Norlan led them all in the chorus. Josiah thought the song would be over, but as Master Norlan continued to sing, he realized there was one more craft to be mentioned, after all.
Oh, would you wed a waulker
On a sunny Restday morning?
Oh, would you wed a waulker
On a morning in the spring?
Yes, I would wed a waulker,
And each night she’d tell me stories
And each day fill with song
And leave me content and happy
On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.
For I will wed no other
But my own love, my true love.
And we’ll both stand up together
On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.
On the last syllable, Master Norlan slammed the cloth to the table and stopped. Around the table everyone followed suit, settling into stillness. Only an occasional lingering chuckle broke the quiet. Josiah stretched his arms and shook them out. He was tired, but happy and full of energy.
Norlan shook out the cloth, spreading it to its full width. He examined the surface and walked his fist, thumb and little finger spread wide, from one selvage to the other to measure its width. Josiah caught his breath as the gesture reminded him forcibly of Master Sef, who always used just the same motion of his hand across the cloth.
The waulker nodded decisively. “That’s it for this length.” The weavers clustered around to inspect the results and murmur their thanks. The fabric was cut apart, rinsed, and spread over waiting frames and lines to dry.
More cloth was waiting, and the villagers gathered around the table again. Norlan seemed to have an endless repertoire of songs. They waulked two more loops of cloth, then took a break to eat and drink. The waulking resumed, going on late into the evening.
When the last loop of fabric met Master Norlan’s approval, Josiah sighed in relief. The waulking had been great fun, but he was happy to be finished. But the villagers didn’t budge from the tables. Instead they murmured to each other in eager anticipation as Jarah rose and vanished into her house.
After a moment she emerged, her arms piled high with cloth she carried as if it were a priceless treasure. She laid it on the table in front of Norlan and Elkan and gently unfolded the delicate, finely woven web. “Feel how soft it is.” Elkan obediently stroked the fabric, and Josiah followed suit. The strands were marvelously silky under his fingers. He didn’t want to stop touching it. Surreptitiously he raised a fold and buried his face in it. It was warm and light in his hands, soft as downy baby hair against his cheek.
When he looked up, Jarah was looking straight at him. He dropped the cloth guiltily, but she smiled in pleased indulgence. “There’s a breed of wild goat that lives in the peaks just to the west. Their outer coats are coarse and wiry, but in the winter they grow the softest, warmest undercoat you can imagine. Every spring they shed it, and we gather the tufts from where it catches on bushes and brambles.”
Josiah shook his head, thinking how much work that must be. He eyed the generous length of cloth with new respect.
Master Jarah rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “The guildmasters in Elathir pay a fortune for the shawls we make from this. It’s a shame we can’t get them down there anymore. But ever since Master Ozor quit coming we’ve had to settle for what we can get in Tathorlith.”
Beside Josiah, Elkan stiffened at the name. Josiah cast a worried, wondering glance at the wizard. Elkan fingered the cloth. His voice was carefully neutral. “Master Ozor?”
“Yes, he was the best trader we’ve ever had. He started coming around every summer, oh, ten or twelve years ago. He’d visit all the little towns up here, buying whatever goods they had to trade. He could afford to pay the best prices because he took it all back to Elathir and sold it there.” Master Jarah fondled the cloth. “Every year we ranged farther afield to gather more and worked many late nights spinning and weaving. We’d make two or three times as much as you see here. He’d buy whatever we could produce and pay in gold. Oh, those were fine days.”
She sighed. “But three years ago he never showed up. We waited as long as we could and sent word all over asking for him, but no one had seen him. We finally sold the shawls in Tathorlith, but we couldn’t get half as much as he would have paid. We looked for him the next year, and the next, but now we’ve pretty much given up. I hope nothing ill has befallen him, Mother forbid. I know what some folk say about traders, and I suppose it’s true they don’t really create anything, but it’s a worthy craft nonetheless. We need more folk like Master Ozor.”
Josiah frowned. The man she described didn’t sound like the bandit leader. Perhaps it was just a coincidence of names.
Elkan kept his tone relaxed, as if he were idly making friendly conversation. “Do you know much about this Master Ozor? What did he look like? Do you know his full name?”
Master Jarah was happy to go on at length about the man she admired. She chatted away as she gathered the cloth and carried it to the trough. Elkan rose to assist her, and Josiah jumped up to join them. “If I remember rightly, he was Sailorkin. Yes, that’s it, Master Ozor Sailorkin Trader. Said he grew up around the docks in Elathir. I’m thinking the first time he came here he was still a journeyman. It might have been his masterwork, opening up a new trade route. I hadn’t been chosen as Elder yet, it was still old Leshem back then. Oh, yes, you wanted to know what he looks like. Quite a handsome man, not overly tall, but well put together. He wore a beard, short hair, dark brown I think. I’m trying to think what else I can tell you, but that’s really all I know. Could you ask around about him, maybe send us word if you find out what happened?”
“I’ll do that.” Elkan helped squeeze the excess water from the cloth and carry it to the table. “Did he travel with anyone else?”
“Several journeyman usually, and an apprentice or two. They had a train of pack mules to haul their goods.” She shook her head. “I’d have sworn he made a good profit, but maybe his trade didn’t go as well as he led us to believe. I’d rather suppose that than think he might have fallen among thieves and bandits.”
Josiah twitched. Elkan laid a steadying hand on his arm. “I hope you’re right. I think Master Norlan is ready to get started again now.” He nodded to the waulker, who’d started tapping his fingers in humorously exaggerated impatience while they talked.
“Of course, of course. Carry on, Master Norlan.”
Josiah was glad when Norlan set an easy pace, choosing a tranquil song, and by his example leading them to handle this cloth less vigorously than the rest. As much fun as the evening had been, Josiah was ready for it to be over so he could seek his bed. Though first he’d have to corner Elkan in private and see if he thought the trader might really be the same Ozor who led the bandits.
At the song’s end Norlan called a pause and checked the fabric. Not yet satisfied, he began another and started up the waulking again.
Master Norlan must be tired, too, Josiah thought. His voice grew thinner, and his quick pauses for breath came more frequently, breaking up the song into disjointed phrases. He didn’t slacken the pace, but his mouth took on a grim set and his motions became more tight and economical, as if he must push himself to complete the song. When it was over, he shut his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments before opening out the cloth and walking his hand across.
Norlan frowned, studying the fabric. He fingered it for a long time, then shook his head and sighed. “It needs one more song.” He rubbed his shoulder.
Drawing a deep breath, Norlan pointed at Josiah. “Boy! Fetch me a mug of ale. Then we’ll see this cloth properly finished!”
Josiah hurried to comply. Returning with the ale, he found Elkan leaning toward Norlan, face suffused with concern, a hand on the older man’s arm.
“It would only take a moment for Sar and me to take a look. I’ve noticed a few things that make me think you might need our help. We’ll be able to tell whether there’s a problem or w
hether I’m mistaken and you’re fine. Just a moment, I promise.”
“It’s nothing. A bit of a spell, is all. I get them now and again; they go away after a time. Nothing you need bother yourself about.”
Instead of reassuring him, this seemed to make Elkan even more worried. “Please, just a quick look. It might not be anything important. But your symptoms could indicate a serious condition.”
Master Norlan shook Elkan’s hand from his arm and turned away. “After the waulking’s done. One more song, then I’m through for the night. It’s nothing that can’t wait until then.”
Reluctantly, Elkan conceded, but he glanced over his shoulder at Sar. The donkey flicked an ear and ambled up from the lakeshore. He nosed Elkan, who scratched his forehead. Sar wandered off, but not far, settling in to graze on a patch of grass a short way behind Elkan’s chair.
Josiah bit his lip, but Norlan seemed fine. His voice as he called the villagers to take up the cloth again was strong and confident. The song he chose was slow, just enough to finish up the last bit of fulling the cloth needed.
Several verses of the song passed without incident. Josiah’s arms were heavy and his voice was hoarse on the choruses. He hoped Norlan would soon draw the waulking to a close. Surely the cloth should be finished by now.
Norlan completed another verse, and everyone joined in on the chorus. It took Josiah a moment to realize that Norlan had stopped singing with them. The waulker’s hands faltered in their steady rhythm. He shut his eyes and swallowed, his face pale, beads of sweat on his forehead. He swayed; his hands groped to steady himself, but they lost their grip on the table, and he slumped sideways in his chair.
Josiah could only gape, horrified. Down the table, others noticed, dropping song and cloth. Their neighbors turned to them in annoyance until, following shocked gazes, they too became aware of Norlan’s distress.
Elkan put out one hand to Sar, who was under it in an instant, and the other toward Norlan’s chest. The Mother’s soft golden light washed out and enveloped the waulker.
Nearly falling, Josiah scrambled from his chair and stumbled around Elkan to stand over Master Norlan. He waved his arms at the villagers who crowded close. “It’s all right. Stay back, give him space. Elkan’s got him, he’ll take care of him. Please, leave them alone!”
Despite his words, the villagers pushed nearer until Jarah made it from the foot of the tables to Josiah’s side. She took in the situation in a glance. “Listen to the boy. Stand back. The wizard has things under control.”
The golden light eased Norlan to the ground. Elkan knelt over him, Sar pressed close. The wizard murmured absent reassurances, his eyes unfocused as he looked within the waulker’s body.
Master Jarah glanced around, assessing the situation. As the minutes stretched long and Norlan continued to lie unmoving, anxious chatter rose among the watching villagers. “Sansom, you and Rahel take a few others and tend to the cloth. We can’t let our profit for the year be ruined, no matter what happens. The rest of you, gather your things and head back to your homes. The waulking is over. We’ll send word about Master Norlan as soon as the wizard’s finished. Meira, dear, if you don’t mind, why don’t you come help me get Master Norlan’s bed ready for him. Josiah, maybe you can—”
“I’m staying here.” Josiah planted himself close to Elkan’s elbow. “In case Elkan needs anything.”
Jarah opened her mouth to contradict him, but took in the stubborn set of his shoulders and abandoned the attempt. “Very well. I guess that’s for the best. You can run and get me as soon as Master Norlan is ready to be moved.”
She left. Elkan was oblivious to the exchange, concentrating deeply on his patient. Josiah settled cross-legged on the ground, on the opposite side of the waulker’s still body from the wizard and familiar.
Norlan began to stir. Elkan sat back on his heels as the golden glow faded. He wiped his forehead, stroked Sar, and moved to help Norlan sit up. Josiah jumped to support the waulker from the other side. Elkan nodded acknowledgement of his presence, but didn’t speak to him before addressing Norlan. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Nolan brushed weakly at their hands, but swayed and was forced to lean heavily on Elkan. He drew a few deep breaths and shook his head. “Maybe I should have passed on that last mug of ale.”
“Master Nolan.” Elkan was stern. “This is serious. You’ve just had a major seizure of the heart. If Sar and I hadn’t been here, I doubt you would have survived. We’ve repaired what damage we could, but your heart’s in pretty bad shape. This isn’t your first such attack, is it?”
“No.” Norlan waved a hand petulantly. “I told you, I get these spells from time to time. I had a wizard fix me up a couple years ago, but I guess it must have worn off. Now that you’ve taken care of things, I should be good for a couple more years. Just let me get to my feet.”
“You don’t understand.” Elkan prevented Norlan from rising with light pressure on his arm. “Maybe you don’t want to understand. But you’re very ill, and there’s only a limited amount Sar and I can do for you. Wizards use technical terms you wouldn’t be familiar with to describe your condition, but I’ll try to explain. Your heart is a muscle, like the muscles in your arms and legs. It needs blood to keep working, besides the blood that flows though it while it pumps. Small vessels supply it, but sometimes they become clogged and narrow, like a stream choked with leaves and branches. If they’re dammed completely, the blood is cut off, and the heart begins to die for lack of it.”
Josiah was fascinated by this account, but Norlan suffered through it, an impatient look on his face. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard all that before. Every time one of you shines your magic sunbeam on me you feel compelled to spout off a great dull lecture, as if I were a child who didn’t know how to tie my own breeches. Save your breath. I know very well what’s wrong with me.”
“Do you know yours is one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen?” Elkan’s voice rose, and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. “We reversed it as far as we could, but we can’t restore the dead muscle. And nothing we do can stop the disease from progressing again. The longer it goes on, the older you get, the worse it will be. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be wandering alone out here, miles from any help? What if it comes on you between villages, deep in the forest? You need to move to a town with resident wizards so you can get regular treatments. The wizards in Elathir are very familiar with this condition; with their care—”
“Elathir?” Norlan gave a short bark of laughter. “What call is there for my craft in Elathir? They’ve got the biggest fulling mill in Tevenar.” He glanced at Josiah, bitter irony in his gaze.
“Pass your work on to a journeyman and retire. You’ve more than earned it.”
Norlan shook his head, closing his eyes and sinking back, listless. “I tried training an apprentice a few times, soon after I gained my mastery. It never worked out. They were too stupid, I was too impatient. The Mother made me a loner, and I’ve been happy alone these many years.” He looked again at Josiah, bleak this time, all the energy gone out of him. “Do you know I’m the last of my guild? The Fullers’ Guild formally absorbed the Waulkers’ Guild thirty years ago. I was on the council that worked out the agreement. I was opposed to the merger and did all I could to stop it, but in the end I was only one voice. They let me keep the name, and a few others, but when we’re gone that will be the end of waulking.”
“But what will the weavers out here do?” Josiah blurted.
“Oh, the work will get done, boy. There’s many ways of finishing cloth; waulking’s just one, and mills haven’t been around for more than a lifetime or two. The folk here know well enough how it’s done. They can manage their own waulkings, or tread the cloth in vats, or pound it in the river. Never fear, the work will get done, as long as there are hands to do it.”
Josiah swallowed. After a moment of silence, Elkan returned to his point. “One way or another, you won’t be waulkin
g much longer. Either you’ll retire somewhere with wizards, or you’ll die out here with no one to help you. Your craft might be doomed, but your life can continue. If you listen to me.”
“This is my life.” Norlan gestured around him, his circling hand taking in the mountain peaks surrounding the little valley. “The mountains, the forest, the open sky… this is my home. I’ll not leave it. I’ve lived seventy-two years, and for fifty-nine of them I’ve been wandering the roads and paths up here. I know every twist and turn, yet not a day goes by they don’t surprise me. Far better to live out my life and die in the mountains than eke out a few more seasons mewed up in some town, dependent on a donkey to keep my heart beating.”
Elkan opened his mouth to press the point, but Norlan shushed him. “Son, my father died at sixty. His father only lived to forty-nine. I’ve already had far more years than I ever expected. Leave be. I’m much more stubborn than you. Besides, all this talk is tiring me. If you’ll help me up, I promise I’ll go straight to bed. Jarah will have your hide if you keep me sitting out here on the ground much longer.”
Elkan shook his head. “All right. Rest is what you need. But don’t expect me not to bring this up again tomorrow.” He grinned at the waulker. “You don’t know how stubborn I can be. It’s no coincidence I’m bonded to a donkey.”
Norlan nodded in amiable disbelief. Looking between them, Josiah couldn’t help but feel Elkan was outmatched in this contest.
Norlan had regained enough strength to struggle to his feet with their help. Josiah supported him on one side, Elkan on the other. They made their way to Jarah’s house and settled him into bed.
Elkan spoke to Jarah and Meira in a hushed voice, filling them in on the waulker’s condition and need for rest. Jarah left to spread the word to the concerned villagers. Josiah and the others followed her into the moonlit night.
The Fuller's Apprentice (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 1) Page 22