The Demon's Den and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Tanya Huff

  Dory shook her head. “Crying is for the weak.”

  “You have tears.” Brock tapped his own chest. “In here. Tears not cried go bad. Bad tears make you hurt.”

  “You heard Aysa. She buried a son and two daughters. She never cried.”

  “She is the mean lady,” Brock said sadly. “You can't be the mean lady.” He opened his arms and, before Dory could move, wrapped her in one of his all-encompassing hugs.

  Jors knew from experience that when Brock hugged, he held nothing back.

  It was a new experience for Dory.

  She blinked twice, drew in a long shuddering breath, then clutched at his tattered sweater and began to sob. After a moment, Brock reached out one hand, grabbed Simen and pulled him into the embrace.

  “Cry now,” he commanded.

  “I...” Simen shook his head and tried to pull away. Brock pulled him closer, pushing Dory into his arms and wrapping himself around them both. Simen stiffened then made a sound, very like his son might have made, and gave himself over to grief. All three of them sank to their knees.

  :These people need help.:

  Gervis shifted his head. :It seems they're getting it.:

  With the funeral over, Jors pulled himself into something resembling official shape and sought out Aysa.

  “Your son attacked a Herald.”

  “His son just died. He was mad with grief.”

  “You goaded his brothers...”

  “To stand by him,” she sneered triumphantly. “I never told no one to hit you. And now I'm givin' you and that half-wit food and shelter. You can't ask for more, Herald.”

  Given that he and Brock were trapped on her side of the river, he supposed he'd better not. “About the bridge...”

  Without the bridge, there was no way back. The river wasn't particularly wide, but the water ran deep and fast.

  “You come out here to stick your nose in on us, then you're stuck out here till we head in to town, and we ain't headin' nowheres until them hides is done. We wasted time enough with Dory having that baby. You want to leave before that, then you and the halfwit can rebuild the bridge yourself.”

  “That's fair. I can't expect you to drop everything and assist me.” His next words wiped the triumphant sneer from her face. “I'll have them send a crew out from town.”

  “You can't get word to town.”

  He smiled, hoping he looked a lot more confident of the conversation's outcome than he felt. “There's a Herald there, and I already have. By this time tomorrow, there'll be a dozen people in the valley.”

  “Liar.”

  “Heralds can't lie, Ma.”

  “Shut up!” Aysa half turned, and Kern winced away as though he expected to be hit. Lip curled, she turned back to Jors. “I don't want a dozen people in the valley! And it don't take a dozen people anyway. And the water won't be down enough tomorrow.”

  “Then I'll have them come when the water goes down:”

  “You won't have no one come. My boys'll rebuild.”

  “Then the townspeople can help.”

  “My boys don't need help. They ain't got brains for much, but they can do that. You let them know in town I'm hostin' you and the half-wit till then.”

  It was a grudgingly offered truce, but he'd take it. Jors wasn't surprised that Aysa'd refused help. The last thing she'd want would be her sons exposed to more people, to people who'd make them realize they were entitled to be treated with kindness. Over the next few days, while they waited for the water to recede, she proved that by keeping him by her side, keeping him from interacting with anyone else at the holding.

  Brock, she considered no threat. Which was a mistake.

  Because Brock treated everyone with kindness.

  “You call that supple? I could do better chewin' it! How could you be doin' this all your life and still be no damned good? You're pathetic.” Enric and Kern leaped back as she threw the piece of finished leather down at their feet. “Pathetic,” she repeated and stomped away.

  “Mean lady calls me names, too,” Brock sighed, coming out from behind the fleshing beam and picking up the hide.

  Enric ripped it out of his hands. “We ain't half-wits.”

  “Mean lady calls me half-wit. Not you.”

  “You are a half-wit!”

  “Are you pathetic?”

  Kern jerked forward, face flushed. “You callin’ us pathetic?”

  “No. It hurts when people call names.” Brock looked from one to the other. “Doesn't it hurt?”

  “If your half-wit falls in a liming pit,” Aysa snarled as Jors caught up, “my boys'll stand there and laugh.”

  “You taught them that.”

  “I'm all they got.”

  “They're terrified of you.”

  “Good.”

  “Dory isn't.”

  “You think one of my boys is stupid enough to pick up a weakling?” Aysa nodded toward the garden where Dory heaped cabbage into a basket. “But she does what I say like the rest. If she doesn't like it, she can leave any time.”

  While they watched, Dory lifted the basket, gave a little cry and let it fall.

  Aysa snorted. “'Course that baby left her stupidly weak.”

  Jors took a step toward the garden, but stopped as Simen came out of the chicken house and hurried across to his wife.

  “Simen! You get back to work, you lazy pig.”

  His mother's voice froze him in his tracks. Then he shook himself and began retrieving the spilled cabbages.

  “Simen!”

  He ignored her.

  “This is your fault, Herald. Turning a woman's family against her.” Muttering under her breath, she strode toward them.

  Dory looked up, saw her coming and stood, hands on hips.

  “You think you can face me down, girl? Simen, get up!”

  He stood.

  “Now get back to work.”

  He took a step forward and put his hands on Dory's shoulders. “When I'm finished here, Ma.”

  Aysa's mouth worked for a moment, but no sound emerged. Finally, she spun on one heel and stomped away.

  The comer of Simen's mouth curled. “You'd best help here, Herald. I wouldn't follow her right now.”

  *

  The river was low enough the next day.

  The bridge took only a day longer to rebuild, and for the most part, involved fitting the original pieces back into place.

  Jors stared at the completed bridge in amazement. “That's incredible.”

  “Nothin' incredible about it, Herald,” Enric snorted. “Damned thing goes out every other season. Easier to build it so it breaks apart clean.”

  His bare torso red with cold, Kern shrugged into a sheepskin coat. “Supports slip out so they don't shatter, logs end up in the same place, we float 'em back and rebuild. Any idiot can do it.”

  “Trust me, I've crossed a hundred rivers – or maybe a couple of rivers a hundred times – but I've never seen anything like this.”

  “Ma says it's not...” Simen paused, frowned, and looked up at the Herald. “It's really good?”

  “It's really good.”

  The brothers exchanged confused looks, and Jors had the horrible suspicion this was the first time they'd ever been praised for anything.

  *

  The next day, while Jors was checking Calida's girth strap for the trip back to town, Dory came out of the house with a bundle. “It's for Brock,” she said, folding back a corner. “I want you to give it to him for me.”

  At first Jors thought it was white leather. Made sense; they were tanners after all. Then he realized the leather had been cut and sewn into a fair approximation of Herald's Whites. Dory had clearly taken the pattern from his and sized it to fit Brock.

  “I saw he didn't have none of his own.”

  Oh, help. “Dory, you know he's not... ”

  “Brother Herald! We go now? What you got?” His hands and Dory's together closed the bundle.

  “It's a surprise,” Dory
said, her cheeks crimson. “For later.”

  “Not for now?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He took Calida's reins and stood, waiting patiently while Jors tied the bundle behind Gervis' saddle.

  :You seem upset, Chosen.:

  :I can't tell her Brock's not an actual Herald while he's standing there. He'll say he is, I'll say he isn't, and I'm not sure that in this place, at this time, I'd win the argument.:

  :You shouldn't argue.:

  :Oh, that's helpful.:

  :Thank you.:

  The whole family went with them to the bridge. Jors didn't know why the rest came, but he was certain Aysa just wanted to make sure they were off her land. He wanted to say something, something that would convince them they didn't have to live inside the darkness of an old woman's anger, but before he could think of the right words, Brock hugged Dory. And Simen. And Enric. And Kern.

  Then he scrambled up into the saddle and, from the safety of Calida's back, took a deep breath, looked Aysa in the eye, and spoke directly to her for the first time. “Why don't you love your babies?”

  Her lip curled. “I buried my babies, half-wit.”

  He nodded toward the three young men standing to her right. “Not them.”

  She turned, looked at her sons, looked back at Brock and muttered, “Half-wit.” But there was little force behind it.

  Jors had no idea he was going to do what he did until he did it.

  *

  “Jors, you hugged mean lady.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Although he still couldn't believe it. “Everyone else got hugged, I just...”

  She'd pushed him away with such force that he'd slammed back into Gervis' shoulder.

  “You are the bravest Herald. Ever, ever.”

  “Thank you.”

  Then she'd snarled something incomprehensible, turned, and stomped away.

  He'd probably accomplished nothing at all by it. The bundle Dory had given him pushed against the small of his back.

  *

  The weather remained clear and cool, and just as the sun was setting, they stopped outside the village.

  “Gate will close when sun is set,” Brock warned.

  “I know. Brock, I think you should go back to Haven with Isabel.”

  “Lots of Heralds in Haven?”

  “Yes.”

  Brock sighed and shook his head. “No. I have to stay here. I am the only Herald.”

  “Brock, you're not...” He couldn't say it. Brock waited patiently for a moment then smiled.

  “Is it later?”

  “Yes.”

  “What's Dory's surprise?”

  “Uh… it's uh...”

  Both Companions turned their heads to look at him. Their expressions said, this is up to you.

  :He believes he is a Herald.:

  :Yes, but...:

  :And he acts accordingly.:

  *

  “I couldn't do it, Isabel. They're just clothes. and I know that, but if I gave Brock those Whites, then there'd be fake Heralds showing up all over the place.”

  “A bad precedent to be sure,” the older Herald agreed.

  “There has to be a line, and that line has to be the Companions. Sometimes it seems like we're barely keeping order in chaos now. I couldn't... No matter how much...” Jors ran both hands back through his hair. He couldn't believe how much the decision, the right decision had felt like betrayal. “It wouldn't make any difference to Brock. He knows who and what he is, but for the others in the village, those who made fun and called him names...”

  “Come here, I want to show you something.” Isabel took his arm and pulled him to the window. “What do you see?”

  Jors squinted down into the stable yard. “Brock's grooming Gervis again.”

  “While you four were gone, I talked to a lot of people. Seems that whenever a Herald comes into this village, the Companion manages to spend time with Brock. Even if it's only a moment or two.” They watched as Calida crossed the yard and tried to shoulder Gervis away. Brock laughed and told her to wait her turn. “You were right not to give him the Whites,” Isabel continued, “but you were also right when you said it makes no difference. He couldn't be Chosen because, as Heralds, we have to face dangers he'd never understand, but the Companions know him. All Brock needs from us is our love and support. Now, since Healer Lorrin has finally allowed me out of bed, what do you say you and I go down there and give our brother a hand with the four-foots?”

  Jors grinned as Brock gamely tried to brush both tails at once.

  Heralds wear shiny white.

  Brock wore his Whites on the inside.

  ALL THE AGES OF MAN

  “I'm too young for this.”

  Although Jors had spoken the words aloud, thrown them, as it were, out onto the wind without expecting an answer, he received one anyway.

  :So you keep saying.:

  “Doesn't make it any less true.” He was alone – although he wouldn’t be soon – he could hold an apparently one-sided conversation if he wanted to.

  :You are experienced in riding circuit,: his Companion reminded him. :All you must do is teach what you know.:

  Jors snorted and shifted in the saddle. “So you keep saying.”

  Gervis snorted in turn. :Then perhaps you should listen.:

  “I'm not a teacher.”

  :You are a Herald. More importantly, you are needed.:

  And that was why they were heading north-east, out to the edge of their sector to meet with Herald Jennet and her greenie. The courier who'd brought the news of Jennet's mother's sickness and recall to Haven, had also brought the news to Jors that he’d been assigned as Jennet’s replacement and would be finishing out the last eleven months of the greenie’s internship.

  The greenie’s name was Alyise, her Companion's name was Donnel, and that was pretty much all Jors knew. He couldn't remember ever seeing anyone of that name amidst the Greys during the rare times he'd been at the Collegium over the last few years, and he only remembered her Companion as a long-legged colt.

  The thing was, he liked being on the road, and he much preferred the open spaces of the Borders to any city, so he went back on Circuit as fast as he could be reassigned. That didn't give him much time to learn about the latest Chosen, and when he did meet up with other Heralds, he was much more interested in finding out what his year-mates had been doing.

  “Jennet has to be ten years older than I am. At least. And she's a woman.”

  Strands of the Companion’s mane slid across Jors' fingers like white silk as Gervis tossed his head. :What does her being a woman have to do with this?:

  “Women are better at teaching girls. They understand girls. Me...” He rubbed a dribble of sweat off the back of his neck. “...I don't get girls at all.”

  :You seemed to understand Herald Erica. I remember her continuously agreeing with you.:

  “Continuously agreeing? What are you talking about?”

  :Raya and I could hear her quite clearly outside the Waystation. She kept yelling yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!:

  “Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” Jors could feel Gervis' amusement – the young stallion did indeed think it was very funny. “As I recall, Erica and I weren't the only two keeping company that night.”

  :We were quiet.:

  “Well, I'm sorry we kept you from your beauty sleep, and you needn't worry about it happening again for, oh, about eleven months.”

  :You do not know that the new Herald will find you distasteful. Raya told me that her Herald found you pleasant.:

  Jors sighed. Pleasant. Well, he supposed it was preferable to the alternative. “Thank you. But that's not the point. I'll be Alyise's teacher, her mentor; I can't take advantage of my position of power.”

  :You will be Heralds together.:

  “Yes, but...” He felt a subtle shift of smooth muscles below him echoed by a definite shift of attention, and fell silent.

  :Inar says we will meet in time for us to return to the Wayst
ation outside of Appleby before full dark.:

  If that was true, and Jors had no reason to doubt Jennet's Companion, they were a lot closer to the crossroad than he'd thought. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Bucky and found the pack-mule tucked up close where Gervis' tail could keep the late summer insects off his face. And that was another possible problem. Mules were mules regardless of who they worked for, and mules that worked for Heralds could be just as obstinate and hard to get along with as any other. They'd be adding a new mule to the mix.

  It was a good thing Companions always got along.

  And speaking of...

  “Why didn't Donnel contact you? Can't he reach this far?”

  :Inar is senior to Donnel, as you will be senior to his Chosen.:

  “You'll be senior to Donnel, as well then.”

  :Yes.: Sleek white sides rose and fell as Gervis sighed.

  Jors grinned. “Wishing Alyise's Companion was a mare?”

  His grin broadened as it became quite clear that Gervis had no intention of answering.

  *

  “She's a good kid,” Jennet said, glancing over at where the youngest of the three Heralds carefully packed away the remains of the meal they'd shared. “Eager, enthusiastic...”

  “Exhausting?” Jors suggested as her voice trailed off.

  “A little,” the older Herald admitted with a smile. “But you're a lot younger than I am, you should be able to keep up.”

  “That's just it. I'm too young to be doing this. I'm no teacher.”

  “You have doubts.”

  He only just managed not to roll his eyes. “Well, yes.”

  “Does your Companion doubt you?”

  “Gervis?” Jors turned in time to see Gervis rising to his feet after what had clearly been a vigorous roll, his gleaming white coat flecked with bits of grass. “Gervis has never doubted me.”

  “Then, if you can't believe in yourself, believe in your Companion. And now that I've gifted you with my aged wisdom...” Grinning, she bent and lifted her saddle. “...we'd best get back on the road.”

  Lifting his own saddle, Jors fell into step beside her. “I'm sorry to hear about your mother.”

  “Yes, well, she wasn't young when I was born, and she's never been what you could call strong, so I can't say that I'm surprised. I'm just glad that the Borders are so quiet right now and that there was someone close enough.” She smiled so gratefully at him that Jors felt himself flush.