Cuen grabbed her arm. “Leave it be, Hilde. It belongs to the child.”
Hilde wrested free from her husband’s hold, stepping nearer to get a closer look. “It looks like gold,” she exclaimed, turning back to Cuen. “Is it gold?”
“Whatever it is, it belongs to the child.”
Hilde pointed back at me. “There’s a small fortune of gold lying at that child’s feet, Cuen. Do you expect me to take on the burden of another child without compensation? Especially when the child has the ability to recompense?”
The hunter grabbed her skinny arms then, leading her away, across the room.
The children had not taken their eyes off me, and I had to strain to hear Cuen’s words as he spoke to his wife. “That is not an ordinary child,” he said. “She can’t be more than two or three years old, judging by her size, but she has the abilities of one much older, and managed to get by all alone in the mountains for several months. Imagine a child of that tender age, with such abilities.”
“Just because she’s exceptional doesn’t make her exempt from—”
“She is a wizard-child, Hilde,” Cuen broke in forcefully. “Her father was a wizard. That golden hilt is from his sword, a magical sword wielded against the dragon. He was certainly a man of great power to have a sword of gold, and the hilt is surely empowered with his magic spirit, for his symbols are imprinted all about it. I, for one, will not attempt to take it from the child, no matter how much gold it may possess, for I refuse to bring the vengeance of a wizard’s curse upon us.”
Hilde’s bird-like eyes bored right through me, and I shivered. Though my arms were still strained, I pulled the hilt protectively back within them.
Hilde strode back to the inglenook. “I do not want her kind in my house, Cuen,” she clucked. “She will have to stay in the barn.”
I welcomed that idea. I would much prefer the company of a horse and an ass to that of this horrid woman.
3
Gwin
Cuen led me out to the barn and when we stepped inside, I screamed, shrinking back to cling to the comfort of the hunter’s leg. From the rafters on the far side of the barn hung the bodies of the two slain deer and what I assumed was another one, already skinned and quartered.
“Don’t be afraid,” the hunter told me, prying me free from his leg. “They won’t hurt you.” He led me to an empty stall beside his two horses. “You can make a bed of straw in here. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do without light once the sun sets. I don’t allow candles or lamps inside the barn.”
I stood in the middle of the stall, gazing about. This was to be my new home? It wasn’t the horses that bothered me, nor the two asses across from them. And it wasn’t the flies that buzzed about, clinging to my face and arms. No. It was those dead things hanging at the back of the building. And when those dead things were taken away, more would just take their place, for Cuen was a hunter. This place would never be free of the dead.
Cuen knelt beside me. “I never did ask you your name.”
Looking up, I suddenly felt sorry for him. He seemed like a very nice man but his wife was just a nasty old shrew. “My name is Elva,” I mumbled.
“Someone here in Lorane might be willing to take you in, Elva. Don’t despair. Until then, you’ll be safe here.”
I waited until he left before sinking to the floor, unable to keep myself from weeping. Oh Papa, what have you done to me? Now I am reduced to living in a barn with dead things, while you live in luxury at the palace. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.
It was hopeless. If my own mama and papa didn’t want me anymore, why would anyone in Lorane want me? Cuen’s wife certainly didn’t want me. All she wanted was the gold in my father’s sword.
Could it be true what Cuen had said about Father’s spirit still being within it? Is that why it had called to me?
I stared down at the silent lump of metal upon the ground, slapping the flies away from my arms. “Speak to me now, Father,” I whispered. “Tell me what to do. Tell me, please.”
It had screamed at me to set it free. But now it simply laid at my feet, and I dared not think that Father’s spirit had abandoned me, too.
The sun was hanging low in the sky and inside the barn the light was fading fast. I didn’t care. I could see well enough in the darkness. Who needed light? And what was there to see anyway? Boards? Straw? An axe and a chopping block? An empty barrow? Dead things?
I purposely kept my eyes turned away from the slain deer, staring at the barn door instead. It was then that the fair-haired boy with one arm came through it. A gray woolen blanket was flung over his shoulder and in his hand was a wooden bowl.
“Father bade me bring these to you,” the boy spoke softly, his voice sweet and tonal as a flute. His gaze flitted about as if he were afraid to look upon me.
“Thank you.” I took the bowl from his hand. He was a lot bigger than I was, and maybe a little older, but not much. As he handed me the blanket, I had to set the bowl upon the floor. I took the blanket, watching in fascination as he fidgeted and struggled to keep from looking at me. It seemed he could not take his eyes off me earlier. Why was he so shy now? He seemed hesitant to leave, but turned to go nonetheless.
“Do you have to go so soon?” I asked. I was lonely. Some company would be nice.
He stopped and looked back at me, a trace of a smile washing over his lips, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“I could stay if you want. Or I could go.”
I spread the blanket upon the floor and sat down on it. “Come sit with me,” I told him, patting the blanket. “Keep me company while I eat.”
He came and sat cross-legged across from me. “I thought you were a baby at first,” he said. “But you’re not a baby, are you?”
I shook my head, plucking out the fly that was swimming in my soup bowl. “I’m just small.” I took a taste of the soup. It was a rather blank broth, but I was hungry. I didn’t care. “What happened to your arm?”
He stared at the blanket space between us. “I was born this way,” he murmured. “Mother says it is because I am cursed.”
“Why does she think you are cursed?”
He worked at the answer as if by rote. “Because I am the cursed propagation of a licentious man’s libido after a night of consumed intoxication, whatever that means.”
“It sounds terribly scary,” I said. “But I don’t think it is you who is cursed. I believe it is your mother. Perhaps if she was a more pleasant person, she would not be so cursed.”
The boy’s eyes brightened. “Is this true?”
I didn’t know if it was true. It was only my thoughts.
“Oh, it must be true, if you say it is,” he said.
I screwed up my nose. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a wizard girl. I heard Father say so.”
I giggled. “I am not a wizard. My father was, but I am not. At least not yet.”
His face fell. “Oh. Then it really is me who is cursed.”
“Nonsense. And I never want to hear you say that again. Tell me your name.”
“I am Gwin.”
“It is a fine name and not a name for someone who is cursed. My name is Elva.” It is me who is cursed. A being half-Man and half-Troll, who nobody wants. Whose own Mama and Papa wanted killed.
“Did your father really fight the dragon?” Gwin asked.
I nodded in response. “But the dragon killed him. I wanted to kill that dragon myself, because it killed my father. But I hear someone else has gone and done it.”
“Yes,” Gwin said. “The dragonslayer from Avar. It is said that all that was left of Ragg when the dragonslayer was done with him was a mountain of shiny black scales.”
I wondered how Papa had managed that. Oh, I bet that wizard helped him! That wizard-man who was not a man. Most certainly Papa and that wizard conspired to get rid of both me and Ragg! I could understand why they’d want to get rid of the dragon, but why me? The dragon was a thr
eat. I was only a girl. Just because I had ugly, pointed ears didn’t make me dangerous.
A pain inside my chest began to burn, making it hard to breathe. I handed the empty soup bowl back to Gwin. “It’s time you go now,” I told him. “It’s getting dark and I’m tired.” My heart was too sad to talk more.
“But I thought you wanted me to stay?”
His round, dimpled face was one of calmness; the question was straightforward, without a hint of whining or anger. He seemed to want my company and I didn’t want to seem mean.
“Stay a while longer then, if you’d like.”
Abruptly, he rose and headed for the door. “I’ll go now. Good night, Elva.”
He left the barn and I sat staring at the door, quite perplexed. He certainly was an odd boy.
I awoke in the morning to a clatter and din within the stalls beside me and crept forward, peeking around the corner. The hunter and his oldest son were readying their horses to ride. Across the barn, the oldest girl and one of the other boys were loading a wooden barrow with meat. Gwin stood alone against the door, watching.
“Make sure you keep that meat in the shade,” Cuen spoke sharply to the children at the barrow. “And try to sell the fresh first.”
He glanced down at me and gave a fleeting smile. “Good morning, Elva. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” I said, though it was not entirely true. It had taken me a long time to nod, but once I did, I slept more soundly than I had in quite a long while.
“Gwin,” the hunter called over to his son. “Take care of this child while I’m gone. Make sure she eats.”
Gwin eagerly nodded in response as the hunter and his oldest son led their horses and the two asses out of the barn, followed by the children with the barrow. Edging beside me, Gwin whispered, “Father’s not very happy this morning, so he’s going hunting again already.”
“Why isn’t he happy?”
“He and Mother had a terrible fight last night. About you. And that.” He pointed at the remains of my father’s sword.
“Your mother still wants it, doesn’t she?”
Gwin nodded.
“I will never let her have it, you know. It’s all I have left.”
“You’d better hide it then.”
“Why does she want it?” I muttered. It was mine. She had no right to want it.
“She says there’s enough gold there to keep us in plenty for several years.”
“Doesn’t she have plenty already?”
“Mother never seems to have enough. No matter how much Father gives her, she always wants more.”
“It’s because she’s cursed,” I spat, taking the hilt to the back corner of the stall and covering it with straw. “If she were not so unpleasant she would not be cursed and she could have enough with what she already has.”
The boy watched me placidly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Elva,” he spoke. “Would you like to come wandering with me today?”
I stared at him questioningly. “Wandering? What do you mean?”
“Going places. Seeing things. I can show you the river. And upriver there are some big rocks I like to climb upon. One of them has a huge hole that goes all the way through it. Or we can go downriver where there are quiet pools so filled with fishes the water looks to be alive with flashes of silver lightning.”
I had been wandering so much lately and was pretty tired of it, but Gwin seemed eager to go somewhere. Besides, if I stayed here I’d be too near that unpleasant woman of the house.
“Let’s go upriver,” I told him. “I’d like to see the rock with the hole in it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to see the fish?”
“Let’s go see the fish, if that’s what you’d like.”
“We’ll go upriver,” he said, grinning, and when he did his whole being seemed to shine. It was a grin that made me feel warm inside, even if he was odd. “Follow me,” he said, waving his arm.
We left the barn and wound our way through the streets of Lorane until we finally reached the river. I was amazed at the size of it. So small the brook beside my home in Avar seemed in comparison, for this river was as broad as nine or ten men were tall.
“Be careful not to fall in,” Gwin warned as he scampered over the rocks and heath about the river’s edge. “The water is stronger than it looks. One time a man fell in and got washed all the way to the pools downriver. Poor thing was quite dead when they found him.”
I shuddered and kept well away from the bank, following Gwin upriver, watching the water cascading in white gurgles and mild roars down the hillside. The smooth gray rocks about us began to grow in size as we neared the top of the hill and when we finally reached the hilltop, they were absolutely immense.
“They’re a big as a castle!” I cried in amazement, though I truly had no idea how big a castle was. But the entire hilltop seemed to be a fortress of stone.
“Come on,” Gwin urged, stepping into a crevice. The crevice began to narrow and Gwin climbed up with the ease of long practice. Even with two hands to hoist myself up, I was having a hard time keeping pace. Gwin might as well have been a mountain goat.
When we got to the top of the boulder, we stopped, taking in the view below.
“Do you wander like this often?” I asked.
“Every day. I like discovering new places. Besides, I have nothing else to do.”
“Nothing?”
“Mother won’t allow me to help with anything. Father will let me run a few errands now and then or keep the dogs away while the meat is smoking, but when he’s away, my time is free. So I wander.”
He didn’t seem upset by this at all and I didn’t know whether to envy him or pity him. He probably knew these hillsides better than anyone, but what kind of life was there in wandering?
“What do you want to do with your life, Gwin? When you become a man?”
He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Mother says I’ll never be of any use to anyone, having only one arm. She says I’ll just grow up to be a beggar.”
“Surely you don’t want to be a beggar, do you?”
“As a beggar, I could go anywhere I wanted, anytime I wanted. It wouldn’t be so bad.”
“But there’s no honor in being a beggar.”
“Do you think that what my father does is honorable?”
“There’s nothing dishonorable in being a hunter.”
Gwin shook his head. “I could never do what he does. And it’s not just because I could never draw the bow. I could never kill another living creature. I feel sorry for the ones Father kills.”
“But you have to eat.”
“Yes, but still, I could never do it.”
“Just because you don’t want to be a hunter doesn’t mean you have to be a beggar. Could you be a woodcutter?” I asked. “Could you swing an axe?”
“Probably not,” he said. “But maybe I could be a herdsman. Or a stable hand. I like the company of animals. And I would enjoy caring for them.”
“See,” I said, smiling. “There are lots of things you could do. You don’t have to be a beggar.”
“What about you, Elva? What do you want to do?”
“Unlike you, I want to be like my father. I want to be a wizard and a warrior.”
“Girls can’t be warriors, Elva.”
“Why not?”
“Because they just can’t. There are no warriors who are not men.”
“Then I shall be the first,” I stated. “There is no reason why I cannot be a warrior. Just because I am a girl doesn’t mean I cannot wield a sword. And I could kill if necessary. It wouldn’t bother me.”
Gwin shuddered. “It is more than I could do. I would never want to kill anyone.”
“Well, I would only kill those who deserved it.” Like Papa. And Mama. The thought breathed life into that dark ember deep inside and a strange warmth crept through me.
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Gwin laughed, a merry, twinkling laugh that brought to my mind the stars up in the sky. “If ever a girl becomes a warrior, you will surely be the first. Come, Elva. The hole in the rock is not far.”
Just as he’d promised, on the far side of the hill stood a huge granite boulder with a round hole big enough for us to walk inside of, tunneling all the way through it.
“How do you suppose it got this way?” I wondered aloud, climbing up inside the opening.
“I don’t know,” Gwin said, shimmying up beside me. “But I made up a song about it. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes,” I said with a nod. “Sing me your song, Gwin.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It is foolish.”
“Please, Gwin. Sing me your song.”
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I’m sure it’s a fine song. I promise, I won’t laugh.”
He closed his eyes and began to sing a sad, mournful tune, his voice so clear and haunting it sent cold fingers tickling down my back.
“Oh rock so proud, so proud and empty,
Did someone steal your heart?
You should be filled, be filled with plenty.
Did someone steal your heart?
Alone, so alone upon the hillside.
Did someone steal your heart?
What fate, wretched fate did you betide?
Did someone steal your heart?”
His face was flushed when he finished, and he could barely look at me.
“That was a glorious song, Gwin.” I took hold of his hand, my words as true as true could be. “And you sing so well. You made that up all by yourself?”
He gave an embarrassed nod.
“You don’t have to be a beggar to wander, Gwin. You could be a minstrel!”
His slate-blue eyes sparkled. “Do you really think so?”
“I heard a minstrel once and your voice and your song are as good as his. Even better, I think.”
He frowned then, the light leaving his eyes. “But no one knows I sing. I sing only to myself. When I am alone.”
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 30