The Spirit Stone (18 page)

‘Well, you know, he has a nursemaid already.’ Nevyn kept his voice casual by force of will. ‘The thought of losing him has been aching her heart.’

‘Of course! Poor little Morri! Do you think she might be willing to come with him?’

‘I certainly can’t see why she’d want to stay on her brother’s farm.’

‘Now that’s most assuredly true spoken! It’ll be a good thing for both her and Evan if she comes along, then.’ Devaberiel stifled a yawn. ‘If you’ll excuse me, good sir, I’ve got to get some sleep—and strength, just in case my son’s mother turns nasty on the morrow.’

Early on the morrow morning, Wffyn began to organize his caravan for departure. Devaberiel’s two friends would leave with the merchant, while Nevyn, the bard himself, and Gwairyc rode out to the farm to collect little Evan. They would catch up to the caravan on the road, since men on horseback could travel faster than a line of burdened mules led by muleteers on foot.

The news of the bard’s arrival had apparently reached the farm ahead of them. When they dismounted at the gate, they saw Morwen and Evan waiting for them on the little wooden bench. Evan was wearing a clean, unpatched pair of grey brigga and an embroidered shirt—his best clothes, no doubt, for the occasion. When Gwairyc reached over the gate to open it, Morwen stood up. She took Evan’s hand in one of hers, and in the other picked up a small sack that seemed to be full of clothing. As they strolled over Nevyn could see that her eyes were red and puffy, though she put on a brave smile. At the sight of the horses and the tall strangers, Evan let out a wail. He stopped walking and began pulling on her hand as if to drag her back.

‘Now, come along, Evan,’ Morri said. ‘You remember your da, don’t you?’

‘Don’t.’ Evan pulled his hand free and dodged behind her skirts.

Devaberiel motioned to the others to stay back, then knelt on one knee near the boy. ‘You’ve not seen me in a while,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m your father, lad. You’re going to come home with me today.’

Evan threw his arms around Morwen’s legs and clutched. When Devaberiel held out his hand, Evan shook his head in a vigorous no.

‘Don’t you want to come visit your brother and sister?’ Dev said. ‘We’re going to ride on the pretty horses. We’ll go a long way.’

Evan stared at him for a moment, glanced at the horses, then back to him—and burst into tears. Apparently he’d understood enough to know he disliked what he’d heard.

‘My apologies,’ Morwen stammered. ‘You’ll be thinking I did a bad enough job at raising him.’

‘What?’ Devaberiel got up, then turned to her. ‘Not at all. I want to hire you as his nursemaid, in fact. He’ll need someone better than me to care for him. Would your kinsfolk let you come with us?’

Morwen stared at him for a long moment, then began to weep herself, but out of relief, apparently, because she was also smiling.

‘There, child.’ Nevyn stepped forward. ‘I told you I might think of somewhat to make things better, didn’t I?’ He fumbled in his brigga pocket and found a reasonably clean rag to offer her.

Her tears stopped. She handed Nevyn the little sack she’d been carrying, then took the rag and wiped her face. Before she spoke again, she stooped and picked Evan up. The bewildered child stopped weeping, but he threw one arm around her neck and clung to her while she wiped his nose.

‘Why should I care what my brother thinks?’ Morwen said at last. ‘Doubtless he’ll be glad to be rid of the burden of feeding me. Will you really let me come with him?’

‘Let you?’ Devaberiel paused for a brief laugh. ‘It would gladden my heart if you’d come along. Now, in all honesty, I have to tell you that it won’t be an easy ride for you, and life out on the grass is going to strike you as passing strange, but if you hate it or suchlike, Nevyn here can bring you back when he leaves us.’

Morwen smiled, and even though her split lip curled round its scar as always, she looked as triumphant as a warrior. ‘I’d like naught better,’ she lisped. ‘And I’d ride to the Hells for my baby if I had to.’

‘Well and good, then.’ Devaberiel laid a gentle hand on his son’s back. ‘We’re going home. Your Morri’s going to come with us. You won’t have to leave her here.’

Evan looked only at Morwen.

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you. We’ll have a nice ride with your da and his friends. Now, I’m going to pack up my things. Come along. You can watch.’

‘I suppose I’d best tell your sister,’ Devaberiel said.

‘Why? She’ll not care, and no more will my brother. They won’t have their ugly little witch lass spoiling Varynna’s fancy wedding this way. Nevyn?’ Morwen turned to him. ‘My thanks. My humble thanks, indeed! I’ll be forever grateful for this. I lacked the courage to ask to come with him, though truly, I was wishing for it.’

‘Well, then.’ Nevyn smiled at her. ‘It’s all worked out quite nicely.’

Morwen picked Evan up and carried him towards the house. Once the door shut behind her, Gwairyc muttered a few choice curses under his breath.

‘And what’s that for?’ Nevyn said.

‘Her kin,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Particularly that sister. Cold as ice and twice as sharp, if you ask me. She reminds me entirely too much of a woman I used to know entirely too well.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Devaberiel said. ‘It means I’m not the only man here with poor taste in women. Misery loves company and all that.’

Not counting her bedding, everything Morwen called hers fitted into one cloth sack, but she decided that her kin owed her a few things towards her new life since she’d cost them so little in the old one. With Evan clinging to her skirts she went through the house and took a good kitchen knife and a steel to sharpen it, a table dagger, a pair of her brother’s old brigga for riding, and a winter cloak. She rummaged through the cook house as well and filled another sack with food for the journey.

Evan still seemed bewildered, especially when they went back to the draughty little shed that had served as their bedchamber. Since she’d already handed his few possessions over to Nevyn, he wandered around as if he were looking for them. When she put the brigga on under her dress, he laughed at the sight.

‘We’re going riding,’ she said, ‘with your Da and his friends.’

He smiled and clapped. ‘Horses,’ he said. ‘Pretty horses.’

‘They are that,’ Morwen said. ‘Riding them will be much nicer than riding our old mule.’

‘Mama coming with us?’

‘She’s not. Does that sadden your heart?’

He merely shrugged as if he’d not quite understood the question.

Once Morwen was dressed for the journey, she rolled up her blankets and tied them neatly at both ends with scraps of cloth, then slung them over one shoulder. She picked up her two sacks of belongings, one in each hand, and shooed Evan ahead of her. Together they marched out into the sunshine. Devaberiel and Nevyn had already mounted their horses, but the herbman’s apprentice stood waiting. He took her sacks and bedroll.

‘I’ll tie these on behind my saddle,’ he said. ‘We’ll put them on a mule when we catch up with the caravan.’

‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘If Evan rides with his da, I can walk.’

‘No need for that. You can’t weigh more than a hundredweight, lass, and my master’s a thin stick of a man himself. His horse can carry the pair of you.’

Nevyn kicked one foot free of its stirrup to allow her to mount. With Gwairyc’s help she settled herself behind him on the horse.

‘You can hang on to me, if need be,’ Nevyn said. ‘I won’t mind.’

‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘Here, I was just wondering how I should say your name. Should I call you sir or my lord?’

‘What? Neither! Whatever for?’ Nevyn paused for a laugh. ‘I’m naught but an old herbman.’

‘You may be that, but you’ve done me the biggest favour of my life.’

‘Huh. Only because your life’s been short up for favours. Don’t trouble your heart about it.’

‘I won’t, then. But you’ll have my gratitude forever.’

As they started off, Nevyn took the lead. Morwen kept looking back to make sure that Evan was behaving himself. Every time she did, he would smile and wave to her. Apparently the novelty of riding on such a beautiful horse had made him forget his earlier fears. His father occasionally sang to him, as well, odd little songs that he was probably making up as he went along. Morwen felt like singing herself. Not only did she still have Evan, but she was free of the farm and her wretched kinsfolk, free of the contempt of the town. The only thing she’d miss about either, she realized, was her regular ritual of putting flowers on Lanmara’s grave. Still, at moments she was frightened, wondering if she’d jumped out of a tree only to land in a thorn bush, but during Devaberiel’s visits he and his Westfolk friends had never once stared at her lip or so much as mentioned it. She could hope that the rest of their people would treat her the same way, even though she’d heard that every single one of them was beautiful.
After all,
she thought,
I’d be ugly anywhere, so it won’t make any difference.

Soon enough they caught up with the slow-moving caravan. Since the Westfolk had brought an extra horse with them, Morwen had her own mount, a sturdy dapple grey and easily the finest animal she’d ever ridden. When Evan began whining, she took him from his father.

‘Here, now, you’re tired, little one,’ she said. ‘You’ve not had your nap. Gwairyc, if you’ll lead my horse, I can hold Evan while he sleeps for bit.’

‘Done, then. Toss me your reins.’

Finding a way to settle Evan into her lap took some ingenuity, since she’d never tried to hold him on horseback before. He fussed until he could rest his head on her shoulder, as he was used to doing when they were sitting on their bench with her back firmly against a wall. Eventually he got his chubby little legs around her waist, and she held him securely by wrapping her arms around his midsection. It only took a mile or so for her arms and back to start aching, but it never occurred to her to disturb him and insist he sit some other way. In her entire life only two persons had ever loved her, Lanmara and Evan, and he was now the only one she had left. Her comfort on that long day’s ride meant next to nothing compared to his.

That night they made a camp on the edge of the wild forest that had formerly marked the boundary of Morwen’s life. Devaberiel put together a shelter for her and the child by tying a long rope between two trees. He then draped extra blankets over it and weighted down the corners with rocks to form a triangular tent of sorts.

‘It’s a bit of privacy for you, anyway,’ Dev said. ‘Albeit not of the best.’

‘It will do splendidly, my thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘I can get Evan to go to sleep much more easily if he feels set apart, like, from everyone else.’

After the evening meal, and after the men had drawn lots to see who would stand a watch to guard the mules and horses, everyone but Nevyn went to their blankets. Morwen lay down next to Evan until he fell asleep. She’d been planning on going straight to sleep herself, but her mind kept scurrying around the events of the day, gloating at one moment, bringing up fears the next. Through the open end of the shelter she could see Nevyn, sitting in a pool of light from a little campfire. She found the sight oddly reassuring. Finally she crawled out of the shelter and went to join the old man at the fire.

‘Can’t sleep?’ Nevyn said. ‘I would have thought you’d be exhausted after a day like today.’

‘So did I.’ She stopped herself just in time from adding a ‘my lord’. ‘But I’m used to hard work and the like. I used to have plenty of chores to do besides tending Evan, so I’d be up at dawn every day.’

‘Ah, of course. The work on a farm’s never done.’

‘Just so.’

They shared a companionable silence, watching the fire, occasionally feeding it with twigs and small branches, while Morwen gathered her courage to ask Nevyn the question that always haunted her.
He seems truly wise,
she thought.
Mayhap he’ll know.

‘Nevyn?’ she said. ‘Do you know why the gods cursed me? I mean, not so much why they cursed me as me, if you take my meaning, like, but why they curse people with the witchmark.’

‘They don’t,’ Nevyn said. ‘That’s naught but superstition, and a silly one at that.’

‘But everyone says—’

‘Huh! That “everyone” is very often wrong. Now, I don’t pretend to understand exactly what causes a harelip, mind, but the gods have naught to do with it. Some of the learned physicians of Bardek attribute it to certain influences of the moon upon the baby in its mother’s womb. Others think that too little food or too much ale might weaken the mother’s humours and unbalance those of the womb, allowing the watery humours to take precedence over the earthy. Such a precedence might produce a split in solid flesh, just as a river cleaves the land. There are other theories, but those are the two that sound the best to me. The cause might even be a combination of both.’

In utter shock Morwen could only stare at him.

‘Either way,’ Nevyn went on, ‘you’re not in the least to blame, no matter what the old hags and gossips in your village told you.’

Morwen tried to speak, couldn’t, and wondered if she’d ever speak again.

‘It will take you a while to digest what I’ve told you,’ Nevyn said with a smile. ‘But do think about it.’

She nodded her agreement. Nevyn suddenly yawned and clasped a quick hand over his mouth to stifle it.

‘Here, you’re doubtless tired.’ Morwen finally found her voice. ‘And I’d best get some sleep myself.’

‘Indeed. And we’ll have plenty of time to talk about such matters during our journey.’

Morwen returned to the shelter and the sleeping Evan, but for a long time that night she lay awake.
You’re not to blame.
Nevyn had spoken so calmly, so quietly, that she believed him beyond her simple wishing his words to be true. Her old pain had been like clutching the handle of an iron pan only to find it burning hot—in her shame at the gods’ curse she’d been unable to either let go of it or to carry it. Now she felt as if she’d plunged that charred hand into cold water at last.
If only I could tell Lanni!
That regret was the only blemish on her new-found wondrous freedom.
If only Lanni were here to share it!