by J. V. Jones
Mad Binny was sitting in a copper bath with only the shallowest depth of water to cover her, cleaning herself with soap-weed and a cloth. She’d filled the bath for Effie, but Effie had refused to use it—she wasn’t about to be naked while Mad Binny stood over her and watched—so Mad Binny had called her a fool and took to the water herself. Now she was working up a lather on her neck, talking all the while about various herbs and potions that could be added to a person’s bathwater to make them sleepy or refreshed.
“Then there’s the curatives,” advised Mad Binny. “Some of the finest skin cures are best taken in the bath. Let me see now . . .” Mad Binny soaped a deep and extremely hairy armpit while she thought. Effie felt an uncomfortable mix of repulsion and fascination. Once she’d started looking she couldn’t seem to stop. In theory she knew about all the changes a girl went through to become a woman; Letty Shank and Florrie Horn had drawn pictures in the dirt, placing little burrs of thistle where the hair was supposed to grow. But the reality was so much more unsettling. Mad Binny was a large woman and line drawings didn’t do justice to all the squelchy flesh and bristly hair. Effie frowned. She was quite sure Raina wouldn’t look like that. Raina would be beautiful, and quite bald except for her head.
“. . . And then there’s pokeroot. Toss a few hands of the rootflesh in a tub, let it steep a while, and you’ll have a bath for curing scabies. Now this—” Mad Binny leant over the side of the bath and snatched up a handful of fragrant dried flowers “—is for nothing other than making a woman feel like a girl. Sweet lavender. Raises the spirits and makes you unaccountably attractive to men.” Crushing the dried stalks in her fist, she scattered them into the bathwater, releasing a light and pointy scent. “I may steal Drey away from you yet.”
Effie was immediately attentive. “Drey’s coming?”
“Oh, yes. Didn’t I say? That’s what the bath was for. Today’s the day you leave for Dregg.”
No, she had not said, and she knew very well she hadn’t. Mad Binny was like that: sly and contrary. She liked to keep her visitors in a perpetual state of confusion. Effie knew better than to let her irritation show: she would have taken a bath if only Mad Binny had told her the truth. She’d only seen Drey once since he’d returned to the roundhouse, and that was only for a few minutes since he feared to stay too long and run the risk of discovery by Mace Blackhail.
“Hand me the drying cloth, Effie. And you needn’t look so crab-appled. Not my fault you weren’t listening when I explained about today.”
Effie handed Mad Binny the cloth. She was beginning to realize there were advantages to being considered mad. No one could take you to task. You could say whatever you liked, tell lies till your face turned blue, and everyone would dismiss it with an “Aah well, Mad Binny is mad.” Effie didn’t think Mad Binny was mad at all. Effie thought Mad Binny was one of the cleverest people she had ever met. She lived exactly how she wanted to, got clansfolk to traipse leagues through the snow to bring her fresh meat and supplies in return for one of her cures, and she had no responsibilities whatsoever and no one but herself to care for. Effie glanced around the crannog’s main hall, looking admiringly at the low ceilings, the blackened beams and damp-warped walls. And Mad Binny got somewhere wonderfully cavelike to live in.
“I haven’t made you a pack for the journey,” Mad Binny warned, thankfully pulling on a dress. “I’m not your mother, you know. If Raina doesn’t bring anything then you’re on your own. No one’s paid me for your keep, and I can’t recall as anyone’s thanked me either.”
“Thank you, Binny,” Effie said innocently.
“Oh, you’re a devilish minx, that’s for sure. Run outside and watch for Drey—and stun me some pike while you’re at it.”
Effie was glad to do as she was told. Outside, on the little rotting pier that stretched over Cold Lake, you could see for leagues in all directions. It was mid-morning, and a light wind blew off the lake, thinning the last of the mist. The lake’s surface was a battleground of wet and breaking ice, with hackled plates riding atop each other and free ice floating against the wind in stretches of open water. Effie liked the sounds the ice made as it disintegrated: the snapping of plates and the fizzing of bubbles as air escaped to the surface. Almost it wasn’t bad to be outside. She was aware of her heart beating a fraction more strongly than usual, but that was all. She was close to the crannog and to safety, could run back any time she chose—and, more importantly, Drey was on his way.
She missed her brothers fiercely. Nothing had been the same since Da had been killed in the badlands. They had been four then; her, Da, Drey and Raif. Now they were down to two.
Soon to be one, said a little voice inside her. After today you’re on your own.
Effie picked up the mallet and wished for fish. It would have been good to hit something just then. Now she didn’t know whether to look forward to Drey’s arrival or not. She was going to Dregg. Dregg. A stranger’s clan, leagues to the south, with a roundhouse built from birdseye limestone, and the words We fight as easily as we dance as their boast. Oh, Raina said it was a fine place and Xander Dregg a fair chief, but it wasn’t home, and the shankshounds weren’t there, and there’d be no Drey to look out for her. Effie ran thin fingers over the mallet head. What was it Raif used to say about Drey? He always waited, that was it. Now there’d be no one for him to wait for anymore.
Feeling something stinging behind her eyes, Effie smashed at the lake water with the mallet—just in case there were fish below the surface.
As she rubbed droplets of icy water from her sleeve, she spied a mounted man approaching from the southeast. Crouching very still, she waited until she could be sure it was Drey.
“Effie,” he called, when she stood up. “I swear you’ve grown as tall as this horse.”
He reined in his mount and dismounted, and Effie dashed down the pier to hug him. He smelled of neat’s-foot oil and tanned leather, and he remembered she didn’t like to be kissed and hugged her double hard instead. When he pulled back and held her at arm’s length to study her, she studied him as well. He looked older now, more like Da. His chestnut hair was braided into a warrior’s queue, and it was woven with silver wire. His plate armor was old but well made, its glancing surfaces free of embellishment, its rolled edges lightly silvered to ward off canker. Da’s elkskin greatcoat lay well on his shoulders, the large felted collar brushed and gleaming. Seeing Drey like this, war-dressed and fully armed, it struck her for the first time that her eldest brother was a grown man, not unpleasing to look at, and sure to attract attention from clan maids. An unworthy stab of possessiveness made her want to drive the imaginary girls away. Drey was hers, not the property of some silly and fluttering maid.
He took her hand, and she felt the calluses and scars there. He glanced at the sun still rising in the east and then at the door of the crannog. Effie could see a decision being made on his face. “Little one,” he said finally, sitting down on one of the pier posts so he could be at eye level with her, “you don’t have to go to Dregg, not if you don’t want to. Tell me now, and I’ll put you on Fox’s back and we’ll ride straight home. No one will hurt you, I swear it, even if I have to camp outside your chamber every night.”
That was a lot of words for Drey, and he didn’t speak them easily. The sons of Tem Sevrance had never been good with words. Even so, Effie knew what it cost him to speak them. He was a Blackhail hammerman, a sworn warrior of eight seasons, celebrated for saving Arlec Byce on Bannen field and holding the Ganmiddich roundhouse with a force of just eleven. Now he sat before her, proposing to tie himself to the roundhouse like an old man—for they both knew that he could not be absent for as much as one night and hope to keep her safe. Mace Blackhail would not allow it.
Drey reached for her hair, curling one of the auburn strands around his finger. “You and me, little one. Just you and me.”
Effie looked down at her feet. She couldn’t look at him or speak. He felt it too: the loss of Raif and Da. They were
the only two left, and she’d been a selfish ninny to think that their parting would affect only her. A sudden memory filled her: the sight of Drey striding through the greatdoor on his return from Bannen. Men surrounded him, pulling him this way and that, wanting his opinion on wounded men and damaged blades, yet he had stopped in the midst of it all, his gaze sweeping across the entrance hall . . . in search of her.
Effie breathed deeply. She knew with unshakable certainty that she must be strong. She could not allow him to halve his life because of her. “I’m looking forward to going to Dregg,” she said, aware that the words were coming out a little too fast but unable to stop them. “Raina’s told me all about the dancing and . . . and the bones. And she said that after a few months all the fuss would die down, and then you can come and bring me home, and everyone would have forgotten what happened to Cutty and Nelly Moss, and everything will be all right.”
Drey’s steady gaze almost undid her. He looked as if he knew just how little it would take to make her cry. “I was ten when our mother died,” he said quietly. “It happened suddenly. No one was expecting it. She carried you well and high, and everyone guessed you’d be a girl, and when she went into labor we didn’t know to be afraid. Then what should have taken hours turned into half a day, and Anwyn came out to speak to Da. That’s when I snuck in to see her. She was so pale, Effie, and scared. There was no blood, not then, but she knew she was failing. She smiled when she saw me, and you know what she said?”
Effie shook her head.
“She said, Drey, you’re the eldest and that means you’ve had the most love. This little one I’m carrying will have the least. Make up for it. Love her for me when I’m gone.” Drey was very still for a moment—the only thing moving was a muscle deep within his neck. “The loving is the easy thing, Effie. It’s knowing how best to look after those you love that’s hard.” He looked at her knowingly. “Now I realize I’m your slightly slow-witted elder brother, and you’ve probably fooled me many times. But not in this. Bones? You’re excited about going to Dregg because of bones?”
Effie smiled; it was a bit shaky but still counted. “Fossils, Drey. They have this pit outside the Dregghouse that started out as a defensive trench, but they kept finding old bones and treasures in it, and now it’s as deep as a mine.”
“Mm.”
Drey didn’t say anything else, and his silence made her speak the truth. “I don’t mind going to Dregg, not really. I’ll be frightened a bit at first, but Raina said her sister and the chief’s wife will look after me, and I won’t have to worry about anyone hurting me.”
Drey nodded slowly. All the while they’d been speaking he had been curling a strand of her hair around his finger, and now he let it go. “I know you’ll be safer there, little one. That’s why I agreed to let Raina arrange it. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. And it doesn’t mean that I can’t ride to Dregg any day I choose and bring you back.” He stood. “Come on. Let’s say your farewells to Mad Binny.”
Effie followed him down the pier. She’d won, but it didn’t feel like much of a victory.
The interior of the crannog smelled like flowers. Mad Binny was cooking up a love potion, either that or a batch of pollen butter. Effie hoped it was the butter. She didn’t believe the love potions worked, of course, but that didn’t mean she wanted Mad Binny using one on Drey. Thankfully, Drey seemed unaffected. He bowed his head respectfully to Mad Binny, and thanked her for taking care of his sister. His thanks were accepted a lot more graciously than hers, Effie noticed. Mad Binny was a different person when there was a man about, and even went so far as to serve Drey a cup of best malt with her own two hands. She surprised Effie even further by handing her a full measure of the honey-colored liquid. “Down it in one, girl. For the journey.”
Effie knew a command when she heard one, and threw the liquid into the back of her mouth. It smoked on her windpipe, its vapors rising straight to her head and releasing a tension that she hardly knew was there. As she went to fetch her cloak and meager bundle, Drey and Mad Binny exchanged a knowing glance.
“What’s couch grass good for?” Mad Binny asked as Effie came to stand by the door.
“For the kidneys and anything to do with making water. You boil the root to make a tincture.”
Mad Binny folded her arms across her chest. “Good enough.” Despite the gruffness of her voice she seemed pleased. “You’ve a memory like a Withyman, Effie Sevrance, I’ll give you that. Now. See that cloth bag on the peg. That’s yours to take. No food, mind. Just a few herbs and simples for doctoring. I’ve heard you can’t gather much except dandelions around Dregg.” She sniffed her disapproval. “Well, best be gone now. I won’t wish you a good journey, as we both know you’re not likely to have one.” With that, Mad Binny ushered Effie and Drey out the door.
By the time Effie had thought of a reply the door was closed behind her. Drey held her hand. “Best pull up your hood. There’s clouds moving south from the Want.” Effie stuffed the little cloth bag containing the herbs into her pack and let Drey lead her to his horse.
The malt liquor had been a clever trick, she thought as she clung to Drey’s waist whilst he galloped Orwin Shank’s fine black stallion south across the Wedge. She was outside with the open spaces of the clanhold spread for leagues around her, and she knew she should be feeling the first stirring of panic—the nearest building was now an hour’s ride to the north, and that meant terrible things could happen and she wouldn’t be able to run for shelter—but all she could feel was a sort of sleepy sense of concern. She hiccuped. Outside wasn’t really so bad, not when you were on a horse and your brother’s head was blocking the forward view. Couldn’t really see much from the sides, either, with your hood up.
When she heard Drey say, “Slide down, little one. We’re here,” she could hardly believe they’d arrived at the farthest edge of the Oldwood. Drey grinned and told her she’d been asleep, but she didn’t believe that for one second. Effie Sevrance never slept outside.
Still, she yawned unaccountably when Raina came forward to help her from the horse. “Your cheeks are flushed,” she said. “And you smell of hard liquor. What’s that madwoman been doing to you?”
Effie shrugged. She wasn’t sure she liked Mad Binny, but she wasn’t about to rat on her either.
Raina’s gray eyes looked especially dark and flinty, and Effie suddenly realized she had spoken sharply because she was worried. Looking around the timbered bank, Effie saw two men standing by a covered wagon hitched to a pair of matched ponies. The smaller of the two men she recognized as Druss Ganlow, Merritt Ganlow’s son, and the second had the look of an Orrlsman, if his pale cloak and antler bow were anything to go by. Druss saw Effie watching him and raised a hand in greeting. He was a stoutly built man with the beginnings of a belly, and a baby fluff of fine red hair. Effie did not think he’d given his oath to the clan, nor was he likely to. Druss Ganlow was known as a trader. When Drey walked over to meet him, Druss clasped his arm and the two men fell into easy conversation. Of course, Drey was at the badlands when Druss’s father died.
Sometimes it was easy to forget the deep and silent connections that bound Blackhail as a clan.
“There’s food and blankets and spare clothes in the wagon,” Raina said to Effie. “I thought the journey would go easier on you if you had a roof overhead. Of course, you don’t have to stay in the wagon if you don’t want to. You can always ride up front with Druss and Clewis Reed. The journey will be pretty slow by pony cart. Druss reckons that with good weather he’ll have you there in under a week. He’s a good man, Effie, and he needn’t have done this for us. He’s got a nice little run heading west to Orrl for fresh meat, and the last thing he needs is a dogleg to Dregg this time of year. Be nice to him. And pray the weather holds.”
Effie nodded. She was beginning to feel a bit sick.
Raina saw this and smiled—her first since Effie had arrived. “Oh dear,” she said, brushing hair from Effie’s face. “Whateve
r you do, don’t throw up in the back of the wagon. We don’t want to try Druss’s goodness that far.”
They both laughed, and all three men turned to look at them. Raina put an arm around Effie and guided her toward them. “Come on. I don’t believe you’ve met Clewis yet.”
Drey watched Raina approach, and there was something in his look that gave Effie a small thrill of realization. He’d dressed in his finest clothes for Raina Blackhail.
“Have you told Drey about the Maimed Man at Black Hole?” Raina asked Druss as she came to a halt by the wagon. If she had noticed Drey’s attention, she did not show it, merely put her foot upon the mounting step and gave her attention to Druss Ganlow.
Druss shrugged. “Nothing to tell, except I heard that one of the miners spied a lone horseman on the ridge east of the pit. Said he was riding one of those shaggy little ponies the Maimed Men are known for.”
Drey immediately became serious. Black Hole was the last open silver mine in the clanholds. Blackhail had mined silver in the balds for two thousand years, and the clan’s wealth had once been dependent upon it. Mordrag Blackhail, the Mole Chief, had dug the first foot of earth from Black Hole with his own two hands and had used the first nugget of silver mined to forge a bracelet for his child bride. The trouble with the silver mines was their location: in the balds far north of Blackhail. They were four days’ hard ride from home. Effie didn’t know much about Black Hole for the men who lived there kept themselves separate from the rest of the clan. They lived in queer little shanties with sparkly lodestone walls and only a few of them had oaths. The miners came to the roundhouse twice a year, trading cartloads of raw ore for supplies.
“Did the miners give chase?” Drey asked.
Again Druss shrugged. He was dressed strangely for a Hailsman, with no colors or badges to show his clan, just a short cloak of brown greasewool and a set of bleached leathers beneath. “Can’t say. I only heard the story briefly.” His green eyes, so like his mother’s, twinkled brightly, and for a moment Effie was reminded of her uncle, Angus Lok. “Probably nothing to worry about. No one’s going to make raid on Black Hole. Only thing they’d come away with is a wagonload of raw ore. No smelting gets done up there.”