The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Ye gods, our Morri’s not a lass to cross, is she, my lord?’ Gwairyc said. ‘Who would have thought that she had so much fire in her soul? Good for her!’

  ‘I’m not so sure how good it’s going to be,’ Nevyn said, ‘if it loses Morwen her place as Evan’s nursemaid.’

  ‘Oh, it won’t do that.’ Aderyn walked over to join them. ‘This sort of thing happens all the time among the Westfolk.’ He glanced back at the Westfolk woman, who was sitting up, still groggy, in the midst of friends. Some of them were grinning. ‘Morri will fit right in.’

  Morwen followed Loddlaen almost blindly. Still carrying Evan, he took her to a small tent at the edge of the encampment and sat her down by a little fire, then put the boy down beside her.

  ‘Your hand could use some tending,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Look at it, blood all over the back.’

  He ducked inside the tent. Morwen stared at her bleeding knuckles and wondered why they didn’t hurt. She was still shaking with rage and barely able to think, but slowly, as the berserk fury left her, the pain arrived.

  ‘Morri hurt,’ Evan said. ‘Poor Morri!’

  ‘Stupid Morri,’ Morwen said. ‘Ye gods, I don’t know what came over me!’

  Loddlaen came out of the tent with a packet of herbs, a brown pottery bowl, a waterskin, and a small iron pot. He put the pot right into the coals, filled it with water, sprinkled in the herbs, then added a few more twigs to the fire.

  ‘We’ll let that heat up a bit,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Then you can soak your hand in it.’

  ‘A thousands thanks!’ Morwen said. ‘I feel like such a fool. I don’t know why you’d help me, after I’ve shamed myself in front of your whole clan.’

  ‘What?’ Loddlaen paused for a laugh. ‘I don’t consider you shamed. Dangerous, truly, but not shameful. I doubt if anyone else does, either. You don’t understand the Westfolk yet. Little scraps and arguments flare up all the time. Once they’ve died down, no one bothers to remember them.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly.’ He smiled at her. ‘Well, that’s a relief, then.’

  Loddlaen tested the water in the kettle by sticking his finger into it. ‘Still too cold,’ he announced. ‘Frankly, I admire you for putting that harridan in her place. Ebañy, you’re a lucky lad. You’ve got someone to stick up for you.’ His smile turned brittle. ‘I didn’t, when the little beasts tormented me.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ Morwen said. ‘Look at you, as handsome as a prince in one of those bard songs.’

  ‘You think so, maybe.’ The bitterness in Loddlaen’s voice shocked her. ‘You were mocked as a child, or so my father told me, because of your lip. Well, so was I, for my eyes and ears. The other children called me Roundear and Squinteye. At night they’d make little traps because they could see in the dark, but I couldn’t. I was forever falling over stretched ropes or stubbing my toes on rocks. Once a pair of them even laid an ambuscade behind a tent and scared the wits out of me.’

  ‘I never would have thought you’d have suffered such.’

  ‘Most people wouldn’t. But I did.’

  ‘Why didn’t your father put a stop to it? Everyone seems to respect him.’

  ‘Oh, I was supposed to be strong, you know, and just laugh and ignore them. They’ll stop teasing you if you just ignore it, Da kept saying. I was a Wise One’s son. Why wasn’t I just as wise as he? No matter that I was but a little lad!’

  ‘And I don’t suppose their mothers ever stopped the little beasts from hurting you.’

  ‘Oh, they did try. I’ll give them that. The women were so kind, treating me like I was a half-wit. Now don’t hurt Loddlaen, they’d say. He can’t help being like he is. Ever so kind of them!’ Loddlaen paused for a deep breath. ‘Ah well, that was all a long timeago. Here, there’s a breath of steam on that water.’ He tested the herb brew again, then used a forked stick to lift the pot by itsmetal handle. ‘It’ll sting at first, but then it’ll soothe.’ He poured the herb water into the bowl, then set the pot down on the bare ground near the fire. ‘Ebañy, don’t you dare touch that kettle! It’s hot hot hot!’

  Evan drew his hand back fast.

  ‘Good lad,’ Loddlaen said. ‘Try it, Morri. Just one finger at first.’

  The herbwater did indeed sting, but in a remarkably short time the sting receded and took the pain with it. Morwen sighed in something like wonderment. Someone was tending her, making her feel better. Someone had gone out of his way to take her part in a squabble, someone who had suffered in the same way as she had.

  ‘A thousand thanks,’ she said. ‘These herbs are marvels. I truly appreciate your aid.’

  ‘Well, now,’ Loddlaen said, ‘who wouldn’t do as much for a friend?’

  They shared a smile, but Morwen felt as if she could weep from joy. A friend. First Nevyn, now Loddlaen—she had friends, a splendid luxury that she’d always thought beyond her station in life. Lanmara, after all, had been so much more than a friend that at times loving her had been almost painful, almost a burden.

  Once the herbs had done what they could for her hand, Morwen went back to Devaberiel’s tent. She found Dev inside, taking a pair of wooden bowls out of a tent bag.

  ‘I’ll fetch us all some dinner,’ he said. ‘Evan—I mean, Ebañy—come with Da. Morri needs to rest.’

  When he left, Evan toddled along eagerly after him. Morwen spent a moment looking around the tent. Her shabby blankets lay by the door, while Dev had placed his own on the other side of the hearth, which amounted to a collection of flat slates under the smoke hole in the roof. A collection of brightly coloured tent bags hung on the walls, and a scatter of leather cushions lay on the painted floor cloth. Even though she’d already spent one night there, still it struck her as gaudy and strange. But it’s a fair bit nicer than my old shed, she thought. Thank the gods for that!

  It was also, at the moment, stuffy after a long summer’s day with the scent of dust and sun-warmed leather. Morwen went outside to wait for Dev to return. She had just sat down in the grass outside when Nevyn joined her.

  ‘I hope I didn’t shame you,’ Morwen said.

  ‘Not at all,’ Nevyn said. ‘I was startled at first, and then I was afraid you were going to be hurt. I see that my fear was quite unnecessary.’

  ‘Well, I truly don’t know what came over me, except I absolutely hate seeing Evan cry. I—Oh wait, here’s the little troublemaker coming now.’

  The dark-haired boy with the yellow eyes walked towards them, but he stopped a safe distance away and stared at the ground. Red and purple bruises blotched his face. He was carrying Evan’s ball.

  ‘I brought it back,’ the boy said in Deverrian. ‘And I’m sorry I called you ugly, and Ebañy doesn’t really stink.’

  ‘It gladdens my heart to hear you say so. I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘Well and good, then. I’ve got to go apologize to Danalaurel now.’ He tossed her the ball, then trotted off.

  ‘Danalaurel?’ Nevyn said.

  ‘That’s Evan’s little friend,’ Morwen said.

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, it looks like Loddlaen did exactly the right thing for your hand. It’s swollen, but not half so much as I expected.’

  ‘It was very kind of him, truly.’

  ‘It was, and I’m a bit surprised. He can be sullen at times, that lad, and moody, but then, his life didn’t get off to the best of starts.’

  ‘Indeed. He told me how the other children teased him. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Partly. When he was new-born, his mother had very little milk, and he went hungry for a while until she found him a wetnurse. And then—’ Nevyn hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, I shouldn’t be telling tales.’

  ‘Oh come along!’ Morwen smiled at him. ‘I’ll not be repeating anyone’s secrets. I’ve had to keep my thoughts to myself for my whole life.’

  ‘Very well. Loddlaen’s mother was a Wise One, too. Or is, I suppose I should say.’ Nevyn thought for a momen
t, frowning. ‘I assume that Dallandra’s still alive somewhere, at least in some form or another. She went off with the Seelie Host, you see.’

  Morwen crossed her fingers in the sign of warding. Everyone knew that the very mention of the Host brought danger.

  ‘The whole affair was very sad,’ Nevyn went on. ‘But it was her wyrd and work to go. Perhaps she never should have tried to marry and live like an ordinary woman of her people, not that I realized it at the time. Aderyn’s never truly recovered, and you can imagine the effect on her son.’

  ‘I can indeed. Naught good, for a certainty. Is that why Loddlaen looks so troubled now and then?’

  ‘Partly. The lad’s seen other trouble in his life, too, but truly, that’s not a tale I can tell you.’

  ‘Well and good, then. I shan’t pry.’

  It wasn’t until much later that Morwen remembered Nevyn saying ‘it was her wyrd and work to go’. What did he mean by that? she wondered. It was, she supposed, just another of the many strange things she’d have to learn here in her exotic new life. She thought about asking Loddlaen, but she had no desire to cause him the pain of remembering a lost mother, a pain she knew too well herself.

  In the morning a new alar rode into the trading grounds, and with them came Aderyn’s former apprentice, Valandario. Whilst the others in her group unpacked their travois and tended the horses, the young dweomerworker joined Aderyn and Nevyn in front of Aderyn’s tent. In those days Valandario was more gaunt than slender, mostly because her studies engrossed her so thoroughly that she often forgot to eat. Her pale blonde hair fell down her back to her waist in a messy tangle because she refused to spend the time to braid it in the usual manner of the Westfolk. Since she’d learned Deverrian quite recently, she spoke with an oddly careful diction.

  ‘Good morrow, Master Aderyn,’ she said, ‘and a good morrow to you, Master Nevyn. My heart is gladdened to see both of you.’

  ‘And mine to see you,’ Aderyn said. ‘I trust you had a safe journey?’

  ‘We did indeed.’

  ‘Good, good. So, I’m assuming you’ve got that mysterious gem of yours. When shall we have a look at it?’

  ‘To be honest, I have not yet received it. It should however arrive soon.’

  ‘Someone’s bringing it, then,’ Aderyn said.

  ‘That is so. You see, many nights ago I received a message from Javanateriel. He and his companions had travelled west a fair ways, so he felt they could not yet journey to the trading grounds until more time had passed.’

  Aderyn nodded sagely.

  ‘Um, may I ask why not?’ Nevyn said.

  ‘Because of the plague that killed off the Horsekin invaders,’ Aderyn said. ‘Or to be more precise, the fear of it. It’s somewhat of a rule among us Westfolk, that anyone who rides too far west can’t return to the main camps until he’s sure that he’s not carrying it.’

  ‘Wait a moment. You must mean the plague that raged during the destruction of the elven cities in the mountains. That was a thousand years ago.’

  ‘Oh, I know, and it’s probably an unnecessary precaution. By all accounts the illness sprang from tainted food.’ But Aderyn sounded doubtful. ‘Still, you never know. Better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Truly spoken.’ Valandario took up her tale again. ‘So, on his way home, he met some distant herders. They in turn passed his message to me, that he had a marvellous gift he wished to give me. He wanted us to meet at the trading grounds.’

  ‘So,’ Aderyn said, ‘he told you he was bringing you a jewel of some sort.’

  ‘He did not, just that he was bringing a gift. But I dreamt about it, which is why I know the gift to be a gem.’

  Nevyn felt like heaving a deep and weary sigh. It was just like the Westfolk to ask someone to travel a hundred miles out of their way on the strength of a dream alone. A fortnight, a month or two—those measures of Time had the same importance to them as an afternoon would to a human being.

  ‘He also told me,’ Valandario continued, ‘that he had found a gift for you, Master Aderyn. But I dreamt not about that one. Gems call to me, as you know, but naught else does. However, Jav should be here soon. Now I’d best go help my alar set up the tents.’

  With a cheerful wave she trotted off, heading back to camp.

  ‘Soon, is it?’ Aderyn gave Nevyn a twisted sort of smile. ‘My apologies. Let’s hope the wretched thing truly is a gem.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s good to see you, so I’m glad I made the trip, no matter what this mysterious gift turns out to be.’

  Much to Morwen’s relief, none of the Westfolk mentioned her fight as she and Evan walked around the camp on the morrow morning. Since she had a reason to look for them, she noticed other squabbles that broke out quickly and died even faster. She made a point, however, of avoiding the woman she’d knocked unconscious. She also noticed that none of the other children teased Evan nor Danalaurel, either, when the two little ones set about playing with Evan’s ball.

  Not long after the noon meal, Loddlaen sought her out. She was returning to Devaberiel’s tent to put Evan down for a nap when he walked up behind her, so noiselessly that she nearly yelped in surprise when he spoke.

  ‘How’s the hand today?’ Loddlaen said.

  ‘Ye gods, you startled me!’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s a fair bit better, my thanks. I can close my fingers now without it hurting.’

  ‘Good. Tell me somewhat, will you? What do you think of Gwairyc?’

  ‘I’m not sure. At times he’s pleasant enough, and at others he frightens me. Why do you ask?’

  ‘He’s a cursed strange apprentice for a herbman.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly true.’

  ‘I was wondering if you knew why he seems to hate Tirro. I went down to look at Wffyn’s goods, and I saw Gwairyc treating Tirro like a dog. Some of the women here in camp told me that he follows the lad around and yells at him for the least little thing.’

  ‘I saw him do that on the way out here, too, but I don’t know why. You could ask Nevyn.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ Loddlaen looked away, his eyes wide with fear. ‘He might tell Gwairyc I asked.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘What if he challenged me? Gwairyc’s the kind of man I’ve always hated, a swaggering bastard of a warrior. They usually hate me, too.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ He made a sharp bark of sound that might have been a laugh. ‘But be that as it may, there’s somewhat else I wanted to ask you. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

  ‘My thanks, I would.’

  ‘Come at sundown, then.’

  Loddlaen looked as if he was about to say more, but Evan began whining in a wordless sing-song and pulling on her hand.

  ‘I’ve got to get him to sleep,’ Morwen said. ‘I’ll see you at sundown.’

  When the time came, Devaberiel offered to take care of his son so Morwen could have a little time to herself. She took the offer, but reluctantly. Since Loddlaen’s tent stood a fair distance away from the campground proper, she enjoyed being so far from its noise, but at the same time it vexed her to be away from Evan, even though she was leaving him with his father and Nevyn as well. He’ll be perfectly safe, she kept telling herself. And he’ll have to grow up and grow away from me sooner or later.

  When Morwen arrived at Loddlaen’s tent, she was surprised to find Tirro there. Morwen disliked the merchant’s apprentice, but since Loddlaen was the host, she decided that it wasn’t her place to argue about the other guest, especially as Tirro had sweetened his welcome by bringing a basket of griddle cakes with him to supplement the meal. The Westfolk seemed to eat mostly meat, along with various raw leaves, dressed with oil and herbs, and wild fruits, a diet she was finding difficult to digest. The three of them sat down on the ground cross-legged by a fire burning in a circle of stones. Loddlaen had sliced chops from a lamb slaughtered the day before. They cooked them on a flat stone slab of the so
rt that a Deverry woman would have used for baking bread, then laid them on top of the griddle cakes.

  ‘These are delicious, Tirro,’ Morwen said. ‘I miss bread ever so much.’

  ‘Well, we do trade with Deverry farmers for grains and flour,’ Loddlaen said. ‘But bread and porridge and the like are for the winter camps. When it’s damp and cold they fill you up.’

  ‘You live so differently than people do in Deverry,’ Morwen said. ‘I’m still getting used to it.’

  ‘No doubt. I’ve often wondered what it would be like, living there, but I’ve never quite got the courage to go try it.’

  ‘Well, you’d fit in better than most of your folk. You could be a herbman like Nevyn.’

  ‘Truly,’ Tirro joined in. ‘You don’t even look that much different, and Loddlaen sounds like a Deverry name to me. Some of the names around here would twist your tongue, they would.’

  ‘True enough, but Loddlaen’s just a nickname. I was named after my grandfather, Alodalaenteriel.’

  ‘I’m not even going to try to say that. Tirro’s not my real name, either. It’s Alastyr.’

  ‘Much grander,’ Morwen said. ‘Tirro suits you, though.’

  Tirro glanced her way with a scowl, then smoothed the expression away.

  ‘So tell me, Tirro.’ Loddlaen intervened quickly. ‘Are you going to be a horse trader the rest of your life, like Wffyn?’

  ‘I am not.’ Tirro put ice into his voice. ‘I’m marked for greater things, I am. Once we get back to Cerrmor, I’m going to sail to Bardek and learn to be a proper merchant. I want to deal in exotic spices and silk and precious gems, not frying pans and knife blades.’

  ‘What’s Bardek like?’ Morwen said. ‘I’ve never heard anything about it but the name.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, up in Pyrdon.’ Tirro thought for a moment. ‘Um, well, I’ve not been there yet, mind. But lots of Bardek folk come to Cerrmor.’

  ‘I’ve heard they’re black as pitch,’ Loddlaen said.

  ‘What? That’s just one of those silly things people say. Some have dark skin, truly, but most are just brown or tan, and a few look no different from Deverry folk.’