The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (7 page)

My mother drew breath to answer, but my father bellowed over her words, "You are a woman of Mountside – have you forgotten that? Or do you hold your birth-blood more dear than the blood I gave to you when we exchanged our marriage vows?"
"Never," my mother choked out. I could see her through the cracks in the floorboard, and I saw that her face-cloth was moist with tears. "I am yours always; the gods are witness to that. Why must this feud continue, though? Griffith has offered an honorable peace—"
"Honorable?" cried my father. "Honorable to allow the death of our first-born son to remain unavenged? Those are words I might hear from any weak-minded woman in the village. Those are words I might hear from our priest, who will never know what it is like to lose a son. May the gods watch over me, those are even words I might hear from my heir, who has turned into something halfway between a priest and a woman. Those are not words I expected to hear from the woman I picked to be my wife."
I heard no more; I picked up a cushion from Mira's bed and buried my head under it, afraid of hearing more about myself, and even more afraid of believing what my father said of me.
I went to see Fenton later, but Drew said he had gone out onto the mountain, and he had not returned when it was time for me to go to bed.
The twenty-second day of September in the 940th year a.g.l.
Today was the worst day since the feud began. No one died – we are still observing the period of mourning – but my father and I fought.
I have no need to record what he said about me; it is burned into my spirit. I will record here, though, what I said in the end, as a sort of penance, for it is painful to recall my shamelessness. I said, "You are just like the men Fenton talked about, who are evil in their hearts, and who pretend that the gods want what they want."
My father said nothing after that, which frightened me more than if he had shouted. He has commanded me to stay in this hut until dinnertime, when he will allow me to join the villagers around the fire we are building to match the fire built in Cold Run tonight for Roderick's body.
I almost wish that I had taken part in the feud after all. Perhaps I would be dead by now and would not feel this pain at what I have done.
The men had built the funeral pyre by the time Fenton arrived tonight, and the women were throwing onto it the mourning cloths that were meant to represent Roderick's body. As I saw Fenton's face, pale over the bright flames, I had a sudden image of Fenton himself burning in the fire, dying the death of the god-cursed, but I quickly thrust this thought away. The gods love Fenton; of that I can be sure.
He was very quiet tonight, saying the words in honor of Roderick's life. His gaze strayed a couple of times to my father, who kept a seemly silence throughout the rite. As soon as Fenton was finished, though, my father roared for wine, and soon all of us were sitting around the fire, warming ourselves as the first touch of autumn coolness travelled over the mountains from Emor.
I had hoped to be able to spend time talking to Fenton, but he was busy offering comfort to Chloris, who used this mock funeral pyre as an opportunity to reopen her grief for her dead husband. When he had succeeded in persuading Chloris to put aside her open grief, he began to walk toward my father, but he stopped as my father shouted for silence.
Licked by the light of the flames, my father stood with cup in hand, looking round at the people about him, like a father regarding his beloved children. His gaze rested finally on me, sitting between Mira and Drew. Then he raised his hand and said, "Eleven years ago last spring, we welcomed a new kinsman into our midst."
I knew immediately what my father was going to say next, and I looked over at Fenton. His lips were parted with surprise at this honor, and I saw a blush start across his cheeks. Then he ducked his head and went over to help one of my aunts collect the empty wine flasks.
"Eleven years ago," my father continued, "we met a stranger, an Emorian who had chosen to leave his old life and to brave danger in order to enter this land. He was called to Koretia by a voice, he told me, and he soon came to believe that the voice he had heard was that of his god. Wishing to serve his god with the same loyalty with which he had served his previous master, he took on the robes of priesthood and dedicated his manhood to the seven gods and goddesses of Koretia. Since that time he has borne no blade, except when serving as the god's representative at the sacrifice."
All around me, I could see people nodding. Even those who were angry at Fenton for wishing an early peace with Cold Run knew that he had acted as he did out of love of the gods. Fenton himself, still busily collecting flasks, looked as flushed as a boy in love.
"Because he had shown himself to be a god-lover, I asked Fenton to share blood with me," my father said. "Because he had shown himself to be a god-lover, I entrusted to his care my younger son, who has now become my heir. It is because of Fenton that my son is what he is today."
He turned and handed his flask to Lange, who had been nodding with the others; then he unsheathed his dagger. A small sigh drifted through the crowd like mist.
I was as impressed as the rest. I had expected my father only to offer a toast to Fenton, as a sign that this disagreement was superficial in comparison to their blood-bond and their love for each other. Now I realized that my father was going to go further and renew his blood vow of friendship with Fenton.
Fenton had raised his head. I saw his lips part again, and then he quietly took a step forward, awaiting the moment when my father would hand the blade to him. My father raised the underside of his arm so that all could see the thin slit of whiteness upon his wrist. He pointed to it with the tip of his dagger, and then carefully, precisely, he cut his wrist cross-wise from the original mark.
No one spoke. All eyes were now on Fenton, who looked like a corpse that had been drained of blood. My father, it was clear, had not told him what he planned.
"As the Jackal is my witness," said my father in a cool and level voice, "I hereby abjure my vow of friendship with Fenton son of Paulin. No longer is his blood mine; no longer will I protect him from harm. He has broken his vow of friendship to me by teaching my son godless ways and has brought danger to him through those teachings."
Now a murmur ran through the crowd, like wind running over grass. Everyone's gaze turned toward me, including my father's. For a moment more, as my spirit screamed from fear of what he would say next, my father looked upon me. Then he said quietly, "Fenton remains blood-bound to my son; I will not say anything that would cause harm to my son's blood brother. For this reason, I will not repeat the teachings I have heard Fenton speak. Nor will I ask him to leave this village; he remains kin to us through my son. I have sent a letter to the King, though, asking him to send a new priest to us. When that priest arrives, Fenton may leave or stay, as he wishes. If he stays, I will not ask him to take part in the blood feud, for his vow to the gods forbids that. No longer, though, will he represent us before the gods. I believe that, if he were to remain as our priest, our village would be in danger of the gods' anger. That is all I wish to say." And wiping his blade clean on his sleeve, he sheathed his dagger and turned to Lange for his flask.
I looked over toward Fenton, but he was gone already, and when I ran to the sanctuary, the doors were locked.
 
CHAPTER FOUR
The twenty-third day of September in the 940th year a.g.l.
I have been to the sanctuary five times today, but each time I have found the doors locked, and I dare not knock on the doors, for I have heard Fenton's voice murmuring prayers. I have been to see my father as well, and he listened to all that I had to say, but in the end he said nothing more than that, having been tutored by Fenton, I could not be expected to understand how Fenton had turned his face from the gods. The best I could do for Fenton, my father said, was to pray that the gods would show mercy toward him.
He also said that the greatest blame lay with himself, for allowing me to be tutored by an Emorian, but when he said that I left the hut, fearing that my anger would overcome me. How can my father not see that Fenton is a man loved by the gods, full of mercy and peace and goodness? It does not matter that Fenton was born in Emor. Even the blindest man ought to see that Fenton's a man of honor despite that.
But I have already brought about too much trouble by failing to show respect to my father. I am praying to the Jackal to solve the problems I have caused, for Fenton has always taught me that the gods can turn good to evil, and that the Jackal in particular can transform evil through his fire.

o—o—o