The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality (32 page)

For a long time I stood frozen to that spot. I was Guy Hawke's serf! I tried to tell myself there had to be some mistake, but whichever way my mind tried to dodge, it ran right up against the same facts. There was nowhere to run. It would be suicide to try to make the long trek out of this wilderness with my injured hand. I was stuck right where he had thrown me, and lucky to be alive at that.

Going into the cottage, I stirred up the fire and put water on to heat. Everything I saw, everything I touched, was in much sharper focus now that I knew this farm was going to be my home. The peasants I had seen were an attractive lot, healthy and hardy and happy as far as I could tell. Couldn't I manage just as well?

Mora and others could teach me the farm work. I caught on quickly to new things, and I was sure I could be good at it. The most important thing I could do for myself was to heal that hand of mine. When the water was hot, I gave it a good soak, and then tried to flex the fingers until sweat broke out on my forehead and I felt dizzy with the pain. Then I soaked it some more and tried again. First I would make my hand flex, bit by bit. Then I would make it do farm work. Finally, it would be ready to hold a sword again and then I would present my bill to Guy Hawke and make him pay on the spot!

Try as I might, I could not remember anything happening to my hand in those brawls with the soldiers. No, it had been deliberately smashed while I was unconscious to finish me as a swordsman. Well, I would nurse it and exercise it until it was ready to give someone the last surprise of his life. In fact, I thought to myself, it would be better to keep its healing a secret. That way nobody would get suspicious, and it would be ready to do its job when the time was right.

Mora came in with the baby on her hip and a sack of food for supper. I took the sack and emptied it out on the table near the hearth. She smiled at me in that friendly and appreciative manner that was as consistent as her lovely fragrance, and sat down to nurse the baby. This was the woman I was going to make a home with. Was I glad about that?

Yes, I was. It brightened my spirit to be around her; and that was because her own spirit was so bright that it was impossible not to be affected by it. She was like a fountain that life bubbled out of cheerfully and steadily. Right this moment it was bubbling out of her nipple into her baby's mouth, and mother and baby were surrounded by that aura of peace and silent joy that was always so apparent when she was nursing. The whole cottage was filled with it, but it was especially bright around the bench where she always sat to nurse, and I couldn't resist sitting down beside her to bask in it.

"I saw hoofprints in the yard," she said softly, looking over at me. I put a finger to my lips, not wanting to lose that feeling of contentment. But when Mora's baby had fallen asleep at the nipple and she had tucked it up in its cradle and began to make dinner, the old worries came crowding back.

"We had a visit from Lord Hawke," I said.

"Oh?" She glanced over at me, concerned.

"Why do you suppose he got me out of the dungeon and dumped me in your front yard?"

She looked at me over the vegetables she was chopping, and said, "I went to the duke and asked him to let you out."

"And so he did?"

She nodded. "I was so worried about you that something was happening to my milk. The mage went with me to see the duke. She told him I had . . . " It took her a moment to remember the unfamiliar word. " . . . Anxiety."

"And that's why he let me out?"

She nodded again. "For the sake of the baby. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm okay, Mora, but my brains are swirling around in my head and it's making me dizzy."

"I've had that happen. Do you want to lie down?"

"No, I think I'll walk around a bit."

I headed down toward the river, found a rock to sit on, and tried to think it through. Of course I believed what Mora had told me, but it didn't make any sense. Marya had gone with her to see the duke, but Marya hadn't mentioned it. Marya didn't know why the duke let me go and I still didn't know either. All I could figure was that somehow I was more use to him alive than dead; he was saving me for a rainy day.

I started back toward the cottage, and who did I come upon but Jo Mama, his or her own self, reclining within the branches of a fallen tree as naturally and comfortably as a cat on a couch. The god was alone—or at least I didn't see anyone else around—but his presence cast such a spell on me that the trees and flowers seemed sentient, and the whole forest sparkled with magic.

He wasn't looking at me directly, and it wasn't long before I felt self-conscious, wondering whether I ought to do or say something. He looked so relaxed and so gracefully entwined in the branches of his tree-couch that I felt almost grotesque by comparison. Like a novice on the stage, I didn't know what foot to put my weight on or what to do with my hands. Though I was just standing there, I felt as if I was doing everything wrong.

Finally, he released a peaceful sigh and languidly stretched out one bare arm, pointing to the place where he wanted me to sit. I sat, and immediately felt more comfortable. The ground was mossy and there was a tree to rest my back against. Jo Mama waited until I had got myself settled, and then he looked at me for the first time.

It was nothing like a greeting. More than anything else he seemed curious, as though he had never seen anything quite like me. His examination was thorough. He looked at me and around me and through me; sometimes he looked away and seemed to lose interest. But then his attention would return with a clarity that was disturbing, because I was convinced that he was seeing right into me and I had no idea what he was seeing.

Finally he peered into my eyes, and though he didn't actually move at all, my impression was that he came closer and closer until we were nose-to-nose; he seemed to be gazing right into my brain. His voice, crackling as if from long disuse, took a long time to come up his throat. "Where's your iron hat?"

I didn't know what to say. Did he really expect me to answer him? The first time I had encountered Jo Mama, I had watched him from my horse, dressed in my armor and adorned with weapons. He had danced naked in the field and scampered away screaming with laughter. This time I was sitting on the ground in woolen homespun, weaponless, my wounded hand in my lap, and he seemed to be taking me seriously. But what was I supposed to say to him, if anything?

"I lost it." That seemed to cover it pretty well. Actually, it had been taken away from me, along with my horse and my sword and my knighthood and my bag of gold and my friend, King Albert and my darling Jenna. But somehow it seemed more truthful just to say I had lost it, just as I had lost all the other things I no longer had, by losing my temper, by being a fool.

He smiled and nodded as though my answer made sense to him. I felt gratified by that, though I couldn't have said why. Who was Jo Mama to me that I should crave his approval? But I did.

Once again that voice came creaking up the steep staircase of his throat. "Listen!" I heard him say, but had he really spoken?

"Listen!" There it was again, but I'm almost sure that his lips never moved. His face seemed to be made out of rocks and trees and leaves; or maybe the forest had changed into one great face. All that remained of Jo Mama were his eyes, and they were more like tunnels than eyes.

"I'm listening, Jo Mama." But it was so tiring looking into those tunnels. I felt as if I would lose my balance and tumble right into them. Now there was only one tunnel, and I was teetering on the brink of it.

"Listen!"

"I'm really listening, Jo Mama. I swear I'm listening with all my might."

"Stop living in the past!" The words echoed up and down the tunnel.

"Okay, I promise. No more living in the past. Good idea, Jo Mama." Was I really talking? Did I have a body, and if so, where was it?

"Stop living in the future!"

I felt delirious but I was trying hard to understand. How could I live in the future? How could I live in the past? Where was the past? Where was the future? "You're right, Jo Mama. I won't do it anymore, I promise."

"Just live now!" The words were like great bronze bells.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on my face on the moss. How long had I been there? The tree-couch was empty and the god was gone. Pulling my legs up to my chest and leaning on my good hand, I got up to my knees. At first I couldn't tell which direction led back to the cottage, but with the setting sun behind me I made my way to the meadow at the edge of the farm.

By the way Mora stared when I entered the cottage, I must have looked very odd. "What happened?" she asked me, her eyes wide.

Taking her by the hand, I led her to the bed. I put my arms around her and tumbled us both over onto the straw mattress. Then I snuggled up all over her and buried my nose in her hair, drinking up the lovely smell of her body, and letting it fill up my soul. She giggled, pleased and happy, and when I tugged at her dress she raised herself so I could slip it off. She helped me off with my tunic and leggings while I was nuzzling and sniffing and stroking her, and as the sun went down we panted and bundled and snuggled and made a warm and sweet little playland of love under the blankets.

Why is the clarity that comes to us once in a blue moon so fragile and evanescent? After my encounter with Jo Mama, I went to sleep in Mora's arms without a care in the world, conscious only of love and peace. But in the morning I was confused and resentful again. No way in hell was I going to be Guy Hawke's serf! But what was I going to do about it? My mind paced angrily around in a cage of impossible schemes.

"When does it start to get cold?" I asked Mora while we were cleaning up after breakfast.

"That's hard to say," she said. "If this mild weather holds for another few weeks, we'll have a fine harvest."

"What happens after the harvest?"

"We take a long holiday and celebrate, especially if the harvest is good. But this year many people will still be sad, remembering the king."

"Do the peasants think the Picts killed Albert?"

"There are a few who say so."

"And what do the others think?"

"We all know he was killed by Lord Hawke."

"Is anybody planning to do anything about it?"

The single wrinkle on her forehead told me she was struggling with the question. "Who do you mean?" she said.

"People. The people in this valley."

"The farmers?"

Why couldn't she understand me? "Mora, I'm sad that Albert is dead, but I'm also very angry. Do other people feel that way?"

"Yes, Jack."

"Well, don't they want to do anything about it?"

"Like what?"

"Like chopping the duke's head off and sticking it on a pole in the castle courtyard."

She looked at me strangely. "We have to get the harvest in."

So that was that. If I wanted his head on a pole, I would have to see to it myself. For the time being he was as safe as any man alive. Walking over to Mora's bench, I plunked myself down, but the bench swayed precariously and collapsed.

"Are you all right?" Mora hurried over, but I was more amused than hurt. There always seem to be messages in accidents like that, and this message seemed to be:
Just live now!

"Well, I guess that gives me something to do," I said, gathering up the pieces and taking them outside.

Mora followed. "You don't have to worry about that. Matt and Ben will fix it." Those were the two young men she had hired to help her.

"No, it's about time I got busy around here. It'll help to heal my hand if I keep trying to work with it. And if I'm going to be a farmer all winter, I might as well start with this."

She showed me the shed where she kept her tools. The bench had been pegged together and the pegs had loosened from wear. My task was to make some bigger pegs, and I soon found what I needed: a hammer and a chisel and a hatchet.

For a couple of hours I struggled with Mora's bench. Using my right hand was painful and frustrating, but at the same time I knew that I was doing the best thing for it, and that the pain was part of the cure. By the time I got the bench together, I was ready for a hot soak and some lunch.

"There," I said, putting the bench back where it belonged, "I think that will hold together for a while." I had a nice feeling of accomplishment from my morning's work.

After lunch I went outside to find something else to do. Matt and Ben were cleaning the goat pen. I had met them before but that was days ago when I was fresh out of the dungeon and hardly even human yet. Since then I hadn't paid any attention to them, and they had stayed respectfully out of my way. They were young men in their twenties, open-faced and hard-working.

"Good day," I said as I came walking up to the pen.

"Good day, Sir Jack," they said almost in unison. That was a bit of a surprise; it had not been that many hours since I had begun to accept the latest developments in my life and felt willing to put my knighthood behind me for a try at some simple farming. They both seemed flattered that I was talking to them, as though I was still the big celebrity I had been for a couple of weeks between the march on Guy Hawke's manor house and Albert's death.

I reached for the wooden rake that was leaning against the fence, but I bobbled it with my bad hand and the rake tumbled to the ground. Matt bent to pick it up and held it out to me. "Pa said a cow once stepped on his hand and hurt him cruelly, but he cured it with hot soaks just like you."

"My mum says you ought to put some comfrey root in the hot water," said Ben. "She told me to say you can have all you need from our garden."

"I appreciate that, Ben. Why don't you bring some tomorrow."

"Oh, I have some with me, sir. I was going to give it to you, but . . ." He stopped, embarrassed, and I realized that he had been too shy to approach me. I was touched that all these people were concerned about my hand. Being a wanderer and a city boy too, I wasn't used to people taking any trouble over me.

"What kind of goats are these?" I asked. They were attractive little black and white goats, and one of them was rubbing against my leg and
baa-ing
for attention.