Shandi believed her; Shandi always believed her. With a sigh of relief and a sudden smile like the sun emerging from a thundercloud, she kissed Keisha, hugged her tight, then fumbled loose the strings holding her belt-pouch to her belt. “Here - ” she said, pressing it into Keisha’s hands. “Take the dye, see what you can do with it, maybe it’ll be good for a medicine.” Then she turned away and mounted the Companion’s saddle with such ease and grace that it looked as if she’d been doing it all her life, never mind that she’d never ridden anything before but their aged pony. The Companion clearly was taking no chances; he gave Shandi no further chances for farewells or regrets. He danced a little, shook his harness, and pivoted in place on his hind feet. That got people to move out of his way, and pretty briskly, too. He moved out at a fast walk, allowing Shandi time enough only to wave good-bye before breaking into a canter at the end of the street. In no time at all, they were over the bridge, then lost to sight as the road was hidden by trees. Keisha let out the sigh she’d been holding in - and the exasperation. While the rest of trie villagers gathered in knots, still babbling with excitement, Keisha felt the weight of yet another burden fall on her shoulders. Let’s see - one hysterical mother, three heartbroken suitors, half a dozen friends left forlorn and a little jealous - I can handle that. I hope,
Keisha stood with her back to the wall in the warm, soup-scented kitchen, and wished she were anywhere else but there. Sidonie Alder had reacted to the news that her youngest daughter had been Chosen as a Herald precisely as she would have if Shandi had been abducted by barbarians. This made no sense, of course, but Keisha hadn’t expected anything else.
She tried not to wince when Sidonie’s voice rose to new and shriller heights. “I can’t believe you just let her go like that! How could you just stand there and let her be carried off?”
This was only about the hundredth time Keisha’s mother had repeated that particular accusation, and it didn’t look as if she were going to stop thinking Keisha was the villainess of the situation any time soon. Each time Sidonie uttered another outburst, before Keisha had a chance to say anything sensible in reply, she broke down into hysterical sobs and cast herself into the arms of her husband or one of her two oldest sons. This time it was her husband’s arms where she sought shelter from her traitorous offspring. He patted her back and said consolingly, “Now, Mother, you know that’s how it is.
Keisha couldn’t have done naught. That’s how they always do these Choosing things, I suppose, so they can make a clean break and all.”
“But she’s only a baby! She can’t take care of herself all alone!” was the inevitable reply, followed by a fresh spate of tears. Keisha wisely kept silent this time, since anything she’d tried to say until how had only brought on another outburst; her brother Garry was injudicious enough to put in his two bits.
“Aw, Mum, she’s not so little as all that!” Garry protested. “She’s old enough to take care of herself, and anyway, you know them Companions see to it the kids they Choose are right and tight. You’d have been losing her pretty soon, anyway. She’s had three beaus, an’ like as not, she’d have been married in a year or two - ”
Oh, no. Now he’s given Mum something else to weep about, Keisha thought with dismay.
She was right. “Now I’ll never see her wed!” came the wail, muffled by her husband’s shoulder. Keisha swallowed, as her stomach roiled. This was beginning to make her sick - literally.
But her father had a thoughtful look on his face, and it was pretty clear that he was thinking there was another side to all this, one that had a lot of advantages besides the obvious. Female Heralds, if they wed, generally married other Heralds; on the rare occasions they married outside the Circle, it was with men who asked nothing more of them than their company outside of duty, usually Healers or Bards. So if Shandi married, there would be no dowry to raise. If she wed, it would be with someone who would live far from Errold’s Grove - so there would be no need to put up with a son-in-law he disliked (and he disliked all three of Shandi’s suitors, each for a different reason).
The obvious reasons for being pleased about the situation were many, and he’d already brought them up to his wife, as had Keisha. Their daughter was going to be a Herald; they’d be the parents of a Herald. People would look up to them, they’d have new importance in the village; people would listen to what they said, even ask their opinions on matters of importance. Oh, of course she was going to be doing work that was often dangerous, but not for years yet, and it still wasn’t all that safe here in Errold’s Grove - after all, what if the barbarians came back?
Keisha could tell that her father had clearly come to the opinion that this was no bad thing; his thoughts might just as well have been written on his face for Keisha to read.
“Mum, she’s going to be fine,” Keisha said, once again, as her mother’s sobs quieted. “When have you ever heard of a newly Chosen Trainee coming to grief on the road? She’s going to be a very important person now, and people will look up to you because she’s your daughter. We might even get invited to Court someday and see the Queen! And if she decides to get married, what ever gave you the idea that she wouldn’t come here to do it?” This time - finally - this attempt at comfort wasn’t met with another outburst, and Keisha continued as soothingly as she could. “Mum, she’s going to be in the safest place in the world for at least four years - you just don’t get any safer than Herald’s Collegium. I mean, think! It’s right inside the Palace grounds! Think about that! Your daughter is going to be living on the Palace grounds, and not as a servant either! She’ll be back every long holiday, you know she will. After all, you couldn’t keep her away. Which one of us always throws herself into the holidays, hmm? Shandi, of course! Just because she’s going to be a Herald, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her family!”
Oh, but I’m getting very close to not loving my dear family right now. . . . All of this excitement had given Keisha a pounding headache; she felt as if all her nerves were scraped raw and someone was pouring saltwater on them. Her stomach was so sour she probably wouldn’t be able to eat any supper. But Shandi was the baby - my baby sister, the one I looked after and picked up after - and if I didn ‘t have to help calm Mum down, I’d probably be the one bawling like a bereft calf right now. I can’t do that, and make sure Mum gets through this and starts to look on the bright side -
But right now, given the least sign that her mother was getting over her hysterics - or at least that some of her mother’s friends were going to come help console her - Keisha would be only too happy to get out of the house and go somewhere - anywhere - else.
Evidently she had been good enough and patient enough that for once her unspoken prayers were answered. As if the thought had been a summons, relief came bursting through the kitchen door at that very moment.
“Sidonie! Ayver!” Three of the neighbor women came bursting into the kitchen like a force of nature, all three of them managing to squeeze in at the same time, not waiting to be invited inside. “Is it true? A Herald? A Healer and a Herald in the same family, how proud you must be!”
A Healer and a Herald! she thought, startled for a moment by the phrasing. Oh, my - bless them for noticing!
Like the people in the market, they were all talking at once, but since there were only three of them, they didn’t step all over each other’s sentences so much that it all turned into a confused gabble. They surrounded Sidonie and Ayver, faces flushed with excitement at being so close to the great event. “Oh, Sidonie, just think! Our little Shandi is going to be so important!”
Sidonie took her face out of her husband’s shoulder, and though it was tear-streaked and red with weeping, it seemed that the arrival of her friends pulled her the last few steps out of hysteria. She wiped her face with her apron, and began to look more like her normal self.
Keisha deemed it practical at that point to remove herself.
But she hadn’t gotten more than a single step out the door - in f
act, she was still standing on the threshold - before she ran into another of the Fellowship women, one whom she knew well. Alys was in charge of the health of all of the herds, and as such, she and Keisha had spent plenty of time together dosing the animals for a variety of illnesses and other problems. This afternoon Alys looked hesitant as she approached the house, and great relief spread over her blunt features when she saw that Keisha was just leaving.
“Oh, Keisha - I’m sure this is a bad time, but that chirra I was worried about has definitely got wet-tail - ” she began; Keisha didn’t give her a chance to say more. She took Alys’s elbow and pointed her toward the workshop, just as she spotted four more women bustling in their direction, heading for the Alder house.
“It’s always a bad time when a beast gets sick, you ought to know that!” she said, making a joke out of it. “They never choose reasonable times to have problems! No worry, I’m going to be the last creature Mum thinks about for a while. Not only will I not be missed, I can make you up what you need in no time; you’ve caught it early, so you should have a cure by tomorrow.”
The more distance she got between herself and the house, the better she felt, and chatting with Alys about the beasts of her herds was such a commonplace matter it could not have been a better antidote for the hysteria she’d just endured. Alys was a calming person to be around anyway; she had to be, as the animals she worked with were quick to sense agitation and become upset themselves. She was older than Sidonie by a year or two, sturdy, brown, and square, with a friendly face and open manner. Like all the women of the Fellowship, her workday clothing was fairly drab, not unlike Keisha’s, except that the tunic and breeches were of a better fit and not hand-me-downs.
The two of them entered the workshop, and Keisha began pulling down the boxes of herbs she needed as Alys went on about the most recent births. The sharp and pungent scents of herbs filled the air as Keisha worked, and the cool of the workshop allowed her headache to ease. It occurred to Keisha that Alys’ arrival provided not one, but two excellent excuses for staying away from home for a while. After all, it was spring, and that meant insect season; in particular, the fleas and ticks that would infest the Fellowship herds, given half a chance. So as soon as she had finished the wet-tail potion Alys needed, but before the woman could pull out her purse to pay for it, Keisha made her an additional offer.
“Look, this year I’d like to get ahead of the bugs instead of trying to catch up with them after your beasts are scratching themselves raw,” she said, trying to be as persuasive as she knew how. “Why don’t I make you up some batches of that repellent dip we talked about last year and a good supply of the kill dip. You can try the repellent right away, and if you see it isn’t working, you’ll be able to dip them all again with the kill before it gets to be a problem.”
Cautious, and frugal as always, Alys wrinkled her forehead and bit her lip cautiously. “That would be very helpful, but - ”
Keisha already knew what she was going to say; at the moment, the Fellowship’s coffers were pretty bare. They wouldn’t have made any major sales to traders since the Harvest Faire two seasons ago. “We’ll just make it a credit against a shawl trade later for one of my brothers - at least one of them is bound to settle on a girl by Harvest. Or if you’d rather, when the traders get done with you at Spring Faire, you can pay me then.” She grinned and held out her hands. “I’d rather have you on credit than have to deal with an infestation like we had three years ago!”
Alys shuddered and nodded agreement. The Fellowship folk normally didn’t much care for credit, but as Keisha had known it would, the mere mention of that horrible flea infestation made the difference. It had taken weeks to clear up, and worse, the poor beasts had yielded inferior fleeces that year. Between the cost of the dips and the loss of quality fleeces, the Fellowship’s steward had been beside himself. Alys had already been beside herself; anything that caused her beasts pain caused her anguish, too.
And since the dips are all made from things I can harvest in the woods right now, rather than things I have to pay for, I can afford to extend them the credit.
No sooner agreed than done; making up the batches of sheep dip ate up enough candlemarks that by the time Alys left, both arms laden down with baskets packed with jugs, the Alder home was full of friends and neighbors to the point where another body could not possibly have squeezed inside. Afternoon sun gilded the kitchen wall as Keisha stood out in the yard and listened for a moment; from the general emotional tenor of the cacophony, Sidonie had gone from grief to pride -
As it should be.
- and now the gathering had all the signs of turning into an impromptu celebration.
But Keisha still didn’t want to be anywhere near it. And she didn’t want to have to deal with the three heartbroken boys either, for all three suitors would be bound to show up on the doorstep of her workshop, looking for consolation. At least, she didn’t want to deal with them right now.
But since I’m out of flea-wort, lerch buds, tannim bark and elo root now, I have the perfect reason to go harvest some. And, if they think I am sulking because my sister was Chosen and not me, well then, let them think that.
Maybe it will make some of them do something nice to comfort me. That way I can get some reward I can call “appreciation” to make up for the times my generosity was taken advantage of in the past.
With a big basket over one arm and harvesting tools in the pockets of her tunic, she set off to the woods to do just that. She took the long way round, using the path that skirted the edge of the fields rather than cutting straight through. Young plants were just starting to show whether they’d be successful or not; the weak ones were ready to be weeded out, and the strong ready for a bit of manure. She exchanged some sort of greeting with everyone working out there as she passed; it was impossible not to. The good thing was that since she was carrying her gathering basket, it was obvious that she had work to do, and there were only a limited number of candlemarks before dusk fell. No one would delay her when it might be medicine he would need that she’d be gathering.
Self-interest isn ‘t that bad a thing, when it comes down to it. We all tend to do things in self-interest, even - maybe especially - when we can couch it in terms of nobility and self-sacrifice. And look, Shandi gets the pretty white horse and a room at the Collegium while I get Errold’s Grove’s sicknesses and complaints.
The farther she got from the village, the better she felt; she felt her steps growing lighter once she entered the woods proper. Her stomach calmed down, and by the time she reached the lerchbush thicket, she was humming under her breath, and her headache was just about gone.
This probably isn’t the last time I am going to feel like there’s been some kind of injustice over Shandi being Chosen and not me - even if I don’t really want to be Chosen anyway. Besides, I have my own Gift and some appreciation, from some folks anyway. Valdemar wasn’t founded on things being fair in life, it was founded on coping with the unfairness of life. The tradition continues, Herald or not!
The lerchbush was a hardy creature and didn’t react badly to having a few of its buds pruned away. A woodpecker trilled just over her head, and as she carefully held each branch and pared every third bud off with a tiny knife, the rich, green scent of lerch sap spread on the air and she drank it in with pleasure. Each bud went into the hempen bag she had tied to her belt. She dabbed each “wound” with pitch from an unstoppered jar, to seal it and keep insects and fungi from infesting the branches as Steelmind had taught her. Taking care today means plenty tomorrow. That’s what he’d said, then smiled, as if at a joke only he understood.
When her bag was full, she tied it off, put it in the basket, and went in search of flea-wort, a kind of shelf-fungus that grew on the fallen bodies of winter-killed trees. For that, she had to seek out trees that were too rotten to use for firewood, whose deaths were due to insects or rot, and not storm.
When she returned to the village, basket full, it was alread
y dusk and the sky had just begun to blossom with stars in the east. The village itself seemed oddly quiet, the houses dark and deserted. Only the faintest threads of smoke came from chimneys that should have been showing evidence of suppers on the hearth. She was puzzled, though not alarmed, by the quiet, until she got into the vicinity of the Alder home. Then it was quite obvious where the people had all gone!
An enormous party - a kind of extemporaneous Spring Faire in advance of the actual date - had invaded the house and the lawns and gardens of all the neighbors around it. She watched in some bemusement as her normally sober neighbors acted like adolescents on holiday. The house itself must have been packed to the ceiling, since there were people spilling out the door, and the celebration perforce had spread into the yard.
Evidently all of Errold’s Grove rejoiced in the Choosing of one of their own.
Well, she thought, it’s the most important thing to happen around here since the barbarians. That wasn’t exactly pleasant! Afterward, well, even though things came out all right in the end, I imagine no one was in any mood to celebrate anything. What was there to be happy about, after all? That only one relative was killed or that only half the house burned? That Lord Breon or the Hawkbrothers were there at the rescue ? Well, all right, perhaps that, but the circumstances eclipsed such elation. By the time any survivors could think clearly, their rescuers were long gone. This cause for the whole village to celebrate is well-timed.
Controlled campfires burned in the pottery bowls prescribed for fires within the village bounds, warming the folk gathered around them against the growing chill in the air. Some people were toasting sausages and the like on the ends of sticks, just exactly as they would during the Faire. From the wildly varied scents on the breeze and the way everyone seemed to be eating, guzzling, or both, every neighbor had contributed to the impromptu celebration by adding to the provender.
There would be no heartbroken former suitors showing up looking for comfort tonight, at least. A celebration was the last place any of them would want to be. They were probably brooding by the river somewhere, or weeping over one of Shandi’s ribbons -
Valdemar Books Page 888