Some men met him at the door. One grabbed Dalor and threw him over his shoulders and the other grabbed Kindan and did the same, despite his protests.
Suddenly Kindan was outside, spread out on the snowy ground, taking deep, steady breaths. His head ached.
Something was wrong. Someone was calling her name, but it seemed as from a great distance.
“Nuella! Nuella!” It was Zenor’s voice. A smile played across Nuella’s lips. Zenor. She really liked him. Her friend. The first friend she’d made at the camp. Her only friend. She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy, like stone.
“Nuella!” Zenor’s voice drew nearer. Dimly Nuella heard a door open, and then she felt someone shake her, grab at her. She was picked up and dragged out of her room.
“The air’s bad, Nuella—I’ve got to get you out,” Zenor said.
Bad air? Nuella thought to herself. Outside? The first faint stirrings of alarm grew inside her, but she was too heavy and tired to move. Outside— She wasn’t supposed to be outside.
“Not outside,” she murmured. Zenor, panting and hauling her down the stairs, didn’t hear her.
“Are you all right, lad?” Master Zist asked, kneeling down beside Kindan. Kindan nodded feebly, wished he hadn’t for the way his head felt, and managed to gesture a question with an open hand. “The others? They seem all right, thanks to you.”
Another person dropped beside Kindan. It was Natalon. “Thanks, lad. We would have died in our sleep, if it hadn’t been for you.”
Kindan sat up more, managed a sickly smile for Natalon, and looked around. Jenella was being wrapped in a blanket, her eyes streaming with tears; Swanee was beside her, coughing deeply. Kindan’s eyes narrowed as he saw Zenor helping a young girl get her breath back. He looked up at Master Zist and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. The Harper cocked his head and shook it just slightly.
Kindan jumped up, ignoring the pain behind his eyes, and grabbed Dalor, with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. He jerked his head toward the girl and Dalor’s eyes grew wide. Kindan shook his head again and walked nonchalantly with Dalor over to Zenor and the girl.
Zenor had placed a blanket over the girl’s head. He looked up curiously as Kindan approached. Kindan raised a quick fingers to his lips as he moved to block the girl from the view of the others.
“Come on, Dalor, you can get warmed up at the Harper’s fire,” Kindan said loudly, motioning for the girl and Zenor to stand up.
After that, it took only a little bit of work to arrange it so that Dalor was covered by the same blanket as the girl, and the four of them marched carefully to the Harper’s cottage, Kindan talking loudly the whole way.
It was possible, he hoped, that things had happened too quickly for anyone but him to notice that two children had been brought out of Natalon’s house, instead of just one.
Safe in the kitchen, all four of them warmed themselves by the fire. Dalor and the girl, still in their nightclothes, were shivering more than Kindan and Zenor.
“How’d you find us?” Dalor asked, his lips still blue.
“You were late for watch,” Kindan explained.
“Thanks,” Dalor said.
The girl reached up a hand hesitatingly toward Kindan and brushed his cheek. “Thank you, Kindan,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Nuella,” Kindan replied. At Dalor’s hiss of surprise and Zenor’s widened eyes, he added, “Master Zist has taken me as his apprentice. He says that a harper has to keep secrets and has to respect the secrets of others.” He turned to the cupboard and pulled out some mugs.
“Zenor, will you help me bring some warm klah while Dalor,” and Kindan emphasized the one name, “warms up here?”
Zenor grinned broadly at his friend. “Sure.”
Kindan winked at Dalor’s surprised look and said, “I’ll see you later.”
By that evening, everyone in the camp knew that the chimney had been blocked, apparently by a freak crack of brick, and that Natalon’s hold had been thoroughly aired and there was no danger to anyone attending Winter’s End there.
All the same, the great double front doors and the windows of the long room were wide open to reassure any worriers. The two long tables that by day served students were pushed to either side of the room, and the teacher’s table was pushed all the way to the far end of the room from the hearth so that there was a good warm area for dancing.
Kindan and Master Zist were situated on top of the long table pushed against the wall. The Harper instructed Kindan to keep a simple beat on the drums, to accompany the songs.
The drumming was so basic that Kindan could spare his attention to observe the partygoers. The whole of Camp Natalon was fewer than two hundred people, including the smallest baby, but such a crowd should have filled the room nearly to bulging. As it was, Kindan calculated that less than a quarter of the Camp’s inhabitants were present.
And no wonder—regardless of what the miners knew about bad air, not even Milla the baker could be coaxed back into the kitchen that morning to make her dainties. Natalon’s lady, Jenella, was still suffering from the combined effects of the bad air and her pregnancy and was confined to bed.
The absence of others was easier to understand—Zenor had four little sisters and his mother to look after. And, because of the cave-in that fall, it was still necessary to work two solid shifts, so the second shift was still in the mine. A third “air” shift had been organized to keep the air pumps going through the night, but that consisted of only four people working in two pairs and they were mostly the youngest, the oldest, or the least skilled.
Kindan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Master Zist had stopped playing until the Master was speaking in his ear, having gotten up from his chair and walked over to where Kindan was seated. “Keep up that beat, lad, while I go mix with the crowd.”
Kindan nodded without breaking beat and watched as the MasterHarper climbed down from the table and made his way over to the refreshments. Kindan beat a bit harder as the Harper approached that table, and his hint must have been taken, for Master Zist tossed a backward wave at him—he would bring Kindan back some refreshments on his return.
Still playing instinctively, Kindan scanned the small crowd to pick up snippets of conversation.
“Caravan coming in to pick up our coal—” It was true: With the snow melting, there should be a trader caravan in any day now to take the last six months’ worth of mined coal.
“—hope they bring some apprentices—” Natalon had sent a drum message to the MasterMiner in Crom asking for more apprentices.
“—no use, they’ll be the worst, or who’d let them go?”
Kindan sighed, as that last comment made too much sense. Any apprentices that could be freed to go to a new mine would never be the best apprentices—they’d be kept on by their Masters at the current mines. Some of them would just be young and eager, but others might even be more trouble than they were worth: lazy or shiftless.
“—without a watch-wher, how are we going to be safe?” Kindan’s ears pricked up at that snippet of conversation, trying to identify the speaker.
“—there’s been too many accidents, especially since—” Kindan guessed that the speaker was about to say “the cave-in,” but the voice had slipped away from him in the general noise of the hall. Kindan agreed with whoever had said that; there’d been minor accidents once or twice a week since the cave-in that had killed his father and Dask. Partly, as Kindan had heard Natalon tell Zist one late evening when they both thought him asleep, because they were working hard with few people, and partly because it was just the nature of working underground where any carelessness could easily result in an injury.
Kindan searched the crowd and spotted Panit, one of Tarik’s old cronies, stumping about with a cast on his foot. The old miner had not been paying attention and had let a trolley get away from him and run over his foot.
“At the end of the day, it’s the head miner who’s to blame, isn’
t it?” Panit asked a small knot of worried-looking miners gathered around him. Kindan stiffened. “Maybe the problem’s not watch-whers, but leadership.”
Kindan strained to see the reactions of the other miners but only succeeded in losing his beat. With a quick flourish, he jumped back into it, but not before several heads turned in his direction, Panit’s being one of them.
“When you’re listening in,” Master Zist murmured in Kindan’s ear, appearing suddenly at his side, “it’s important not to be noticed.”
Kindan managed a sickly smile in return. “Sorry,” he muttered back.
Master Zist nodded. He thrust a mug and a plate of snacks at Kindan and said, “Take a break.”
Not long after that, the Gather broke up. Kindan and the Harper were the last to leave, bowed under the weight of their instruments and the length of their day.
Kindan could never remember how he got into his bed that night.
“Master Zist! Master Zist!” Dalor’s cry woke Kindan far too soon. He stirred groggily, frightened by the tone of Dalor’s voice.
“Eh? What is it?” Master Zist called out from his room as Kindan tumbled into the kitchen.
“It’s my mother,” Dalor said, face pale with fright. “The baby’s coming early.”
The Harper emerged from his room, still in his bedclothes. He took one look at Dalor and turned decisively to Kindan. “Go run to Margit’s and get her up here.” He turned back to Dalor, “I’ll be along as soon as I get some clothes on. You get on back. Start the cook boiling water, if she hasn’t already.” His tone turned softer as he took in the look on Dalor’s face. “It’ll be all right, lad. Now off with you!”
The moment Dalor was out of earshot, Kindan told the Harper, “Margit’s not much at midwifery. Silstra did most of that, and Harper Jofri.”
“Journeyman Jofri learned his healing after I’d thrown him out of my singing class,” Master Zist said. Then he sighed. “And I learned my singing after the MasterHealer threw me out of his healing class.”
Kindan looked alarmed. The Harper made shooing motions with his hands. “Get off, now! We’ll cope.”
Kindan chivvied Margit along as fast as he could when he woke her but she was not to be hurried. They reached Jenella’s room in time to hear Milla, who was standing in the doorway, wail, “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”
“No, it’s not,” Margit said matter-of-factly. “It’s a month before normal time, and that’s close enough.” She drew herself closer to the baker and said harshly, “And if you can’t get yourself under control, you’ll go back to the kitchen.”
Milla, who wouldn’t miss the excitement for gold, sniffed and drew herself up, but closed her mouth.
Kindan, carrying Margit’s work things, followed her into the room. Natalon was holding Jenella’s hand. Master Zist had arranged sheets and blankets discreetly and placed himself to receive the baby.
Margit shouldered the Harper aside to make her own inspection. Satisfied, she went to Jenella’s side. “You’re fine, dear, just fine,” she assured her. “When the next contraction comes, just bear on down. You know the drill.”
Dalor stirred uncomfortably from his spot in the room. Master Zist glanced at him, eyes narrowed, and then turned to Kindan. “Lad, get Swanee to cook some towels in boiling water. We’ll need to clean the baby when it arrives. Take Dalor to help you.”
Kindan gave the Harper a quizzical look, then enlightenment dawned and he grinned. Dragging a reluctant Dalor after him, he left the room.
Out of earshot, Kindan said to the other boy, “If we work it right, we can get your sister in to substitute for you some of the time.”
“Oh, please,” said a figure appearing out of the shadows. It was Nuella. “I’d like to be there; Mother will want me.”
“But if Margit or Milla—” Dalor protested.
“They won’t know if there’s only one of you in the room at a time and you wear the same clothes,” Kindan said. “Not in all the excitement.”
“That will only work if you wear my cap,” Dalor said, pulling the cap he usually wore off himself and stuffing it on Nuella’s head.
“And put your hair under it,” Kindan said. Nuella took the cap off, twirled her hair up into a bun and stuffed the cap back on.
“Perfect!” Dalor said. “You look just like me.”
“But if you forget the cap or it falls off, you’ll be caught out,” Kindan warned. Dalor looked frightened.
Nuella settled the matter, telling Kindan, “When you go down, be sure to have the cook sterilize the sharpest knife she has—she’ll moan, but don’t listen—that’ll be to cut the cord. Have her put it on one of the boiled rags so it stays sterile.”
Kindan started down to the kitchen wondering just when Dalor’s sister had taken charge.
All the same, his plan worked perfectly. Kindan deftly managed it so that Dalor and Nuella switched off every quarter hour. After Jenella’s first wide-eyed recognition of her daughter and Nuella’s subtle nod in Kindan’s direction, Jenella calmed down with a grateful smile and clasped Nuella’s hand tightly.
When the baby came, Margit deliberately stepped away to let Master Zist receive it. Kindan got the distinct impression that she wanted to place the burden—figuratively and literally—in the Harper’s big hands. And that’s how it turned out. One moment the Harper was leaning in, calling soothing words to Jenella, and the next moment there was a little snuffle and a slight mewing sound.
“Kindan, come here with that knife,” Master Zist ordered. When Kindan came around, he saw the small newborn still attached by its umbilical cord.
“Make a loop with the cord,” Master Zist instructed. As Kindan complied, the Harper said to Natalon, “Come cut the cord and welcome your new daughter into the world.”
Natalon, with a proud look at his wife and a big smile on his face, cut the cord. Margit took the baby from Master Zist, quickly wiped it off with the sterile towels, and looked up for blankets to wrap the baby in.
“I’ll get them,” Nuella offered, hastily leaving the room.
Margit followed her departure with a penetrating look, saying to Jenella, “You’ve got a good lad there. Usually it’s only the daughters that know where the baby things are kept.”
“Dalor’s been talking about this for a while,” Kindan said, improvising quickly. “Although I think he was hoping for a brother.”
“He’ll be pleased with a sister, I’m sure,” Natalon said. He gazed happily at Jenella. “I know I am.”
Dalor returned, sweating visibly, with the baby things and passed them on to Margit, who wrapped up the newborn and passed her to Jenella.
“I don’t know what the Harper thinks,” Margit said with a nod to Master Zist, “but I think she’s perfect.”
Kindan was surprised to see that Master Zist’s face was flowing with tears.
Margit’s face fell when she noticed. “Oh, Master Zist, I’m sorry, I’d forgotten you’d had one of your own.”
Master Zist nodded, wiping his eyes. “I did,” he said after clearing his throat. He looked to Jenella. “I’m sorry, but your lass looks the same as mine did when she was born.”
“What was her name?” Kindan asked softly.
“Carissa,” the Harper murmured. He forced a smile on his face and looked toward the proud parents. “And what are you going to name this bouncy one?”
Natalon and Jenella exchanged glances. “We don’t know yet.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” Margit agreed. “Now why don’t you leave while I help Jenella and her babe get settled in.” And she backed up her words with determined shooing motions with her hands. “Milla, you can stay and help.”
By the time the others had collected downstairs, the early morning light was showing. Natalon bit back a curse. “I’m late for my own shift!”
“I think they’ll understand,” Master Zist told him.
“I had Swanee send word, Father,” Dalor added.
Natalon gave him a grateful look and let out a big sigh of relief.
“It’ll be a long day for all of us,” Master Zist said to Kindan as they made their way back to the Harper’s cothold. “But that’s the way things go, sometimes.”
Kindan nodded in agreement but was robbed of words by a huge yawn.
“Some klah will help you start the day,” Master Zist said.
Kindan had a great tale to tell as he set the watch. It was still bitterly cold in the watch-heights so he stayed on to gather kindling and firewood as the first watcher got settled in. He was back down the hill in time for classes with Master Zist and back up again at lunchtime, when the morning mist was finally lifting, to spell Renna, Zenor’s eldest sister, while she got her lunch.
So it was he who first saw the trader caravan approaching.
CHAPTER V
A baby’s cry, a mother’s sigh,
Sweet things make a day go by.
Being the first to spot the trader caravan, Kindan quickly sought out the Harper who was handling, between yawns, a class of busy younglings.
“Natalon’s in the mines,” Master Zist said when Kindan told him. “You’ll need to send someone to let him know.” He paused consideringly. “Do you know what else to do when a caravan arrives?” Kindan nodded. “Well, you’d best get it done, then.”
“But I’ve only Turned eleven,” Kindan complained, wondering how he would get such oldsters as Swanee and Ima to do his bidding.
Master Zist looked down his nose at him. “Then it will be an interesting challenge for you.”
“Right,” Kindan said, catching on at once. “I’ll figure something.”
By the time he met Ima, the camp’s butcher, Kindan knew what to say. “There’s a caravan coming in. Master Zist sends his compliments and asks if you could prepare enough extra meat to feed another twenty.”
He used the same strategy with Milla and Swanee. It worked every time. Finally, having set everything in train, he decided that he was the right one to deliver the message to Natalon in the mines.
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