The feeling washing over Marta was pain, pleasure, impatience and gratitude all muddled together. Marta found another stump to sit down on, no longer trusting herself to remember to stand, or not to fall, or not to cry, beg, or scream. She hugged herself as hard as she could. The spirit released its pain just as the fire released the spirit. Slowly, inch by flaring, sparking, blackened and smoking inch.
I can't stand it...
Marta didn't know if that was her thought or the leata's. The two seemed to be blending together so far as Marta could tell. She worried, a bit, if she would be able to find herself again in all the confusion in her mind. The confusion lasted a long time, but not forever. Marta sat there as the fire spread though all the exposed surfaces of the stump. After a time that could have been minutes or hours the flames appeared to die out, but Marta wasn't fooled. The fire still lived, smoldering in the deep parts of the stump. The breeze caught sparks and blew them away to die cold in the night but the fire still lived. It kept burning hot and spreading until it reached the last of the heartwood about the taproot and began to burn that as well. Marta felt it as extreme pain and great comfort all at the same time. The balance was the only thing, she knew, that kept her from collapsing in agony, and it barely did that.
"Almost over," she said aloud.
The smoke billowed up. In that moment Marta came back to herself, fully, and saw with her eyes alone, felt no more than she should feel, sitting there by a smoldering stump by the first light of dawn. In that moment Marta saw the leata for the first time, an image of leaves and twigs forming a small, sharp-featured face that smiled at her with thorny teeth. In a moment it was gone, as if it had never been, and the last of the stump collapsed on itself like the remnants of a burning house.
Marta put her head in her hands. "It's done."
Bone Tapper said nothing, but merely kept watch as Marta staggered off to find her blankets and sleep well through the morning.
CHAPTER 14
"The wonder is not that a snake bites. The wonder is that, from time to time, it does not."
— Bruga the Deliberate
It was late morning on the second day of plowing. The sun was high and, despite the early season, almost uncomfortably warm. Genfyr brought Treedle a cold drink from the repaired well. Treedle accepted the bucket gratefully and drank deep. Neither said anything for a time. Treedle just stood for a moment, enjoying a moment's rest in the freshening breeze. That, and the sight of Genfyr trying not to look at him.
Genfyr looked around the field instead. The earth showing where the plow had broken it apart was dark and rich; the smell was heady. "It's going well," she said, and that was all.
Treedle nodded, more patient than the pair of yoked oxen stolidly chewing their cuds. "The bulk of it should be over by evening. I'll be able to help you and Jacky with the sowing tomorrow...maybe." He waited for what he sensed would follow, though he wasn't yet sure what that might be.
"Are... are you leaving us? I was thinking you might be."
"I don't know, Genfyr. As I told you, there is a good chance of it. I will do my best to finish this field, come what may."
Genfyr nodded, again not looking at him. "Well then..." she started to say something else, hesitated. "I need to think about supper," she said, and left him there without another word.
Treedle smiled faintly and got back to his plowing. The work was hard; his back ached and his hands were sore. The field seemed to go on forever, and yet each course, to Treedle's way of thinking, was over far too soon. Treedle almost wished that were really the case. Every long course down the field was like a borrowed bit of paradise. Treedle couldn't remember the last time he had been so happy.
It's not the work. It's the purpose.
A purpose of his own, freely chosen and even better because it was shared by others. There was poetry in Treedle's plowing, and music and laughter, all things very real to him, very much in the moment, as opposed to the uncertainty that was waiting for him on the morrow. He fervently wished the day would never end yet, after the usual amount of time, the day did end. That night Treedle washed off the sweat and dust in the cold stream that ran between the house and the first field. After supper and despite his weariness he took a brief walk, enjoying the night air and the freedom he knew might soon end. When he returned to the barn Genfyr was there waiting for him. She was wearing a dress he had not seen before, and her hair was unbound. It was the first time he had seen that, too. He rather liked it.
"I believe what you said about not being dangerous, Treedle," she said. "I've come to talk to you about staying on. With Jacky and me, I mean. I know you say it's not up to you, but what if it was? Would you want to stay?"
"It may be that you've come to talk to me about staying, but that's not the only reason you're here," Treedle said. "We could have the whole of the matter with a little work. Shall we try?"
Genfyr reddened slightly. "How dare you!"
Treedle frowned. "Speak the plain truth, you mean? Then what would you have between us, Genfyr, if not that?"
She didn't look at him. "Why did I come, then?"
"I think you sought to trade what you have for what you need. Only you're not quite sure what either of those is yet."
She met his gaze steadily. "Not sure? Treedle, I've borne three live children, buried two of them and my husband in the bargain. Say what you will of my judgment—I'm no callow girl."
"And I'm no blushing boy, but I'll say fair that the coin I spent to lose that state didn't purchase very much. How about you, Genfyr? Do you understand any of it any better now, for all your experience?"
Genfyr smiled a little sadly. "No."
Treedle smiled, too. "There's your truth. Here's mine: Tomorrow I may have to leave. Or the next day. I don't know, but I think I will find out soon. That's neither threat nor entreaty nor spur to your purpose or mine. It's just what I know. What I fear, because I don't want to leave."
"I'm not very happy with any of our truths," she said. "Except that last one."
He shrugged. "It may not seem so now, but between a man and a woman, truth is usually the best place to begin."
"You're a strange one, Mattic Jerson," she said. "Truth is an unsentimental sort. It strangles most beginnings in the crib and laughs to do it."
Treedle smiled. Fond as he was of the nickname his grandmother had given him, it felt both strange and very good to be called by his own real name again. Especially when Genfyr said it. "All the more reason. If I have to leave you, I'd rather you not remember me at all than remember me unkindly."
Genfyr's mouth set in a hard line. "Most men wouldn't care, once they were gone. Why does it matter to you?"
He shrugged. "As for other men, well, some wouldn't care and good riddance to them. Yet I'm not so rare a creature as you might think. As to why it matters...because it does. How can I say it more plainly than that?"
Genfyr smiled at him then. "You could say it much more plainly, and certainly with more poesy and flowery words in it," she said. "But as it is, that'll do just fine."
She kissed him on the mouth then, full and sweet. Treedle kissed her back, clumsily at first, but after a while he remembered what he knew and started to learn the rest and in time he made a match for her in every way he could. It wasn't her first time nor his, but it was now.
*
"You'd think I had the blessed plague!"
Marta raised the bucket from the well in the market at Averdale. For all she could tell, she and Bone Tapper might have been the only two living creatures in the entire town. Yet Marta knew that wasn't so. Every now and again she would catch a pair of eyes watching her from beneath a window shutter, or a darkened doorway. Bone Tapper just shrugged, saying nothing. He'd said very little that afternoon ever since Marta had awoken after sleeping most of the morning away.
Let him sulk.
Marta didn't care. At least now she was spared his sarcasm when she stated the obvious. Avedale, a lively and industrious place when she'd first walked down the m
ain street, had suddenly turned into something more like the Kulgan ruins at Lyrsa, for all the life showing. Marta had taken care to unhitch Yssara and stash the cart in some woods nearby, and had even cautioned Bone Tapper to keep his distance while she went in to find out what she could. None of that had mattered. Averdale knew immediately who she was, and what she was, and wanted no part of her. Marta, for her part, couldn't be as angry as she wanted to be, at least not about that. She considered the attitude much preferable to the alternative; she was roundly sick of the two servants she did have, yet she had no choice but to look for the third, and being shunned wasn't helping her find him.
Marta used the dipper to take a drink from the bucket, then left the rest of the water there.
More than likely they'll dump it out and cap the well once I leave, for fear of poison...
"It was like I said, Dela. He was the one. I knew it. That’s why she’s here."
Marta looked up. The words weren't addressed to her. Two old women were approaching the well, bundles of washing balanced on their heads. Wisps of white hair escaped the kerchiefs on each old head to shine faintly in the morning sun. Marta wondered at first if it was just the equalizer of age, but Marta realized it was more than that. The women were either sisters or else very close family.
"I remember his father. He was a handsome man in his prime, do you remember?" said the one called Dela to the other. The other nodded.
"It's a fact...oh, hello child."
The first one noticed Marta standing there and smiled at her. Marta smiled back, tentatively.
"Good day to you, Grandmothers."
The first laughed. "Both of us! How sweet. How long has it been since anyone called you that, Dela?"
"I forget," Dela said, smiling with what teeth she had left. "And Onlee, love, you never were, poor dear."
"I had my chances, and don't you go saying otherwise," Onlee replied haughtily. "There was Kygo and Amaran. Oh, remember him? Never mind. She's a polite thing. So few children are, these days. New here, aren't you?" Onlee dropped her washing on an old bench by the well basin. She took the water left in the bucket and poured it in, then lowered the bucket again on its rope. Marta hurried to help her haul it back up.
"Very polite," Dela said. "You know she's not from here. Where are you from, girl?"
"My name is Marta and I'm from Karsan...west of here."
Onlee looked up from her bundle. "Karsan? I'll dare say it's west! Very far west indeed."
"Very far," Dela agreed. "And far too young to be on your own like this. Are you an orphan?"
"Orphan..." Marta said. She hadn't really put a word to it like that, one simple word to sum up all that she was and wasn't, without Black Kath. Marta knew that she must have had a father, because she had noticed other children usually had them and asked her mother about it. Black Kath had confirmed that, yes, she had a father. Marta hadn't seen any point in asking further at the time. There had never been anyone except her mother at the very heart of her world, and Marta had never felt that state as any kind of absence or loss, something that should have been but was not. Still, she was a bit curious, now that she thought about it.
I'll ask Bone Tapper, if there's time later. He was with mother then.
Marta finally nodded and gave the only answer she knew. "I'm alone now. Yet there is someone I'm trying to find... perhaps you can help me." She described Treedle as best she could, though she thought that any stranger would summon enough attention that they might have heard of any.
Onlee perked up. "A relative?"
"Not exactly," Marta said. "More like an old friend of the family. He would be a stranger here himself, maybe around for a few weeks, I'm not sure."
"She's not sure," Dela said.
"Surprising," Onlee said.
Marta frowned. "I don't understand."
"Well, you'll forgive us, Marta, but we expected an Arrow Path witch to know everything. I suppose that's just a legend. I think your description was accurate enough, though. You are a pretty thing... or more so, if you'd smile more."
Marta was too surprised to be either embarrassed or annoyed. "You knew? But I thought..."
"That we were a pair of dotty old women with barely one coherent thought to share, perhaps on the odd Holy Day?" There was a twinkle in Dela's eye. "Why else would we be jabbering with you while the rest of these fools cower like a flock of blessed sheep?"
Marta blushed. "Well...yes."
"Honest, though," Onlee said. "And has the decency to be a little ashamed of herself. I think I like her."
"I do, too. Very well and fair enough," Dela said. "The truth, Marta, is that it's our Washing Day, and this is our washing place, and we will do our washing together as we have for the last forty years."
"Unless it's raining," Onlee said. "More to the point, a lot of these same fools will have as little to do with us, most of the time. Mostly because we know a fool when we see one and don't hesitate to point this out. Doesn't make us loved, does it, Dela?"
"No. It does not. Still, there is also the fact that we don't want anything from you and, we hope, you don't want anything from us. Aside from some polite talk and news if you have any. How fares the queen? We heard somewhat of her troubles."
"Very well," said Marta. "Mother and babe strong and healthy. My mother helped at her confinement."
"And more beside, if the rumors are true," Onlee said. "That was well done."
"Yes," Dela agreed.
Marta didn't say anything else for a while. For their part, Onlee and Dela didn't seem to expect it. Marta almost suspected the two old friends were conversing, discussing, weighing, and all without saying a word.
"The one you’re looking for is near here. You won't harm him, will you?" Onlee asked, finally.
"We have business to settle," Marta said, matching the honesty of the old women as best she could. "And I will claim him. I must. But harm him? No. I won't do that."
"There's harm and there's harm," Dela said.
"Genfyr will be devastated. I can't say she's my favorite person in the world, but she deserves a little happiness."
"I don't know this person," Marta said.
"It doesn't matter," Onlee said. "You being what you are, you'll find him sooner or later. If I hadn't met you, I'd be inclined to let you hunt and be blasted for it. But we like you."
"She's not a bad girl," Dela agreed. "Though she'll do bad things if she's not careful. We did."
“We weren’t always careful, were we?” Onlee said.
Marta started to ask about what those bad things' might be, but decided she was better off not knowing. Onlee turned back to Marta. "Walk north of here on the road. Genfyr's farm is about two leagues away. There’s a well in the front yard, and the roof is well-thatched. You can’t miss it."
"Do what you must. Be kind if you can. Smile, if you can find a reason to be happy," Onlee said.
Happy? Marta wasn't even sure if the word meant anything. She just said "Thank you."
"Don't," Dela said. "Just go, before some idiot in the tavern across the way drinks his courage up and does something foolish."
"I know you're not afraid," Onlee said. "But there's fear and there's sense. No shame in listening to either at times."
Marta nodded, and left Averdale without looking back. In a few moments Bone Tapper landed on her shoulder.
"Did you hear any of that?"
"All of it," the raven said. "I was in the persimmon tree behind the well."
"Were you? I didn't notice," Marta said. She was still a bit distracted, trying to get some sort of grip on the two women she had met in Averdale, but not really succeeding.
They were no witches, she thought, but I wouldn't cross either of them for love nor gold.
Whatever her mother had been, there was more than a little of it in Onlee and Dela, though she was ashamed to say she would never have suspected that if she hadn’t spoken to them.
"Fly ahead," Marta said. "We know where Treedle is staying.
I want to know what he's done there. Don't let him see you."
The raven took off, dwindled to a black speck, and vanished. Marta, still deep in thought, walked steadily on. There was a lot to think about, and in the press of it she forgot all about the question she'd meant to ask him.
*
Bone Tapper landed on the limb of an oak tree just above Marta's shoulder. "Those gossips in Averdale had the right of it. There's your hob. Plowing the land, and no doubt the widow, too."
"So I see." Marta stood behind the windrow separating one field and another. If she didn't count the days spent in the archives at Karsan, tracking Treedle down had taken less time than she'd expected. She was inclined not to count them, since it had seemed necessary, or at least a reasonable course at the time. Yet after her first failure she hadn't expected it all to end so soon, or be as easy as it seemed it was going to be. Marta was almost disappointed that her search was over, but couldn't say why, and despite her impatience she hesitated. What she sensed wasn't danger, exactly, but Marta couldn't escape the feeling that she stood a risk of losing something important, and she had no idea what it might be.
"So take him back and let's be gone," the raven said. "He might as well be waiting for you."
It's almost as if he is.
Yet that didn't make sense. Marta kept her eyes on Treedle all the time she spoke to the raven. "Are you in a hurry, Bone Tapper?"
The raven glared at her with his beady black eyes. "Yes! Why aren't you? It's been 'Bone Tapper, find my horse' and 'Bone Tapper, tell me where my hobgoblin slave has gone off to' and 'I will have what is mine' over and over as if no one was ever listening, even as you take pity on hopeless, hapless, brainless lovers and sobbing stumps! Well, where's your pity for me? Where is it for Treedle? He's a man now and no hob at all, and what of it? I too was a man before you forced that bit of two part harmony recitation on me and made me a raven again."
Marta was still looking at the man called Treedle. She had never seen him as a man, indeed never thought of him as one. She had known the hob all her life but the man? Never.
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