A Wizard In a Feud

by Christopher Stasheff

  Alea thought of -spending her life that way and hid a shudder. The Big House shouldered up above the trees, and Alea wondered why they called it "big." It couldn't have been more than fifty feet long, with two stories and an attic. Then they came past the trees and Alea saw the dozen single-story dwellings clustered around it in a circle, and understood. None could have been wider than twenty feet.

  "The married folk live in the small houses?"

  Hazel nodded. "Grandma and Grandpa live in the Big House with the bachelor folk and widowed ones. Keeps everybody more in line, and the old folks don't get lonely."

  Alea wondered how impatient the young folk became, wondered also if any married simply to gain homes of their own. They came into the grassy circle between the houses to find two cows grazing amid sheep and goats. Boys and girls o£ ten and twelve stood watch over them, looking bored, with the help of a few dogs. Older men and women were doing chores-planing boards, polishing rifles, churning butter, casting bullets, and so on. They looked up with interest at the stranger. Then they saw the pack on her back, dropped their tools, and hurried forward. They converged on the double door of the big house. "She a peddler?" asked a sixtyish man.

  "That I am," Alea replied. "What have you to trade?"

  "Some carvings," the old man said.

  A woman near him said, "Carvings indeedl They're the sweetest statues you'll ever see. Me, I've some pretty pebbles I've been saving for a necklace. You go on in, missy, and I'll run and find them."

  "I'll be eager to see them," Alea said politely, then went through the door.

  They came into the keeping room-a central chamber about thirty feet long and twenty wide, furnished with plain wooden chairs and tables, lovingly finished with a glow that betokened many hours of rubbing with oil and wax. They had an economy of design, sweeping planes and flowing curves that took Alea's breath away. A few chairs were cushioned, and the armchair by the fire was padded and upholstered, for in it sat an old man with white beard and hair, wrinkled face, and keen bright eyes that inspected Alea thoroughly at a glance and delivered a verdict on her suitability to be in Grandpa's house. Apparently the verdict was positive, because the old man said, "Welcome, stranger."

  Hazel led Alea over to him. "Grandpa, this is Alea. She's a peddler."

  "And a brave one, if she takes to the roads by herself with no rifle," Grandpa said.

  Hazel turned to Alea. "This is Grandpa Esau Gregor."

  "Welcome in my home," the old man said. "What kind of pretties have you brought us, child?"

  "Oh, ribbons and pins and needles," Alea said. "Some nutmeg, too, and cinnamon and pepper. Then there's jewelry from some clans I've traded with, and pretty pots and cups."

  "Don't know as how another clan can do any better than my own children," Grandpa opined, "but it's nice to have a reminder that there are other folks out there besides the Mahons." He grimaced at the name. "Let's see your stock."

  Alea gladly shrugged out of her pack and lowered it to the hearth as the clansfolk gathered around. She was just opening the buckles when she heard the groan.

  The outlaws crowded close to admire and touch. One young man hung back, though. He was tall and lean, looking to be made of whipcord-whipcord and straw, for his hair was so pale as to be nearly white. But his jacket was made of leather, fringed and decorated with colored quills, and he held a half-fletched arrow in one hand and a small knife in the other, as though he had come running in the middle of a task.

  "Take a look!" Gar called to him. "Do I have anything you'd want to trade for?"

  "Yeah, Kerlew," one of the women said, her tone mocking, "you'd bcst sniff the spices, since all you're fit for is cooking." Kerlew flushed.

  "Be fair, Elise," Rowena said, but she smiled. "He's a dab hand with a needle, too, and the peddler's got plenty of those." Gar frowned. "Who elected him chief cook and bottlewasher?"

  "Why, what else can he do?" Elise jibed. "He's a coward!"

  "Too scared even to go hunting for anything bigger 'n a squirrel," another outlaw agreed, "though he doesn't mind skinning the beasts and tanning their hides, so we know it's not being squeamish about death."

  Kerlew reddened more. "There's a deal of difference between killing a deer and taking its coat, Enoch!"

  "Oh, sure," Enoch said. "Not much danger of being gored by an antler, when you're skinning one that's already dead."

  "He knows how to hide good, though, don't he?" another man jibed.

  "And how to duck," Elise agreed.

  "How well does he fight if you're attacked?" Gar asked quietly.

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the clearing. Then Rowena said, "The clans haven't come against us yet, peddler, but that's what got you cast out in the first place, isn't it, Kerlew? Refusing to go out to fight the Gainty clan."

  "I fought well enough when they ambushed us!" Kerlew retorted.

  "Oh, aye, when it was kill or be killed," Enoch sneered. "Sure, you fought like a cornered rat."

  "So," Gar said, still quietly, "you have no problem with defending yourself and your clan-only with visiting death and misery on your neighbors."

  "So I said," Kerlew said hotly, "and for that they cast me outl Why would I turn against people now that I'm outcast?"

  "Why, for a living, boy," Lem said impatiently.

  "I can find enough nuts and berries for that," Kerlew retorted, "aye, and kill to eat, if I have to."

  "You just don't like the, feel of it when they die, do you?" Gar asked.

  Kerlew reddened again. "There's enough dying already. Why add to it?"

  Gar wondered if the boy was a latent telepath.

  "Not much point in keeping one like that around, is there?" Rowena asked Gar. "But we won't cast him out. Outlawing once is bad enough, but outlawing from outlaws?"

  "Any who need shelter with us should have it," Elise agreed. "That's very charitable of you," Gar said slowly.

  Kerlew turned crimson and started a retort.

  "But he will fight if the clans come against you," Gar said,

  "You've heard him say so-and if they do, you'll need every rifle you can muster."

  The outlaws fell silent, staring at him in surprise, and Rowena turned thoughtful.

  "There's this, too," Gar said. "You never know which 'weakling' will turn out to have the Second Sight-or even a gift for magic, if it comes to that."

  Kerlew stared at him, amazed, and some of the outlaws muttered to one another, caught between superstition and mockery. Rowena demanded, "You really think there's magic?"

  Gar remembered meeting the fairies. "Doesn't everybody?"

  "Never seen any, myself," Farrell scoffed, but his look was uncertain.

  "Well, if it's real, show us some," Lem said to Kerlew. "Go on, boy-tell us what's happening at, say, the Gregors' homestead."

  The outlaws recovered from their superstitious awe with laughs and jeers. "Yeah, you tell us, Kerlew boy!"

  "Aye! If you've got magic, tell us what's happening there!"

  "Or make a squirrel fall out of that tree smack dab into the cooking pot!"

  "Hey, I can do that." Farrell lifted his rifle and sighted at the tree limb, then lowered it, shaking his head. "Don't need no magic. No, I like him telling us what's happening at the Gregors' house."

  The clansfolk cast a few surreptitious glances at Farrell, and Gar realized the man was himself a Gregor and eager for news of home, though he would never admit it.

  "Yeah, see twenty miles for us, Kerlew!" a young woman jibed. "What're they doing at the Gregor house?"

  "And none of this saying they're sitting down to dinner, mind you-anyone could guess that, at sunset!"

  Kerlew grew redder and redder at the mockery and finally burst out, "All right, blast youl just shut up and let me look!" He closed his eyes and sat, rigid as a pole, hands clasping his knees.

  The catcalls cut off as though a valve had closed and the outlaws stared at him, taken aback. Then superstitious dread began to show in a face
here and there.

  Gar braced himself, readying a vision to implant in the boy's mind. He knew he'd been riding a bluff and would have to make good on it.

  Alea looked up at the groan, eyes wide. "Who's in pain?"

  "Oh, that's Linda," one of the men said, his face resigned. "The baby's fine, but we might lose her."

  "Lose her?" Alea leaped up. "Why? What happened?"

  "She lost a lot of blood," Hazel said, frowning. "We managed to stop it, but likely too late." She shook her head sadly. "She's wasting away, but what can anyone do?"

  "Help her body to make more blood, that's what!" Alea turned toward the groan and started walking. "Take me to her!" The crowd parted in surprise but didn't look hopeful. Hazel hurried after her. "She's in her room, that third door, but you can't make blood, Alea."

  "No, but her body can."

  Hazel skipped ahead and opened the door, holding up a hand to caution Alea. She poked her head in, then back out and beckoned. With soft steps, they went into the room.

  There was a fire on the hearth, but the woman who lay in the bed shivered nonetheless. Alea was shocked at the paleness of her face. A young man sat beside her, holding her hand; he looked up as Alea came in and she was shocked again by the suffering written there. His eyes were hollow and darkened, his skin pale and waxy. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days, and he probably hadn't. She could imagine him dozing off in the night and waking at Linda's slightest groan.

  Alea touched the hand he was holding; Linda's skin felt like ice. She felt for the pulse and could barely find it.

  Before Gar could implant a vision, Kerlew spoke, voice sounding as though it drifted wind-borne from a thousand miles away.

  "There's a woman there, a stranger, and she's sitting in a bedroom holding a younger woman's hand. Poor soul, she's pale as milk, and there's a young fellow sitting by with his head in his hands."

  The outlaws stared.

  Kerlew's eyes flew open in alarm. "Did I say that?"

  "You did," Gar said before anyone else could speak. He turned to Farrell. "Who would the young woman be?"

  Farrell had to lick his lips before he could answer. "Might be Linda Balfour. She was betrothed to Martin before I . . . left, and we was supposed to meet his bodyguards halfway to take her on home. That was when we saw the Mahon boys swimming, and I spoke against an ambush 'cause it weren't what we'd been sent to do." He shook his head angrily, as though to banish the memory. "If they married, she'd likely have been heavy with child last spring, and light by now"

  The outlaws stared at Kerlew with awe and dread.

  The lad trembled. "I never! Never done that before, never seen!" He rounded on Farrell. "And wouldn'ta done it now, if it hadn't been for your yammering!"

  "Oh, yes you have," said another, "for there's more 'n once you've wakened all the bachelor's house with your shouting to warn folks of ambush."

  "Those was dreams!"

  "Second-sight dreams," a third young man said, eyeing Kerlew with respect but no friendliness.

  "Yes," Gar said, "it seems that I spoke more truly than I knew, though perhaps you saw clearly now because the young woman's heart was calling out for any who could help her." But Gar knew it wasn't the sick woman who had been broadcasting anxietyit was Alea, for she was the young woman sitting by the bedside. "What color hair did the young man have?" Farrell asked. "What? ... Why, yellow." Kerlew jammed his jaw shut, looking alarmed at his own words.

  "Martin's hair is yellow," Farrell said heavily. Rowena nodded. "Most folks have red or brown."

  "But-but I ain't no seer!" Kerlew protested. "I ain't no Druid!"

  "Perhaps not, but you seem to have the talent for it." Gar turned to Rowena. "I'd treat him well, if I were you. If he practices, he might be able to learn how to eavesdrop on all the clans about here, and be able to tell you if anyone starts agitating to band together and move against you."

  "Either that, or send him to the Druids," Lem said. "No-o-o-o!" Kerlew clutched his scalp. "No, I don't want it! Get it out of my head!"

  "There's few who do want it," Gar said gently, "for it's as much a torment as a blessing-but it can help your friends greatly."

  Kerlew stilled, then bowed his head, though he kept his fingers in his hair. "I wouldn't use it to harm any travelers-nor any clan!"

  "So long as you use it to help us." Rowena laid a hand on his knee. "You've always said you weren't a coward, Kerlew, just sick of killing. Well, now's your chance to prove it."

  The lad raised his head from his hands, frowning. "Prove it how?"

  "By learning to control this gift, and use it for the good of the band," Gar told him.

  "He just can't stand the sight of blood," someone said. Kerlew turned toward the voice, face hardening. "It ain't the blood, Jeeter, and it ain't the pain and the writhing, and the wounded screaming for someone to take pity on them and kill them. No, it's the wife left to grieve and live on the clan's charity the rest of her days, and the children crying for their daddy and never understanding why he'll never come home again." His eyes began to burn. "It's the girls in pigtails who can't understand why their daddy would go to the Afterworld instead of coming home to them, and the barefoot boys who can't understand how the gods can be good if they let their mommies die." His eyes blazed, his voice deepened and boomed as he said, "It ain't the killing and the dying that anger me so much as the birthing and the living that has to go on in the shadow it casts over them all!"

  The outlaws were silent a minute,, staring at Kerlew as though they'd never seen him before. Thn Rowena cleared her throat and said, "Yes. I'll allow as how the boy has some magic."

  And Kerlew stood stunned, unable to believe that voice and those words had come out of his own mouth.

  The sick woman opened her eyes, uncomprehending. "Who are you?" the young man croaked.

  "A stranger," Alea said, "and a friend." She turned to Hazel. "You're right-it's blood loss. I think she's picked up a fever, too."

  "Childbed fever," Hazel sighed. "Happens too often, I fear."

  "Too often indeed, but you have fruit juice, don't you? And liver."

  "Well, we've apples," Hazel said in surprise, "and cider, of course. We can get liver soon enough, if you think she needs it."

  "Cow's liver is best, though that of pigs or chickens will do," Alea told her. "Tell someone to start boiling it for broth, and we'll spoon it into her. In the meantime, let's try that cider."

  "Hard or soft?"

  "Soft, definitely soft! Hurry, Hazel-we may not have much time." She turned to the young man. "Get you to bed. You can't do anything for her, and we'll waken you if she gets worse."

  "I won't leave her," the young man said stubbornly. "She could pass any minute."

  "Not yet," Alea said, "not if she can still groan." Then she relented and said, "You can make up your pallet right here, so you can be beside her if she needs you, but you're no help to her exhausted."

  The young man tried to hold her gaze, but his own strayed back to Linda. "You talk sense, I guess. Well, I'll go get blankets." He rose stiffly, then held out a hand. "Thank you. I'm Martin."

  "And I'm Alea." She took his hand. "Go get your blankets."

  By dinnertime, Linda had absorbed half a gallon of cider and been able to sip two bowlfuls of salted broth, and Martin was so soundly asleep he didn't waken at the sound of feet moving to and from the bed. Alea sat by Linda in his place, mind reaching into the young mother's body, to stimulate blood production, but feeling very helpless nonetheless.

  Hazel came in. "Time to come to dinner, Alea."

  "I'll wait."

  "No, you'll go now," Hazel insisted. "Ill wait. Tell me what signs to watch for."

  Alea shrugged. "There isn't much-only if she begins to get some color back, and we probably won't see that until tomorrow. Keep a cold cloth on her forehead, though. If her breath gets much more shallow or her pulse fades, call me right away."

  "I will," Hazel promised. "Get you to supper, now, and
then sleep, for I imagine you'll be up with her the whole night if we let you."

  "I'll want to take the midnight watch, at least." Alea rose unwillingly.

  "We'll see to it she's tended, and call you if there's any change for the worse." Hazel shooed her toward the door. "It's good of you to care so for someone who isn't one of your own."

  Alea stopped and turned back, looking her in the eye. "We're all each other's own, Hazel-every woman in the world." Hazel gave her a long silent look, then nodded. "We'll see what you have to say about the men if she gets better. Eat now, for you'll need your nourishment as much as she does."

  Alea woke on her pallet by the hearth and saw a girl of about twelve kneeling nearby, feeding small sticks to a shrunken fire. She glanced at Alea, saw her open eyes, and smiled shyly. "Morning, Miss Alea."

  "Good morning," Alea said, and was about to ask the girl's name when a knock sounded at the door. They both turned to stare at it. The girl said, "Only strangers knock."

  Three clansfolk hurried to the door with rifles ready but not leveled. An older man pulled it open, stared in surprise. "Versey!" He turned to call to the people inside, "It's Versey the Druid!" Then he turned back, pushing the door wide and bowing the visitor into the house. "Be welcome, Reverend!"

  Alea stared and held her breath, waiting for a tall, whitehaired man with a long beard and a snowy robe, with a golden sickle at his belt and mistletoe in his hair.

  8

  "May Lugh's light shine on all in this house," Versey said, stepping in and Alea was very much disappointed. Here was no august holy presence, but an ordinary middle-aged man in woolen jacket and baggy trousers, pulling a wide brimmed hat from his head. He had a beard, but it was trimmed short and grizzled, as was his close-cropped hair. He looked like any of the clansmen, except that his jacket was dove gray instead of plaid.

  Hazel came hurrying out of the sickroom, waving another woman in. She bustled up to Versey, wiping her hands on her apron. "Be welcome, Druid! What news?"

  "Why, only that Linda's at death's door," Versey said. "The whole valley knows it."

  Hazel's face hardened. "Yes, I suppose a Mahon sentry might have eavesdropped on someone from the house talking about it-and if one Mahon heard, they'd all know in an hour, and the whole valley by the end of the day."