by Paula Guran
Walking up the long path through the fields, Bast turned a corner and saw Rike’s house. It told a different story than the barn. It was small but tidy. The shingles needed some repair, but other than that, it looked well-loved and tended-to. Yellow curtains were blowing out the kitchen window, and there was a flower box spilling over with fox fiddle and marigold.
There was a pen with a trio of goats on one side of the house, and a large well-tended garden on the other. It was fenced thickly with lashed-together sticks, but Bast could see straight lines of flourishing greenery inside. Carrots. He still needed carrots.
Craning his neck a bit, Bast saw several large, square boxes behind the house. He took a few more steps to the side and eyed them before he realized they were beehives.
Just then there was a great storm of barking and two great black, floppy-eared dogs came bounding from the house toward Bast, baying for all they were worth. When they came close enough, Bast got down on one knee and wrestled with them playfully, scratching their ears and the ruff of their necks.
After a few minutes of this, Bast continued to the house, the dogs weaving back and forth in front of him before they spotted some sort of animal and tore off into the underbrush. He knocked politely at the front door, though after all the barking his presence could hardly be a surprise.
The door opened a couple inches, and for a moment all Bast could see was a slender slice of darkness. Then the door opened a little wider, revealing Rike’s mother. She was tall, and her curling brown hair was springing loose from the braid that hung down her back.
She swung the door fully open, holding a tiny, half-naked baby in the curve of her arm. Its round face was pressed into her breast and it was sucking busily, making small grunting noises.
Glancing down, Bast smiled warmly.
The woman looked fondly down at her child, then favored Bast with a tired smile. “Hello Bast, what can I do for you?”
“Ah. Well,” he said awkwardly, pulling his gaze up to meet her eye. “I was wondering, ma’am. That is, Mrs. Williams—”
“Nettie is fine, Bast,” she said indulgently. More than a few of the townfolk considered Bast somewhat simple in the head, a fact that Bast didn’t mind in the least.
“Nettie,” Bast said, smiling his most ingratiating smile.
There was a pause, and she leaned against the doorframe. A little girl peeked out from around the woman’s faded blue skirt, nothing more than a pair of serious dark eyes.
Bast smiled at the girl, who disappeared back behind her mother.
Nettie looked at Bast expectantly. Finally she prompted. “You were wondering . . . ”
“Oh, yes.” Bast said. “I was wondering if your husband happened to be about.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Jessom’s off checking his traps.”
“Ah,” Bast said, disappointed. “Will he be back any time soon? I’d be happy to wait . . . ”
She shook her head, “I’m sorry. He’ll do his lines then spend the night skinning and drying up in his shack.” She nodded vaguely toward the northern hills.
“Ah,” Bast said again.
Nestled snugly in her mother’s arm, the baby drew a deep breath, then sighed it out blissfully, going quiet and limp. Nettie looked down, then up at Bast, holding a finger to her lips.
Bast nodded and stepped back from the doorway, watching as Nettie stepped inside, deftly detached the sleeping baby from her nipple with her free hand, then carefully tucked the child into a small wooden cradle on the floor. The dark-eyed girl emerged from behind her mother and went to peer down at the baby.
“Call me if she starts to fuss,” Nettie said softly. The little girl nodded seriously, sat down on a nearby chair, and began to gently rock the cradle with her foot.
Nettie stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She walked the few steps necessary to join Bast, rearranging her bodice unselfconsciously. In the sunlight Bast noticed her high cheekbones and generous mouth. Even so, she was more tired than pretty, her dark eyes heavy with worry.
The tall woman crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s the trouble then?” she asked wearily.
Bast looked confused. “No trouble,” he said. “I was wondering if your husband had any work.”
Nettie uncrossed her arms, looking surprised. “Oh.”
“There isn’t much for me to do at the inn,” Bast said a little sheepishly. “I thought your husband might need an extra hand.”
Nettie looked around, eyes brushing over the old barn. Her mouth tugging down at the corners. “He traps and hunts for the most part these days,” she said. “Keeps him busy, but not so much that he’d need help, I imagine.” She looked back to Bast. “At least he’s never made mention of wanting any.”
“How about yourself?” Bast asked, giving his most charming smile. “Is there anything around the place you could use a hand with?”
Nettie smiled at Bast indulgently. It was only a small smile, but it stripped ten years and half a world of worry off her face, making her practically shine with loveliness. “There isn’t much to do,” she said apologetically. “Only three goats, and my boy minds them.”
“Firewood?” Bast asked. “I’m not afraid to work up a sweat. And it has to be hard getting by with your gentleman gone for days on end . . . ” he grinned at her hopefully.
“And we just haven’t got the money for help, I’m afraid.” Nettie said.
“I just want some carrots,” Bast said.
Nettie looked at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Carrots,” she said, rubbing at her face. “How many carrots?”
“Maybe . . . six?” Bast asked, not sounding very sure of his answer at all.
She laughed again, shaking her head a little. “Okay. You can split some wood.” She pointed to the chopping block that stood in back of the house. “I’ll come get you when you’ve done six carrot’s worth.”
Bast set to work eagerly, and soon the yard was full of the crisp, healthy sound of splitting wood. The sun was still strong in the sky, and after just a few minutes Bast was covered in a sheen of sweat. He carelessly peeled away his shirt and hung it on the nearby garden fence.
There was something different about the way he split the wood. Nothing dramatic. In fact he split wood the same way everyone did: you set the log upright, you swing the axe, you split the wood. There isn’t much room to extemporize.
But still, there was a difference in the way he did it. When he set the log upright, he moved intently. Then he would stand for a tiny moment, perfectly still. Then came the swing. It was a fluid thing. The placement of his feet, the play of the long muscles in his arms . . .
There was nothing exaggerated. Nothing like a flourish. Even so, when he brought the axe up and over in a perfect arc, there was a grace to it. The sharp cough the wood made as it split, the sudden way the halves went tumbling to the ground. He made it all look somehow . . . well . . . dashing.
He worked a hard half hour, at which time Nettie came out of the house, carrying a glass of water and a handful of fat carrots with the loose greens still attached. “I’m sure that’s at least six carrot’s worth of work,” she said, smiling at him.
Bast took the glass of water, drank half of it, then bent over and poured the rest over his head. He shook himself off a bit, then stood back up, his dark hair curling and clinging to his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you could use a hand with?” He asked, giving her an easy grin. His eyes were dark and smiling and bluer than the sky.
Nettie shook her head. Her hair was out of her braid now, and when she looked down, the loose curls of it fell partly across her face. “I can’t think of anything,” she said.
“I’m a dab hand with honey, too,” Bast said, hoisting the axe to rest against his naked shoulder.
She looked a little puzzled at that until Bast nodded toward the wooden hives scattered through the overgrown field. “Oh,” she said, as if remembering a half-forgotten dream. “I used to do candl
es and honey. But we lost a few hives to that bad winter three years back. Then one to nits. Then there was that wet spring and three more went down with the chalk before we even knew.” She shrugged. “Early this summer we sold one to the Hestles so we’d have money for the levy . . . ”
She shook her head again, as if she’d been daydreaming. She shrugged and turned back to look at Bast. “Do you know about bees?” “
“A fair bit,” Bast said softly. “They aren’t hard to handle. They just need patience and gentleness.” He casually swung the axe so it stuck in the nearby stump. “They’re the same as everything else, really. They just want to know they’re safe.”
Nettie was looking out at the field, nodding along with Bast’s words unconsciously. “There’s only the two left,” she said. “Enough for a few candles. A little honey. Not much. Hardly worth the bother, really.”
“Oh come now,” Bast said gently. “A little sweetness is all any of us have sometimes. It’s always worth it. Even if it takes some work.”
Nettie turned to look at him. She met his eyes now. Not speaking, but not looking away either. Her eyes were like an open door.
Bast smiled, gentle and patient, his voice was warm and sweet as honey. He held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
The sun was starting to sink toward the western trees by the time Bast returned to the lightning tree. He was limping slightly, and he had dirt in his hair, but he seemed to be in good spirits.
There were two children at the bottom of the hill, sitting on the greystone and swinging their feet as if it were a huge stone bench. Bast didn’t even have time to sit down before they came up the hill together.
It was Wilk, a serious boy of ten with shaggy blond hair. At his side was his little sister Pem, half his age with three times the mouth.
The boy nodded at Bast as he came to the top of the hill, then he looked down. “You hurt your hand,” he said.
Bast looked down at his hand and was surprised to see a few dark streaks of blood dripping down the side of it. He brought out his handkerchief and daubed at it.
“What happened?” little Pem asked him.
“I was attacked by a bear,” he lied nonchalantly.
The boy nodded, giving no indication of whether or not he believed it was true. “I need a riddle that will stump Tessa,” the boy said. “A good one.”
“You smell like Granda,” Pem chirruped as she came up to stand beside her brother.
Wilk ignored her. Bast did the same.
“Okay,” said Bast. “I need a favor, I’ll trade you. A favor for a riddle.”
“You smell like Granda when he’s been at his medicine,” Pem clarified.
“It has to be a good one though,” Wilk stressed. “A stumper.”
“Show me something that’s never been seen before and will never be seen again,” Bast said.
“Hmmm . . . ” Wilk said, looking thoughtful.
“Granda says he feels loads better with his medicine,” Pem said, louder, plainly irritated at being ignored. “But Mum says it’s not medicine. She says he’s on the bottle. And Granda says he feels loads better so it’s medicine by dammit.” She looked back and forth between Bast and Wilk, as if daring them to scold her.
Neither of them did. She looked a little crestfallen.
“That is a good one,” Wilk admitted at last. “What’s the answer?”
Bast gave a slow grin. “What will you trade me for it?”
Wilk cocked his head on one side, “I already said. A favor.”
“I traded you the riddle for a favor,” Bast said easily. “But now you’re asking for the answer . . . ”
Wilk looked confused for half a moment, then his face went red and angry. He drew a deep breath as if he were going to shout. Then seemed to think better of it and stormed down the hill, stomping his feet.
His sister watched him go, then turned back to Bast. “Your shirt is ripped,” she said disapprovingly. “And you’ve got grass stains on your pants. Your mam is going to give you a hiding.”
“No, she won’t,” Bast said smugly. “Because I’m all grown, and I can do whatever I want with my pants. I could light them on fire and I wouldn’t get in any trouble at all.”
The little girl stared at him with smoldering envy.
Wilk stomped back up the hill. “Fine,” he said sullenly.
“My favor first,” Bast said. He handed the boy a small bottle with a cork in the top. “I need you to fill this up with water that’s been caught midair.”
“What?” Wilk said.
“Naturally falling water,” Bast said. “You can’t dip it out of a barrel or a stream. You have to catch it while it’s still in the air.”
“Water falls out of a pump when you pump it . . . ” Wilk said without any real hope in his voice.
“Naturally falling water,” Bast said again, stressing the first word. “It’s no good if someone just stands on a chair and pours it out of a bucket.”
“What do you need it for?” Pem asked in her little piping voice.
“What will you trade me for the answer to that question?” Bast said.
The little girl went pale and slapped one hand across her mouth.
“It might not rain for days,” Wilk said.
Pem gave a gusty sigh. “It doesn’t have to be rain,” his sister said, her voice dripping with condescension. “You could just go to the waterfall by Littlecliff and fill the bottle there.”
Wilk blinked.
Bast grinned at her. “You’re a clever girl.”
She rolled her eyes, “Everybody says that . . . ”
Bast brought out something from his pocket and held it. It was a green cornhusk wrapped around a daub of sticky honeycomb. The little girl’s eyes lit up when she saw it.
“I also need twenty-one perfect acorns,” he said. “No holes, with all their little hats intact. If you gather them for me over by the waterfall, I’ll give you this.”
She nodded eagerly. Then both she and her brother hurried down the hill.
Bast went back down to the pool by the spreading willow and took another bath. It wasn’t his usual bathing time, so there were no birds waiting, and as a result the bath was much more matter-of-fact than before.
He quickly rinsed himself clean of sweat and honey and he daubed a bit at his clothes too, scrubbing to get rid of the grass stains and the smell of whiskey. The cold water stung the cuts on his knuckles a bit, but they were nothing serious and would mend well enough on their own.
Naked and dripping, he pulled himself from the pool and found a dark rock, hot from the long day of sun. He draped his clothes over it and let them bake dry while he shook his hair dry and stripped the water from his arms and chest with his hands.
Then he made his way back to the lightning tree, picked a long piece of grass to chew on, and almost immediately fell asleep in the golden afternoon sunlight.
Evening: Lessons
Hours later, the evening shadows stretched to cover Bast, and he shivered himself awake.
He sat up, rubbing his face and looking around blearily. The sun was just beginning to brush the tops of the western trees. Wilk and Pem hadn’t returned, but that was hardly a surprise. He ate the piece of honeycomb he’d promised Pem, licking his fingers slowly. Then he chewed the wax idly and watched a pair of hawks turn lazy circles in the sky.
Eventually he heard a whistle from the trees. He got to his feet and stretched, his body bending like a bow. Then he sprinted down the hill . . . except, in the fading light it didn’t quite look like a sprint.
If he were a boy of ten, it would have looked like skipping. But he was no boy. If he were a goat, it would have looked like he was prancing. But he was no goat. A man headed down the hill that quickly, it would have looked like he was running.
But there was something odd about Bast’s motion in the fading light. Something hard to describe. He almost looked like he was . . . what? Frolicking? Dancing?<
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Small matter. Suffice to say that he quickly made his way to the edge of the clearing where Rike stood in the growing dark beneath the trees.
“I’ve got it,” the boy said triumphantly, he held up his hand, but the needle was invisible in the dark.
“You borrowed it?” Bast asked. “Not traded or bargained for it?”
Rike nodded.
“Okay,” Bast said. “Follow me.”
The two of them walked over to the greystone, Rike following wordlessly when Bast climbed up one side of the half-fallen stone. The sunlight was still strong there, and both of them had plenty of space to stand on the broad back of the tilted greystone. Rike looked around anxiously, as if worried someone might see him.
“Let’s see the stone,” Bast said.
Rike dug into his pocket and held it out to Bast.
Bast pulled his hand back suddenly, as if the boy had tried to hand him a glowing coal. “Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “It’s not for me. The charm is only going to work for one person. Do you want that to be me?”
The boy brought his hand back and eyed the stone. “What do you mean one person?”
“It’s the way of charms,” Bast said. “They only work for one person at a time.” Seeing the boy’s confusion written plainly on his face, Bast sighed. “You know how some girls make come-hither charms, hoping to catch a boy’s eye?”
Rike nodded, blushing a little.
“This is the opposite,” Bast said. “It’s a go-thither charm. You’re going to prick your finger, get a drop of your blood on it, and that will seal it. It will make things go away.”
Rike looked down at the stone. “What sort of things?” he said.
“Anything that wants to hurt you,” Bast said easily. “You can just keep it in your pocket, or you can get a piece of cord—”
“It will make my da leave?” Rike interrupted.
Bast frowned. “That’s what I said. You’re his blood. So it will push him away more strongly than anything else. You’ll probably want to hang it around your neck so—”
“What about a bear?” Rike asked, looking at the stone thoughtfully. “Would it make a bear leave me alone?”