was very little, I think. Maybe only six or seven years old. He abused you most severely, as I recall."

  "I came to see your uncle many times," Mr. Broadweed said. "But he would not force you to attend my school, and I had no power to force you, either. Yes. He was a difficult man. I'm afraid I do not think of him with much fondness."

  "That's fine. I hated him. And now I hate the memory of him."

  "I can understand."

  "Oh, can you?" She made no effort to keep the sarcasm from her voice even though she knew he did not deserve it.

  "Yes," he said with no sign of noting her tone. "You see, like you, my parents died when I was too young to remember them. My uncle and my aunt kept me as a house servant until I was ten years old. That's when I ran away." A look of pain crossed Mr. Broadweed's face. "I should have, well, I should have made more of an effort for you, my dear. I am so sorry! Yet, as I have heard, you have taught yourself to read and write. That is a great accomplishment! You did not need me at all. Still, I wish I could have offered you something."

  Sheila was astonished.

  "You did all that you could do," she said. "What more could you have done? I blame only my uncle and myself for my misfortunes. I should have done as you did and run away from him. If only I had." She shrugged. "But I didn't. Not until it was too late. Anyway, I did not teach myself. Robby Ribbon and Ashlord taught me. I'm sorry, too, for all your wasted efforts on my behalf."

  "There, there. It is all done and in the past," he said as his pained face turned tender. "I'm afraid we have much else to worry about, now. Well, I need to go and see to the new schoolroom being prepared for us. I hope to see you again soon!"

  Sheila watched him get to his feet, noting that he did not look as old as she once thought. There was something in his face, too, a certain droop of his cheeks, perhaps, or turn of his lips, that before she had taken as a kind of timidness. Now she saw him differently; his face, the same as ever it was, seemed to her framed with a quiet but powerful reserve. She suddenly remembered seeing him, the day before yesterday, loading books into the wagon along with as many children as he could muster. She had not been paying a lot of attention to him, though. The fight was beginning as the Redvests poured down the hill to the bridge. She remembered, too, during the flight from Passdale, seeing a man, sword in hand, standing over a crying child as he swung against three Redvests coming at them. She now realized that it had been Mr. Broadweed. She watched him recede, a bloody bandage tied around his left leg, trailing a gaggle of little boys and girls as he limped along, and she felt the bitter irony of coming to know these people only now that all had been lost to them. And she wondered, not for the first time, how her life might have been different if only her parents had lived a little longer. At least long enough for her to remember them.

  • • •

  Ullin stood at the high outcrop that overlooked the roadway, the place from which the Thunder Mountain Band made their headlong descent the day before. It was a hard climb, and he, along with Winterford and one of Billy's kinsmen, stood together, still panting with the effort. Glancing around, he quickly realized the value of this position.

  "Let's get some signal fires up here, ready to light," he said. "And by day, some brightly polished looking-glass to signal warnings down to our points along the road and at the Narrows."

  "Aye, but at night it might be better to use a covered lantern," suggested Winterford. "Like the kind we use. Ye can open a shade on one side and point the light. That way ye can wave all ye like and none behind ye can see it. No sense in lettin' onto the Redvests they've been spotted."

  Ullin nodded and smiled. He liked the way this fellow thought.

  "You Thunder Mountain men have a number of things to teach, I imagine," Ullin said.

  "Well, we've
gotten along pretty well by being careful, if that's what ye mean."

  "And this path, here," Ullin pointed south. "Where does it go?"

  "Back along this here ridge. 'Bout six mile er so on, it splits away west across the south road at Fox Gap an' then on up into the mountains," Winterford explained. "An' the other way, along the east side of the ridge for 'bout two miles, crossin' down to the bottom of the ridge goin' on southward that way. We don't use these paths much, except for keepin' out of other folks' way. Anyway, as ye can see, ain't nobody gonna come up the paths without givin' off plenty of notice, either way."

  "And a fine command of the West Road below, going both ways," Ullin said turning back around. "Almost within long arrow shot. This is a great place for a watch. It's bound to get icy cold up here, though."

  "That it will, for sure. Already pretty chilly with this breeze."

  "I'd say it'd be worthwhile to go ahead and start working on some kind of keep. With four men up here standing watch, a small shelter can keep them warm as they take turns."

  "Good idea. Maybe build it right up on the side of that rock face right over there," Winterford gestured at a flat, fairly smooth cliff just above and behind them. "Plenty of stone up here to make it with."

  Several hundred yards below and to the east, Mr. Furaman was pulling up a wagon to the Narrows along both sides of which his men and others from Passdale were building log walls. Their intention was to make places from where archers could command the road between the two. Here, the road cut deeply through a gap in the ridge, rising steeply to it from the east then, passing through, making a long slow descent westward toward Janhaven. The men already had both walls up and were working on scaffolding behind them for platforms where the watches would stand. A thick rope had been passed between the two walls, some forty feet above the roadbed, and a system of blocks and pulleys allowed the passage of messages and supplies from one side to the other. Mr. Furaman brought with him food, blankets, and more rope, along with casks of oil for torches. He watched with satisfaction the progress that had been made since yesterday and realized that fear increased their efforts.

  • • •

  Ashlord remained alone the entire night after the others had left. He sat by the fire, smoking his pipe and thinking. Every so often, he would suddenly stand from his stool and pace about the room muttering or shaking his head, only to take his seat by the fire again as it died lower and lower. Hour passed hour, and he cared not when the last flame licked out, leaving only dull coals, and was not concerned at the dense chill that soon after crept into the room. When morning came, the men of the stockade began stirring to their wagons and to their tools, coming and going through the room with their things and talk. Still Ashlord sat, seemingly oblivious to the increasing bustle. But he noticed all those things and more; he simply gave them little attention, putting his mind's ears and eyes instead to stirrings of greater subtlety and moment.

  "Excuse me, sir."

  Ashlord turned and looked blankly at the man before him, standing with his arms full of wood for the fireplace.

  "Excuse me," the man repeated.

  Ashlord realized that he was sitting in the way and jumped up.

  "Pardon me!"

  The man dumped the wood into the box near the hearth and dusted his hands.

  "Ye must be Ashlord."

  "I am."

  "I'm Durlorn, buildin' foreman." He shook hands with Ashlord.

  "Oh, yes."

  "We'll be usin' this here room for breakfast in a little bit, Mr. Ashlord, sir, if ye don't mind. Our usual place across the way is kind of crowded an' there ain't 'nough room," he explained. "Mr. Furaman always has breakfast with his top foremen. Goes over accounts, gets the men ready for the day, sort of. He's already out, though, takin' stuff to the men buildin' the gate at the Narrows. But he left instructions for his foremen to gather here for breakfast anyways."

  "Well, I'll be moving along, then," Ashlord said, pulling on his cloak and lifting his walking stick.

  "Won't ye have somethin' to eat with us?" Durlorn asked. "We'd be honored to have ye."

  "Thank you very much for the offer. But I have some things I should see to."

  Ashlord walked out into the chilly morning air, smoky with the many campfires that now surrounded the stockade, and made his way across the interior grounds to the far buildings. He hardly noticed when Certina landed on his shoulder, only nodding as she clucked in his ear.

  "Yes, yes," he mumbled as he pushed open the door to the old warehouse. Inside, folk were busy creating a makeshift hospital, and he saw Robby speaking with his mother across the room. Robby watched her go back into the main room to help make beds, and then he turned to see Ashlord in the doorway. Ashlord noted the wear in Robby's face as he neared.

  "How are you this morning?"

  "I don't think I slept a wink," Robby said, looking back over his shoulder at his mother. "In fact, I know I didn't."

  "That makes two of us," Ashlord said. "Perhaps you should find a place to get some rest. The last few days have been a trial for you, I know. You will need your strength, and it will do no one any good for you to falter."

  Robby followed Ashlord back outside where the sun was burning away the morning mists and blue sky was emerging.

  "I am tired," Robby said, pulling his coat around him against the chill. "But there's so much to be done."

  "Yes, there is much," Ashlord nodded, looking around. "Not only here, but elsewhere."

  Robby looked at Ashlord blankly.

  "We must make our preparations to depart, Robby."

  "I know. It's just that I feel, well, I dunno," Robby shrugged and shook his head.

  "It's just that you feel torn," Ashlord said. "You feel responsible, somehow, about all this. You are having doubts about last night, and you think you should stay here and help your mother and the others. I understand your feelings, Robby, believe me, I do. But it would be folly to stay and foolish to delay."

  "But, my friends, my home." Robby faltered for a moment thinking of his father, wondering what had become of him, and thinking of his mother doing her best to hold things together.

  "I know that you feel pain at the thought of leaving here. It will not go away when you depart. The things you miss are those that you love. But others may have little hope to regain what has been lost, whereas you have a chance to do so. The right thing to do is almost always the hardest thing to start. Get something to eat, then find a quiet place and sleep for a time. Go in yonder and ask for Mr. Durlorn. Tell him that you come to eat breakfast in Ashlord's stead. He'll understand, and I'll wager he'll set a hearty plate before you. Ask him if there is a place where you can sleep undisturbed. Ullin and I will meet with you this evening and work out our plans."

  "Have you seen Sheila?" Robby asked as Ashlord turned to go.

  "Not since last night," Ashlord said. "I believe she will want to go with us."

  "I think she ought to."

  "Why? She would be of great service here. And there will be many dangers on our road," Ashlord said. "Do not mistake me. Sheila is capable of taking better care of herself than most full-grown men. I only wonder if it is best."

  "I don't know, Ashlord." Robby shoved his hands into his pockets. "I only think I'll, well, I think I need her. I know I want her to come along. Maybe I'm mixing the two up."

  "It should be her choice," Ashlord said. "I'll not object, if that is your fear."

  Robby watched Ashlord head for the gate and then turned to find his breakfast. After introducing himself to Durlorn and giving him the message from Ashlord, a place was quickly set among the men at the table who had come in from their early morning work. At first, Robby thought them a rough group, but as he chatted with them over eggs and bacon, answering their questions about Passdale and Barley, he came to understand that they were just tired and worried, like everyone else. When they discovered that Robby was the son of Robigor Ribbon, the "great man of business," they warmed to him, saying that sin
ce Ribbon opened his store, a flourishing trade had been established with Barley, giving many besides themselves good work to support their families. One foreman, on in years but bright-eyed and friendly, even went so far as to say that if it hadn't been for Mr. Ribbon, "Janhaven might've dried up an' blown away years ago." This was surprising to Robby, for he had never considered what his own hometown might be like without the store.

  "Oh, not the store only, no, no!" said the man. "But the bridge, too, an' all his works. Yer father's known far an' wide, er, at least nearby, as a man of acumen. Aye! Ac-u-men!"

  "Hear, hear!" nodded a couple of the other men. "Ac-u-men!"

  The talk turned to the Redvests and the refugees, and the group speculated on their trade routes south and north. They got around to wondering how long it would be before the Lakemen and their allies, the powerful Glarethians, fell upon the Redvests.

  "It'll be summer, earliest," said one brooding man. "They ain't got the men like they used to."

  " 'At's right," said another, talking with his mouth full. "Them Redvests ain't stupid. They'd a never come this far north if they had any fear of Glareth by the Sea!"

  "Naw," said another. "I'll wager they'll be pourin' through afore the last frost. They's still a mighty people, them Lakemen an' their kin. An' with Passdale taken, the trade route's been blocked. Now I ask ye: how long ye think they'll stand for that?"

  "Well, not afore we run short here, is what I say. More an' more folk're comin' in every hour, stragglin' from over the north ridge, mostly, some up from south parts, too."

  "What d'ye think, son," one of the men asked Robby. "I seen that Kingsman 'round yesterday. Is thar gonna be an attack on Passdale to roust out them Redvests?"

  Robby swallowed his coffee and wiped his mouth.

  "I don't think we're in much shape," he said. "We've been licked pretty good, and it's as much as we can do right now just to take care of one another." They had all stopped eating, some with bits of sausage halfway to their mouths, and were all looking at him, listening. "But with arms provided by you folk, and a little preparation, I'll warrant that the Redvests will soon feel the sting of Barley steel," Robby added bravely.