Traveller's Refuge (12 page)

Chapter Nine

Four days later Wrenna and Wolfe stood in the wide doorway of her pottery dome, watching the throng of people and animals setting up camps in the field across the river. Gaily colored domed
hurkas
huddled around centrally located stone campfire circles. Dotted around the edges of the field well away from the river, the older boys in the warrior classes had installed temporary latrines. Near the river, Hamilton McCrory had built a water wheel so that the visitors could safely fill their water skins. Large empty open-sided domed shelters waited for the council elders to officially open the Mid-Summer Gathering. Then, after the annual public council meeting, the shelters would fill up with traders and their wares.

Somewhere in the distance a mournful melody was picked out on a
grimahr
bone flute.
Dintis
and
packits
sprawled comfortably along the river’s edge, watching the antics of the humans. Children—fewer in number every year—milled around Ham as he demonstrated the water wheel. Warriors in full regalia patrolled short overlapping circuits, maintaining order and guarding the safety of the gathering from the stray
wolvala
or
grimahr
who might venture closer in search of food. Women of all ages in brightly colored
meerlims
and shawls gossiped at the cooking fires.

Wolfe sighed gustily. “I need to go get dressed for my turn at patrol.”

“You sound so enthusiastic,” Wrenna teased gently. “I thought you liked to patrol.”

“Nothing I like better,” Wolfe retorted promptly. “Wear a hot leather
kroniche
bristling with knives, carry around a heavy
punchbow
one-armed so I can look manly and hope that none of the men get drunk on
sim
and have to be hauled before the council. Very exciting.”

Wrenna laughed at his gloomy summation of his duties, though he certainly had a point with his complaint about the heavy leather body armor that was traditionally studded with tiny throwing knives in rows of special slits that ran from neck to waist. “Be glad you don’t have to wear the crossed swords and back harness,” she advised.

He snorted in irritation as he headed back to the house, passing Bishop on the way. Bishop nodded absently and asked, “Is Wrenna down at her shop?”

“She is.”

“Thanks.” Bishop ambled away, leaving Wolfe to shrug in puzzlement. His uncle was a very strange man. What was he thanking him for?

Bishop joined Wrenna in the doorway and studied the mass confusion across the river. “What exactly is going on?”

“Tomorrow begins the Mid-Summer Gathering. It combines the annual public council meeting with a traders’ exchange. Disputes between villages can be worked out. Warriors who have made their final vows this past year are recognized in a public ceremony. The men compete in weapons tournaments. The women bring their best sweet dishes for Mama to judge. The younglings usually have races and a recitation contest.” She glanced at him curiously. “Surely you have something similar out-valley?”

“I suppose the closest thing would be a county fair,” he replied with a frown. “Though even the smallest county fair would be much larger than this.”

“There are so many people where you come from?”

He smiled and shook his head. “If every person in the valley was in one place, they wouldn’t make a small town out-valley. Lost Market could be set down in the center of most towns and not even be noticed.”

Her brows wrinkled in thought. “Traveller will find it hard to live here? Will he miss the people and places, do you think?”

“Nah,” Bishop denied firmly. “
I
will miss those things—especially the women—but Traveller was like Dancer—looking for a place to get away. Speaking of Dancer, where is he? He came to see Trav the day we came to the valley and I haven’t seen him since.”

She slid him a sideways glance. “Dancer and Eppie are in seclusion. She’s in
schalzina
so they will stay at Stonehollow until after their
burda
.”

“Something to do with sex?” he speculated.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll ask Dai for an explanation. He’s the only one that seems to be around.”

“I’m sure that Llyon or Wolfe would be happy to explain things. Even Tyger could answer some of your questions.”

“I notice that you didn’t mention your father,” Bishop commented neutrally. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to tangle with Tyger again.

“Mama began
schalzina
, so Papa might not be available. They’ll probably go down to their bonding cottage, Elyria, right after the Gathering,” Wrenna replied with casual unconcern. “In any case, Papa’s keeping an eye on her because of the babies.”

“Babies?”

“They’re pregnant again. With twins. Again.” Wrenna grinned at Bishop’s expression of horror. “Mama was really surprised since she thought that Cougar and Gazelle would be the last ones.”

“How can she be pregnant?” he demanded.

“The usual way?” Wrenna said calmly. “The out-valley can’t be that different, surely?”

His face turned ruddy with embarrassment and he cleared his throat. “Never mind. I opened my mouth without thinking.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t what I came to talk to you about anyway.”

“No? Let us go up to the kitchen and have some tea. Then you can tell me what is on your mind.”

In the kitchen, Arturo was refereeing a three-way conversation between Llynx, Panther and their teacher, Samara McCrory. “The boys brought this item to their calligraphy class with them,” she was explaining to Arturo. “I don’t believe it belongs to them but whether it does or not, it definitely doesn’t belong in my classroom.”

Arturo picked up the object and studied it intently. “It’s a photograph. I recognize Dancer and Traveller.” He shot a stern glance at the boys and inhaled sharply. “It definitely doesn’t belong to either one of you. Where did you get it?”

Panther stared down at his tightly clenched fists resting on the table and remained mute. Llynx scowled mutinously at Samara and muttered, “We found it.”

Undeterred, Arturo questioned, “Where did you find it?”

“Around.”

Unknown to the boys, Bishop and Wrenna had been observing the scene from the hallway. Bishop decided to take part in their discussion. “Around—perhaps that would be around Trav’s belongings in our room?”

Vigorously, Llynx shook his head, sending his shiny black braids clinking. “No-oo.” He exchanged looks with Panther and then dropped his head so that the others couldn’t see his face.

“Let us be clear about this,” Arturo said crisply. “Anytime you lie to get out of trouble, that is worse that the thing you did to get into trouble. Is that not what Mama and Papa have said before?”

Panther ducked his bright auburn head and nodded. “Yeah.”

“So. Where did you get Traveller’s photograph?”

“In Traveller’s pack,” Panther muttered, close to tears.

Bishop pursed his lips in thought. “When you take something that doesn’t belong to you that is theft. What is the penalty for theft here in the valley?” he inquired idly.

The other adults stared at each other in dismay before Samara said quietly, “The judgment seat.”

Now openly crying, both boys jumped from their seats and rushed to Arturo, burrowing against him. “No! Don’t let them take us!” they wailed in genuine fear.

Bishop was astonished. “What’s going on? What is this judgment seat?”

Wrenna shook her head. “When an individual commits a crime, they are bound and taken to the peak of Needle Rock and left there. It is the
Judgment Seat
. The valley judges their guilt or innocence. If innocent, their bindings are dissolved and they go free and exonerated. If guilty, they are consumed in a flash of fire. That is not an appropriate punishment for a child.”

“No, of course not!” he declared, appalled at the very idea.

“There must be punishment, however,” Arturo said firmly. Guiding the boys back to their seats with a little nudge on their shoulders, he directed them to sit. “Now! Enough of the caterwauling. Certainly, you will not be taken to the judgment seat but you must make restitution.”

Panther and Llynx scrubbed the tears from their faces with grubby hands and hiccupped. “Okay,” Panther whispered miserably while Llynx nodded agreement.

“This is my judgment,” Arturo announced. “As your
morkert
I pronounce this judgment.” His formal tones were solemn and weighty. “You will surrender your
chinkas
for a period of two eight-days and wear your hair unbound that all may know of your punishment for lying. You will not attend the Mid-Summer Gathering but will sit in the doorway of Wrenna’s pottery so that all may see you and know of your punishment for theft. This is my judgment. Do you stand as witness, Bishop?”

“I stand as witness,” Bishop agreed gravely.

Arturo held out his hand and the boys reluctantly pulled the
chinkas
from their braids, one by one. Wrenna brought a clear bowl from the cupboard and Arturo deposited the carved white
chinkas
with a sound that reminded Bishop of glass pebbles. Silently, Arturo waited as they loosened the tight braids and completely unbound their hair. Then he quirked a dark eyebrow and said, “I think I hear your room calling you.” Both boys scrambled from their seats and rushed down the hallway to their room.

When they were gone, Bishop sighed and shakily found a seat. “Okay. Now I have a few questions.”

Arturo chuckled softly. “Only a few? Let me fix the tea first and then we can all relax.”

“I should be going,” Samara demurred.

“Stay for tea. You did well to bring this to our attention, Samara,” Arturo admitted.

“I’ll say. I shudder to think of what else they might find in Traveller’s bag. It just didn’t occur to me that they would go into his things.” Bishop’s hands shook. “He has weapons and who knows what else in there.”

“Put his bags in Papa’s office. The boys aren’t permitted in there under any circumstances. I will lock the door as an extra precaution.” Arturo looked back over his shoulder at Bishop. “Do you want apple tea or honeybush?”

“Honeybush.”

“Wrenna? Samara?”

Wrenna made a face. “Honeybush, of course.”

Samara smiled at her in agreement. “Honeybush for me.”

“Tchk. Apple is better for you, especially if you add a bit of mint.” He tossed the little gauze bags into the mugs and poured hot water over them.

Wrenna set the honey pot on the table and fetched the cookie jar. “Ahhh. Silence at last.”

Bishop shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe how much trouble those two get into. Aren’t they already grounded because they broke a window?”

“That punishment was finished last eight-day,” Arturo answered. “They are not bad but they certainly need some responsibilities to keep them busy. I believe that I have a solution but first I must talk to Papa.” He took a cautious sip of his hot tea. “You have questions. Ask, please.”

“What is a
morkert
? And while I admire your punishment, why is it considered a punishment to give up your
chinkas
? What is the significance of wearing their hair down?”

“Hmm. Those are good questions. A
morkert
is a lawgiver or justice. A warrior may train to be a
morkert
as one of his specialties.
Morkerts
wear special metal
chinkas
in place of the normal dark gray ones denoting their rank.”

“It’s one of your specialties, I guess?”

Arturo nodded. “For a warrior,
chinkas
are their identity. Boys receive their first
chinkas
at six years of age. Until then, they wear their hair down, so the
chinkas
serve as a sign of maturity. Taking their
chinkas
away is akin to saying that they are little children too young to train as warriors.” He idly stirred his tea as he considered. “It was a serious punishment for a serious offense. They violated two points of the warrior code. No lying. No stealing. It was a just punishment.”

“I agree completely,” Bishop assured him. He looked around carefully before asking, “What kind of dog is that that follows Wrenna around? And those cats out on the front porch are the biggest damned cats I’ve ever seen.”

Wrenna choked on her tea, setting off a violent coughing fit. Her eyes watered and tears streamed down her face. When she could finally breathe again without coughing, Arturo handed her a cool damp napkin to wipe her face.

Bishop gave her a bewildered look. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a laugh.

“Wrenna has a
dinti
,” Arturo explained. “
Dintis
choose their human, usually a woman, to mentor. They are one of the four sacred sentient beings listed on the Talking Wall. Twice a year
dintis
present themselves to the shearer and then their hair is spun into yarn used exclusively for the bonding blankets. The other sentient beings are
packits
,
like the ones you observed napping on the front porch,
firkas
and
drangs
.
Packits
choose males to mentor. The
packits
you mentioned are Tyger’s and Llyon’s.
Firkas
look a little like mice and mostly live in gardens and keep them weed- and bug-free. Those are the beings you will probably encounter. The last one, a
drang
, no one has seen in living memory. It’s a small dragon.”

“Why do you suppose no one has seen a
drang
?” Samara wondered.

Arturo shrugged. “Tradition says that a
drang
will mentor the high clan chief. We haven’t had a high clan chief in two hundred years. No one knows whether we don’t have one because there is no
drang
, or if there is no
drang
because we don’t have a high clan chief.”

Bish nodded understanding. “Kind of the
peekie
and egg thing. Which came first?”

“I like that analogy.” Samara sighed and pushed back her chair. “I need to be going. Thank you for the tea, Arturo.”

Bish jumped to his feet and followed her down the hall. “Samara, is it? I’m Bishop Llewellyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Bishop.”