The Spirit Stone (21 page)

Their stroll had taken them close to the Westfolk tents. A soft evening breeze brought them the smell of roasting lamb. In an unspoken understanding, they began walking briskly back. Even the greatest dweomerworkers grow hungry at dinnertime. At the camp’s edge, they came across Evan, playing with a little lad about his own age. The two children were sitting on a stretch of grass and rolling a leather ball back and forth. Morwen stood nearby, smiling a little as she watched them. The lads were giggling and chattering in Deverrian and Elvish both.

‘It won’t take Ebañy long to learn our language,’ Aderyn said. ‘He’s just at the proper age.’

‘So he is, if you mean Evan.’

‘I do. Ebañy’s as close a name to his old one as Devaberiel could think up. It means ‘winter wind’, a bit harsh, mayhap, but he recognizes it as his name already.’

Morwen looked up and saw Nevyn, then waved to him and smiled. Nevyn strolled over to chat with her, but before he could say a word, a swarm of older boys came racing up to the two little ones. Most of them ran right by, but a lad with night-dark hair and pale yellow eyes gave the ball a good kick, sending it flying far away among the tents. Both little ones began to cry.

‘You!’ Morwen reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. ‘Bring that back!’

For someone so small, she was remarkably strong, a legacy of all those hard years of farm work. The lad choked on the neckline of his own tunic, and, gasping, stopped in his tracks. Morwen gave him a good shake, then let him go.

‘Bring the ball back,’ she said. ‘Look! You’ve made them cry.’

‘Huh!’ The boy wrinkled his nose at her. ‘So what? One of them’s a stinking Round-ear brat, and you’re ugly as a dead frog.’

Morwen hauled off and hit him so hard across the face that he staggered. He yelped and flung up both hands to defend himself as Morwen closed in, swinging again, smacking him even harder. Blood spurted from his nose and upper lip.

‘Morri, stop it!’ Nevyn made a grab at her, but she danced away from him. He caught a good look at her face and saw that her eyes had turned as blank as any berserker’s.

With a shriek the boy’s mother came running, yelling in Elvish, pointing at Morwen and gesturing to Aderyn, who yelled back, apparently trying to calm the mother down while Nevyn dealt with Morwen, though why he thought screaming at the top of his lungs would be calming was beyond Nevyn’s power to guess. He made another futile grab at Morwen just as the outraged mother stepped in between her and the weeping boy. She raised a hand to slap back, and she was easily a foot taller than Morwen.

In an odd sort of calm Morwen ducked the slap, then charged, striking up from below with a fist and hitting the Westfolk woman precisely on the point of her chin. The woman staggered once and dropped to the ground. Morwen stepped back and came to herself. She’d woken from the berserker fit, which drew its power, Nevyn knew, from deep memories of this soul’s earlier lives. She clasped both hands over her mouth and stared at the prostrate woman. Aderyn flung himself down on his knees next to the victim, who groaned and turned over onto her back.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Aderyn said in Deverrian. ‘But let’s not move her just yet.’

More shrieks, more screaming—the entire camp seemed to have come running to watch. Both little boys were weeping in terror. Fortunately, the mother of Evan’s playmate was right at hand. She scooped up her child, paused to hurl insults at the prostrate elven woman on the ground, then carried her son away. Nevyn started to fetch Evan, but Loddlaen came trotting over and picked the boy up.

‘Let me, Wise One,’ Loddlaen said. ‘I’ll get Morwen out of here.’

‘My thanks,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’d best stay and soothe the situation.’

‘Oh, don’t let it vex you.’ Loddlaen settled Evan on one hip. ‘Doubtless the bitch and her pup both deserved it.’ He grabbed Morwen’s arm with his free hand and strode off, leading her away.

Utterly speechless, Nevyn stood staring after them. From behind him he heard someone laughing. He turned to see Gwairyc, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Ye gods, our Morri’s not a lass to cross, is she, my lord?’ Gwairyc said. ‘Who would have thought that she had so much fire in her soul? Good for her!’

‘I’m not so sure how good it’s going to be,’ Nevyn said, ‘if it loses Morwen her place as Evan’s nursemaid.’

‘Oh, it won’t do that.’ Aderyn walked over to join them. ‘This sort of thing happens all the time among the Westfolk.’ He glanced back at the Westfolk woman, who was sitting up, still groggy, in the midst of friends. Some of them were grinning. ‘Morri will fit right in.’

Morwen followed Loddlaen almost blindly. Still carrying Evan, he took her to a small tent at the edge of the encampment and sat her down by a little fire, then put the boy down beside her.

‘Your hand could use some tending,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Look at it, blood all over the back.’

He ducked inside the tent. Morwen stared at her bleeding knuckles and wondered why they didn’t hurt. She was still shaking with rage and barely able to think, but slowly, as the berserk fury left her, the pain arrived.

‘Morri hurt,’ Evan said. ‘Poor Morri!’

‘Stupid Morri,’ Morwen said. ‘Ye gods, I don’t know what came over me!’

Loddlaen came out of the tent with a packet of herbs, a brown pottery bowl, a waterskin, and a small iron pot. He put the pot right into the coals, filled it with water, sprinkled in the herbs, then added a few more twigs to the fire.

‘We’ll let that heat up a bit,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Then you can soak your hand in it.’

‘A thousands thanks!’ Morwen said. ‘I feel like such a fool. I don’t know why you’d help me, after I’ve shamed myself in front of your whole clan.’

‘What?’ Loddlaen paused for a laugh. ‘I don’t consider you shamed. Dangerous, truly, but not shameful. I doubt if anyone else does, either. You don’t understand the Westfolk yet. Little scraps and arguments flare up all the time. Once they’ve died down, no one bothers to remember them.’

‘Truly?’

‘Truly.’ He smiled at her. ‘Well, that’s a relief, then.’

Loddlaen tested the water in the kettle by sticking his finger into it. ‘Still too cold,’ he announced. ‘Frankly, I admire you for putting that harridan in her place. Ebañy, you’re a lucky lad. You’ve got someone to stick up for you.’ His smile turned brittle. ‘I didn’t, when the little beasts tormented me.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Morwen said. ‘Look at you, as handsome as a prince in one of those bard songs.’

‘You think so, maybe.’ The bitterness in Loddlaen’s voice shocked her. ‘You were mocked as a child, or so my father told me, because of your lip. Well, so was I, for my eyes and ears. The other children called me Roundear and Squinteye. At night they’d make little traps because they could see in the dark, but I couldn’t. I was forever falling over stretched ropes or stubbing my toes on rocks. Once a pair of them even laid an ambuscade behind a tent and scared the wits out of me.’

‘I never would have thought you’d have suffered such.’

‘Most people wouldn’t. But I did.’

‘Why didn’t your father put a stop to it? Everyone seems to respect him.’

‘Oh, I was supposed to be strong, you know, and just laugh and ignore them. They’ll stop teasing you if you just ignore it, Da kept saying. I was a Wise One’s son. Why wasn’t I just as wise as he? No matter that I was but a little lad!’

‘And I don’t suppose their mothers ever stopped the little beasts from hurting you.’

‘Oh, they did try. I’ll give them that. The women were so kind, treating me like I was a half-wit. Now don’t hurt Loddlaen, they’d say. He can’t help being like he is. Ever so kind of them!’ Loddlaen paused for a deep breath. ‘Ah well, that was all a long timeago. Here, there’s a breath of steam on that water.’ He tested the herb brew again, then used a forked stick to lift the pot by itsmetal handle. ‘It’ll sting at first, but then it’ll soothe.’ He poured the herb water into the bowl, then set the pot down on the bare ground near the fire. ‘Ebañy, don’t you dare touch that kettle! It’s hot hot hot!’

Evan drew his hand back fast.

‘Good lad,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Try it, Morri. Just one finger at first.’

The herbwater did indeed sting, but in a remarkably short time the sting receded and took the pain with it. Morwen sighed in something like wonderment. Someone was tending her, making her feel better. Someone had gone out of his way to take her part in a squabble, someone who had suffered in the same way as she had.

‘A thousand thanks,’ she said. ‘These herbs are marvels. I truly appreciate your aid.’

‘Well, now,’ Loddlaen said, ‘who wouldn’t do as much for a friend?’

They shared a smile, but Morwen felt as if she could weep from joy. A friend. First Nevyn, now Loddlaen—she had friends, a splendid luxury that she’d always thought beyond her station in life. Lanmara, after all, had been so much more than a friend that at times loving her had been almost painful, almost a burden.

Once the herbs had done what they could for her hand, Morwen went back to Devaberiel’s tent. She found Dev inside, taking a pair of wooden bowls out of a tent bag.

‘I’ll fetch us all some dinner,’ he said. ‘Evan—I mean, Ebañy—come with Da. Morri needs to rest.’

When he left, Evan toddled along eagerly after him. Morwen spent a moment looking around the tent. Her shabby blankets lay by the door, while Dev had placed his own on the other side of the hearth, which amounted to a collection of flat slates under the smoke hole in the roof. A collection of brightly coloured tent bags hung on the walls, and a scatter of leather cushions lay on the painted floor cloth. Even though she’d already spent one night there, still it struck her as gaudy and strange.
But it’s a fair bit nicer than my old shed,
she thought.
Thank the gods for that!

It was also, at the moment, stuffy after a long summer’s day with the scent of dust and sun-warmed leather. Morwen went outside to wait for Dev to return. She had just sat down in the grass outside when Nevyn joined her.

‘I hope I didn’t shame you,’ Morwen said.

‘Not at all,’ Nevyn said. ‘I was startled at first, and then I was afraid you were going to be hurt. I see that my fear was quite unnecessary.’

‘Well, I truly don’t know what came over me, except I absolutely hate seeing Evan cry. I—Oh wait, here’s the little troublemaker coming now.’

The dark-haired boy with the yellow eyes walked towards them, but he stopped a safe distance away and stared at the ground. Red and purple bruises blotched his face. He was carrying Evan’s ball.

‘I brought it back,’ the boy said in Deverrian. ‘And I’m sorry I called you ugly, and Ebañy doesn’t really stink.’

‘It gladdens my heart to hear you say so. I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Well and good, then. I’ve got to go apologize to Danalaurel now.’ He tossed her the ball, then trotted off.

‘Danalaurel?’ Nevyn said.

‘That’s Evan’s little friend,’ Morwen said.

‘Ah, I see. Well, it looks like Loddlaen did exactly the right thing for your hand. It’s swollen, but not half so much as I expected.’

‘It was very kind of him, truly.’

‘It was, and I’m a bit surprised. He can be sullen at times, that lad, and moody, but then, his life didn’t get off to the best of starts.’

‘Indeed. He told me how the other children teased him. Is that what you mean?’

‘Partly. When he was new-born, his mother had very little milk, and he went hungry for a while until she found him a wetnurse. And then—’ Nevyn hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, I shouldn’t be telling tales.’

‘Oh come along!’ Morwen smiled at him. ‘I’ll not be repeating anyone’s secrets. I’ve had to keep my thoughts to myself for my whole life.’

‘Very well. Loddlaen’s mother was a Wise One, too. Or is, I suppose I should say.’ Nevyn thought for a moment, frowning. ‘I assume that Dallandra’s still alive somewhere, at least in some form or another. She went off with the Seelie Host, you see.’

Morwen crossed her fingers in the sign of warding. Everyone knew that the very mention of the Host brought danger.

‘The whole affair was very sad,’ Nevyn went on. ‘But it was her wyrd and work to go. Perhaps she never should have tried to marry and live like an ordinary woman of her people, not that I realized it at the time. Aderyn’s never truly recovered, and you can imagine the effect on her son.’

‘I can indeed. Naught good, for a certainty. Is that why Loddlaen looks so troubled now and then?’

‘Partly. The lad’s seen other trouble in his life, too, but truly, that’s not a tale I can tell you.’

‘Well and good, then. I shan’t pry.’

It wasn’t until much later that Morwen remembered Nevyn saying ‘it was her wyrd and work to go’.
What did he mean by that?
she wondered. It was, she supposed, just another of the many strange things she’d have to learn here in her exotic new life. She thought about asking Loddlaen, but she had no desire to cause him the pain of remembering a lost mother, a pain she knew too well herself.

In the morning a new alar rode into the trading grounds, and with them came Aderyn’s former apprentice, Valandario. Whilst the others in her group unpacked their travois and tended the horses, the young dweomerworker joined Aderyn and Nevyn in front of Aderyn’s tent. In those days Valandario was more gaunt than slender, mostly because her studies engrossed her so thoroughly that she often forgot to eat. Her pale blonde hair fell down her back to her waist in a messy tangle because she refused to spend the time to braid it in the usual manner of the Westfolk. Since she’d learned Deverrian quite recently, she spoke with an oddly careful diction.

‘Good morrow, Master Aderyn,’ she said, ‘and a good morrow to you, Master Nevyn. My heart is gladdened to see both of you.’

‘And mine to see you,’ Aderyn said. ‘I trust you had a safe journey?’

‘We did indeed.’

‘Good, good. So, I’m assuming you’ve got that mysterious gem of yours. When shall we have a look at it?’

‘To be honest, I have not yet received it. It should however arrive soon.’

‘Someone’s bringing it, then,’ Aderyn said.