Her magical reprieve had offered one benefit. It had driven out the overwhelming confusion. Tavi’s mind was clear again—well, mostly clear, though a little befuddled after the turn her thoughts had taken when she’d called on her magic. But it was clear enough to tell her that yes, she must find her friend.
Tavi might or might not be enough for this task; she might be making the worst mistake of her life; but she was sure of one thing: if she did not go, and something happened to her cousin, she would never recover from her regret.
As she walked to her house, Tavi reflected on the promise she’d made—the lie she had told—in front of the midwife house. Talking to her father was out of the question, whatever Ellea thought. And while her mother might respond more kindly, she still wouldn’t allow Tavi to go. But could she leave home without telling anyone? She pondered this question and continued to walk.
When Tavi entered the kitchen, Misty was kneading bread, and she looked up sharply. “Why aren’t you in school?”
Tavi ignored the question. “Where’s Mama?” she asked.
“She’s with Aunt Jilla,” Misty answered. “Why are you home?”
With her mother gone, Tavi knew what she needed to do. She would divulge her plans to her sister. Misty might insist on tattling, but if she did, Tavi could leave town before her sister had time to track down their mother.
Tavi got right to the point, explaining her scent-based tracking and sharing what she and Sall had discovered. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to go find her, Misty.”
When she heard Tavi’s declaration, Misty pulled out a chair with a floured hand, and sat. Tavi followed suit.
“This is a bad idea,” Misty said.
“Her life may be in danger, and I’m the best person to find her,” Tavi stated.
“I agree with you on that. But you’re fifteen. Mother and Father will never allow it.”
Tavi remained calm, rational. “You’re the one who said just yesterday that I’ve grown up. Besides, I’m not planning on telling Mama or Papa.” She eyed her sister, trying to gauge Misty's reaction to that statement.
Misty’s face was hard. “You are not traveling alone to who-knows-where.”
“Yes,” Tavi replied. “I am.”
“No, you’re not. I’m going with you.”
Tavi’s mouth dropped open. That wasn’t the response she’d expected. Her voice softened. “You’ll come with me?”
Misty nodded and smiled. “It’s probably still a bad idea,” she said. “But I understand why you need to go. And I’ve taken care of you since you were a baby; I’m not going to stop now.”
Tavi stepped out of her chair and hugged her sister tight. Misty’s voice spoke into her ear. “We have to tell Mother.”
Pulling away, Tavi protested, “She won’t let us go!”
“You forget, I’m an adult. I can go wherever I want. And I’m willing to take you with me even if Mother disapproves.”
Misty appeared distinctly uncomfortable with her defiant words, but she did not change them. Taking her sister’s hand, Tavi said, “Thank you.”
They packed food that wouldn’t spoil on the road, trying to keep their bags light. Cheese, sausage, and dried fruit were their staples. When they moved to their room to pack a change of clothes each, they heard their mother enter the house. The two sisters gave each other nervous glances before walking to the kitchen.
They explained their plan and the reasoning behind it. Mey’s first response was silence. She looked between the faces of her daughters, back and forth.
Finally Tavi spoke. “Please say something, Mother.”
“Wait here a moment,” Mey said. She left Tavi and Misty sitting at the kitchen table, looking worriedly at each other.
Mey returned, holding a leather pouch that was closed with a drawstring. She placed it in her eldest daughter’s hand, and Misty’s eyes widened. With fumbling fingers, Misty loosened the top of the pouch and put her hand inside. The contents jingled. “Mother, this is a lot of money,” she said softly.
“When I sell my produce, I save one chip out of every ten,” Mey explained. She grabbed Misty’s hand with her left, and Tavi’s with her right, and her voice took on an urgent tone. “I don’t want you starving or dying of cold or being taken advantage of,” she said. “Stay in good inns. Get help from kind people. Eat enough to give you energy to keep walking. I want you to find those girls.”
“Mama—thank you.” Tavi knew her quiet words were inadequate.
But Mey wasn’t done. “We’ll go to Shem and Jilla’s before your father gets home,” she said. “They have a pack horse, and I know they’ll let you use it. This afternoon we’ll get everything ready; tomorrow, after your father goes to the parish hall, you can pick up the horse and leave.”
“A pack horse—that’s a good idea!” Misty said.
Despite the worry in her face, their mother chuckled. “Were you really planning to carry all the food and water you’ll need, plus everything else?”
Tavi looked at Misty with wide eyes. She was quite sure her sister’s thoughts mirrored her own—they hadn’t even considered their need for water.
When she felt a tight squeeze on her hand, Tavi looked back at her mother. Mey’s eyes had filled with tears, but the lines of her face were firm. “Come home.” Her words were a demand, not a request. “I’ve watched what Jilla is going through, and I—” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard. “I am not willing to lose my oldest and my youngest. Come home.”
Tavi nodded, trying to hold back her own tears. In the end, she didn’t succeed, and emotion overtook her sister and her mother too. Three wet handkerchiefs and six swollen eyes later, they at last stood to make preparations.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Act, before it is too late.
And if you think it is too late,
Act anyway.
-From Proverbs of Savala
Sall didn’t go to school—again. Until the previous day, he had never missed school unless he was sick, or when his mother was having a particularly bad day, or when one of his brothers was sick. On second thought, that meant he’d missed school quite a bit, but never like this, simply choosing not to attend. Today his brothers had also refused to go, and he hadn’t even fought them on it. Now he was sitting in front of his house, on the cool ground, staring at nothing.
He had grown accustomed to sensing the overwhelming emotions of others, but now, it was Sall’s own feelings that attacked him with staggering intensity. Deep shame topped the list. Tavi was right to expect him to go with her, but every time Sall reexamined his decision, he considered his mother, lying in that bed, dying a slow death of the mind. He thought of his brothers, who had proven their inability to eat well or go to school regularly without Sall’s guidance. He needed to be with Tavi, who must be hours down the road by now, but even more he was needed here.
Underneath the shame was a bone-filling anxiety. Where was Narre? Dared he hope she was even now on her way home? Or had they hurt her; had they . . . no, he would not even let himself consider the worst possibilities. Yet those unacknowledged thoughts percolated below the rest.
The sun warmed him, and Sall realized it was straight overhead. With an effort, he stood. He was home at lunchtime; he might as well try to get his mother to eat.
There was leftover ham in the ice cellar and stale bread in the kitchen. Sall made four sandwiches. After calling his brothers in from outside, he took a plate to his mother.
She refused the food. And today, of all days, Sall couldn’t take it. He grasped her chin and attempted to pull it down. Her teeth locked, and he yelled in her face. “Mother, you need to eat!” Her eyes grew wide, but her mouth was immovable.
Sall continued to try to pry open his mother’s mouth until his thumb slipped, and his nail took a small chunk of skin out of her chin. He cursed and pulled away, watching the fissure bead with blood. Still his mother kept her mouth closed.
“This is unacceptab
le!” Sall bellowed. “You don’t want to live; why am I trying to force it?” His customary patience was miles away, farther than Narre, wherever she was. Sall let the words come that he’d wanted to say for so long—the words he didn’t believe but did feel. “You are a coward, Mother! You are a coward who refuses to take the risk of living! You claim to love us, but you treat us with contempt! You care nothing about your family! Nothing, Mother! Nothing!”
Sall stopped, finding that raising his voice took too much energy. Exhaustion weighed him down, due to two nights of little sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his mother. Tears were streaming down both her cheeks—and yet her mouth was still closed, lips firmly pressed together, as if she feared that opening her mouth might invite a bite of ham sandwich. Seeing the absurdity of it all, Sall let a humorless laugh escape his chest.
Then he saw his brothers standing at the door. Berroll, who was twelve, stared at his crying mother, his eyes wide. Lorn, just a year older than Berr, smirked at Sall. Doubtless he loved seeing his brother lose control.
“I’m bringing a healer tomorrow.” Sall’s voice was quieter now, but loud enough for all three of them to hear. His mother’s head shook adamantly.
“Fine,” Sall said. He stood. “I can’t do this any longer.” He left the room, exited the house, and walked all the way to the street. He had no idea what to do next, so he sat next to the road.
After an hour of quiet, an idea occurred to him. It was something he would not have considered before this horrendous week had begun, but now he was ready to act on it. Sall returned to the house, told his brothers they were going on a walk, and turned on his heel, heading back to the street. Whether due to boredom or curiosity, Berr and Lorn soon followed.
Mey wove a lattice of crust atop an apple pie in a halfhearted attempt to get her mind off the absence of Tavi and Misty. She was nearly done when there was a knock at the front door. After wiping her hands on her apron, and then using the same cloth to brush away a tear she discovered on her cheek, she made her way to the door and found Sall waiting on the porch.
“Sall! Come in,” Mey said. The poor boy looked even thinner than usual, and his eyes were haunted.
“I came with Lorn and Berr,” Sall said, “but I sent them behind the house because I need to speak with you alone. Is that all right?”
“Of course,” Mey said. She ushered Sall to a chair in the sitting room. “Can I get you some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“How are you doing with Narre gone?” Mey asked, sitting across from Sall.
He shook his head. “Not well—but that’s not what I’m here to discuss.” Mey lifted her eyebrows, and he continued. “I need to tell you about my mother.”
As Sall explained his mother’s condition, Mey attempted to hold back her emotions. Before her husband left, Sall’s mother Hilda had been Mey’s friend. Mey had rarely seen her in the eight years since, and she had known Hilda must be struggling—but what Sall described was far worse than Mey would have guessed. She was struck with guilt that she had not tried harder to check in on her old friend. Any attempts she had made early on had been rebuffed, and she had let it go, not realizing that Hilda was falling deeper and deeper into despondency.
When Sall paused, Mey spoke. “I am so very sorry. Is this why you didn’t go with Tavi?”
Sall hung his head. “Yes,” he murmured.
“What can I do to help?” Mey asked.
After clearing his throat, Sall looked around the room, finally allowing his eyes to rest on Mey’s face. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. His voice was hesitant. “That’s actually why I came here—to see if you can help. I’ve been attempting to take care of my brothers because my mother, she can’t care for us. But as Lorn and Berr get older, I’m realizing . . . well . . . I make a terrible mother.” His mouth twitched into a sad half-smile.
Mey’s heart, already broken multiple times during the previous two days, again cracked. She leaned forward in her seat. “Sall,” she said, “I will do whatever you need me to do.”
He stared at her and blurted out his request. “I want my brothers to live here, please.”
Mey had hoped he would ask that, but his appeal didn’t go far enough. “I would like nothing more,” she said, “and you may live here too.”
Sall’s palms rose in protest. “Oh, no, my mother needs me. Otherwise—”
Mey’s quiet, firm voice cut him off. “We will ensure that your mother is looked after,” she said. Sall didn’t respond, but his eyes held hers. She explained, “The parish takes care of those who are ill, along with the healing house. Perhaps you will still want to visit her, but others will arrange for her needs to be met.”
“She won’t allow it,” Sall said. “She wants no one to know about her . . . condition. I offer to send her a healer at least once a week, and she always declines.”
Mey nodded. “I’m not surprised. The healers will take things slowly, building trust with her. They have seen others in this condition many times. They will do all they can to help her, Sall.”
Several more seconds of silence passed. Mey spoke again. “With only Jona, Seph, and Ista here, it feels empty.” She smiled. “It will be good to have three more boys in the house.”
“You’re very generous,” Sall said, “but I’m concerned that you feel obligated. And you’re not. She’s my mother, and they’re my brothers.”
“Use your gift to tell yourself what I’m feeling,” Mey said. “Please.”
Sall activated his mind gift, the gentle glow of it turning his hair into a halo. He turned his eyes to Mey, and the anxious tension on his face melted away. She knew what he was sensing—the love of a mother paired with a true desire to help in the ways she had offered. After Sall released his magic, he simply said, “Thank you.”
Mey spent the afternoon helping Sall and his brothers move clothing and other necessities to her house. As the boys gathered their things, she went into Hilda’s bedroom. The woman there was unrecognizable, with her dirty hair, sallow skin, and sunken frame. Mey wept, wondering how Sall had cared for his mother for so long without himself slipping into despair.
Hilda lashed out with words and ineffective fists when she saw her former friend. Mey hoped it was not too late for Hilda to be coaxed back to health. The healers would invite her to live in the healing house until she could again care for herself, but they would not force her to move if she refused. They would help as much as Hilda allowed.
As they walked to Mey’s house with their last load of supplies, they met Jevva, who was coming home from work. Mey gave him a quick recap of the situation, and he agreed to speak with the healing house and the parish caregivers the following morning.
Once home, Mey asked Jevva to join her in the kitchen where she was greeted with the forgotten, unfinished apple pie. She put on a kettle of water for tea and sat at the table with her husband.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Mey began, “and you won't like it.” She told him of Tavi’s discovery, and of the trip Misty and Tavi had begun, nine hours earlier.
As soon as Jevva heard his daughters were gone, he leapt out of his seat. Leaning over the table, propped on his hands, he shouted one word: “What?”
Mey remained seated and calmly repeated, “Misty and Tavi have left to find Narre and Reba.”
Jevva’s hand slammed on the table. “Tavi’s rebellion has reached new heights!” he cried. “First the way she spoke to me, and now this!”
Mey’s voice became hard and sharp as steel. “Please sit,” she said.
Jevva complied, but his loud breathing and red face remained. “She did not even deign to ask my permission!”
That was it; Mey let her tongue loose. “I don’t know why you would expect her to talk to you about anything, let alone her current pain, when you have barely acknowledged her existence in months!”
“I am her father!” Jevva roared.
“You drove her away!” Mey sho
uted. “If it wasn’t this situation with Narre, it would have been something else! When you insisted that she do something against her conscience, you lost her! I hope it isn’t forever, but you certainly haven’t done anything to change it!”
Mey’s breaths were as ragged as her husband’s. She expected him to react with further anger, but instead, the furious lines of his face transformed into furrows of grief. For the first time in many years, she saw tears in his eyes.
One of Jevva’s hands combed through his hair, then grasped the back of his neck. He spoke, his voice now quiet, nearly a moan. “I know. I know. I have hated myself every day since we spoke about the mayor, but . . . what was done was done. I did not want to approach her with regret after she had spoken to me in that way. Instead, I—oh, Sava, I have ruined things with my pride.” His hands moved over his eyes as he took two long, unsteady breaths. He looked again at Mey. “I wish I could help her now.”
As Mey stared at her husband, her anger shifted to sadness—for Jevva’s failing and his grief; for Narre and Reba, wherever they were; for Tavi and Misty, on a quest that might end in heartbreak. Mey took the hand of the broken man in front of her. “I think there’s a way you can help,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I do not know why Sava chose to connect childbirth and magic. However, I do see similarities between them. Both inspire awe. Both require strength. And both often refuse to meet our idealistic expectations.
-From Midwifery: A Manual for Practical and Karian Midwives by Ellea Kariana
“Another one?” Tavi gaped at Misty. She received a rueful smile in response, and the two sisters stepped away from the road into a small copse of trees.
“Eat some grass, Miss Mella,” Misty said, giving the old pack horse a slap on the rump.
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