Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock)

by Krause, Marguerite

  “You’re telling me Aage got your mother pregnant?” Feather asked. “Dreamers don’t do that.”

  Chasa reached over to pat her hand. “I know it’s confusing.”

  “Aage,” Jeyn said, “has a library full of books.”

  “Books don’t have anything to do with it, either,” Feather protested.

  “They do when they’re filled with Dreamers’ healing knowledge going back for generations and generations.”

  “What does healing have to do with having babies?”

  “You’re being difficult,” Chasa complained.

  “I’m always difficult,” she reminded him. He just smiled.

  Jeyn folded her arms. “You did ask.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Aage found methods for increasing fertility. Some work on men, some on women. Some require special herbs, others dragon powder and a Dreamer’s power-bending. He found something that he believed would help Mother. An experiment.” Jeyn tilted her head at her brother. “We’re the result.”

  “The magic of it had nothing to do with Mother dying,” Chasa took up the tale. “Aage and Dad and Aunt Mara have all said that, and we believe them. She simply wasn’t strong enough.”

  “She was strong,” Jeyn said, “in many ways. Just not for childbirth.”

  “The methods are effective,” Chasa continued. “After we were born, Savyea came and spent half a year with Aage, going over what he’d found and adapting it with her practical healing experience. She’s been using the knowledge ever since. Ivey tells us that twins have been born in many villages in the past ten years.”

  At the mention of the minstrel’s name, Jeyn’s expression softened.

  “She’s got that over-cooked turnip look on her face,” Feather warned Chasa. “Can we leave?”

  “Yes.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. To his sister he said, “I love you dearly, but I can’t take that look.”

  “Then don’t look in a mirror, brother.”

  Chapter 40

  At the last Spring Festival, her dress had been white. Today Feather would wear saffron and scarlet, the strong, gaudy colors of the royal family of Sitrine, colors that actually suited her better than last spring’s more delicate dress. She and Jeyn had spent the Festival morning dressed in elegantly cut black gowns, the tight-fitted sleeves heavily embroidered in gold and bronze threads, amber and topaz beads sewn into the pattern—Jeyn’s idea of proper Brownmother robes. Feather went in to her room to change for the afternoon’s event as the senior Redmother began listening to the community announcements. Having accepted her part in the scheme of things, Feather didn’t feel any more need than Chasa to hear anyone else’s news today.

  She’d felt Chasa’s eyes on her as she left the pavilion to come indoors, and suspected he was afraid she might be planning to run away. She almost turned back to tell him that she had already tried running and knew it didn’t work. Why repeat mistakes? She’d made her decision and she’d go through with it. She supposed having an urge to reassure the prince was a good sign. Besides, this was what Sene wanted, why he’d brought her from the shelter of Garden Vale’s Brownmother house in the first place.

  She missed Sene. He had been busy all winter, running the kingdom or going off to kill monsters in Chasa’s place. Perhaps after she did this one thing to please him, he’d stop being so distant. Now that she knew Chasa, it didn’t seem quite so terrible an ordeal as it had when she first arrived. She would just get it over with—fulfill her vow and make the best of it.

  Determined or not, she still spent a few minutes having one last cry alone in her room. The weeping didn’t last long, which was another good sign. Just a few tears, more from nerves than a broken heart. Once that was over with, she washed her face, made sure the wreath of flowers on her head was tilted at a saucy angle, and walked purposefully from her room.

  Chasa was waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed with studied casualness. “Very pretty dress,” he said.

  Feather looked up at the prince. “It’s getting harder to get away from you all the time.”

  He moved closer, and put his hands on her shoulders as he smiled down into her eyes. “After today, it’ll be harder still.”

  Mixed emotions tightened Feather’s throat. She managed to keep her voice light as she answered, “I had hoped to marry someone a bit closer to my own size. But I suppose it’s asking too much to try and find a miniature version of you at this late date.”

  His smile showed dimples remarkably like Sene’s. “We could ask Aage to shrink me.”

  She shook her head at the suggestion. “Wouldn’t be worth all the trouble to have your clothes altered. And the sea monsters would just laugh at you.” Not that that would stop him. Chasa would go out to fight the monsters if he was two feet tall and had to use a twig as a harpoon. Like his father, and his sister—like everyone Feather had met since coming to live in Sitrine—Chasa let nothing stand in the way of keeping his vows.

  “It’d be an easier way of killing them, watching them laugh themselves to death.” His smile disappeared, and his hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’re sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Yes.” She stamped on his foot to get him to move. The gesture gave her a great deal of satisfaction and, although she doubted she could do much damage, it was quicker than politely asking to be let go. He yelped and jumped back, releasing her. When she smiled at him, he returned it. She and Chasa had developed an understanding lately. Chasa let her bully him, but only so far, and always with a glint in his eyes to tell her he knew exactly what she was up to.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Do you want to go through with it? Limp through life with me?”

  “I’ll limp. But you’ll have an aching neck, little one.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and rubbed gently. It felt rather nice. “They’ve finished the announcements. We’d better not keep everyone waiting.”

  Perhaps I should kiss him, she thought, to see if I like it or not. No. There was no time. She’d just have to leave that experiment until after the wedding.

  * * *

  Laughing and breathless, Vray collapsed in the corner of the landing. She pulled her knees up to her chin as Oriel led his team down the stairs.

  “The wood shed. Come on!” he yelled, voice shrill with excitement.

  Vray watched the group hurtle down the inn stairs. She had been an illusive quarry in the elaborate game of hide and seek/treasure hunt which was occupying the full attention of the village children. Only when caught by three of a team’s children was she required to reveal the next clue. She was having just as much fun as the youngsters.

  The noise of the children faded, leaving her in an island of temporary peace and solitude. Not that the stairwell was silent, with most of the population of the village crowded into the inn. Rain changed the character of a festival day. Vray found few similarities between this day and the Spring Festival she’d celebrated in Broadford one year before. Today she had actually enjoyed telling the Story of Beginnings. She had looked around the packed common room and recognized every face. Sitting on the landing, as she was now, she could locate many of the villagers by the sounds of their voices that drifted up to her from the conversations in the common room, or down from the guest rooms, where one group was quilting, another carving, another arguing about something to do with chickens. She intended to join the quilters when her part in the game was over. Unless it was time to eat again by then.

  I’m very comfortable here, she thought abruptly. I suppose that means it’s time to leave.

  Sobering, she rested her chin on her knees. That was an odd idea. Or was it? This was her home. Family, friends, a useful future were all available to her here. Tob certainly seemed to think so. Her cheeks warmed slightly. She had to make a decision about him. She remembered what Ivey had said. Where was the minstrel celebrating Spring Festival this year? In Sitrine? Not Broadford, unfortunately for her. She
would have welcomed a few words with Ivey. Words she saw now they should have had on his last visit. What had he said about needing to learn of events in the kingdoms? About sending a message to King Sene? She was Redmother of a moderately sized village in Rhenlan. Broadford’s welfare was her responsibility.

  One of her responsibilities.

  “There she is!” Matti squealed from the top of the staircase.

  Vray sprang up and threw herself down the stairs. Another team to evade. She’d never hear the end of it from the others if she allowed her sister’s group to catch her too easily. She squeezed round the bar and through the kitchen, leaving shouts of encouragement and laughter in her wake. She skidded on wet straw outside the kitchen door, turned left, and darted through Oriel and his group as they emerged from the wood shed in search of their next quarry.

  Vray cut across to the stable. She wanted to give the children a good, long chase. That was half the fun of the game. Right now, a good game was her contribution to the success of this festival.

  She would give other matters some serious consideration—later.

  * * *

  The yard in front of the inn was crowded. Jordy cast a critical eye over the lines that supported the area’s canvas roof. With so many people passing through the open-sided tent all day, it was always possible that someone might accidentally loosen an important connection. Jordy’s inspection revealed no flaws. Rain dripped from the still-taut edges of the ribbon-hung expanse of canvas, its patter a steady accompaniment to the chattering conversations within.

  Jordy gave his wife’s waist a light squeeze. They sat side by side on one of the benches backed against the stable wall. He hadn’t seen Pepper and Matti since supper, but he wasn’t worried about them. There were singers in the main room of the inn and Canis was upstairs, making scrap dolls for the younger children. His daughters would be with one or the other, unless they had found a quiet corner and gone to sleep.

  Belatedly he corrected himself. His youngest daughters were inside the inn somewhere. His adopted daughter, like Tob and every other young adult in the village, was present in the yard. After the clouds lifted somewhat in midafternoon and the downpour slacked off enough to tempt people out of doors, Herri and Kessit had strewn the wet ground in the yard with a thick layer of hay and sawdust, and the dancing had begun.

  As the musicians struck up a new tune, Kessit edged past a knot of gossiping parents and sat down next to Jordy. “It’s been a better festival than last year, despite the rain,” the woodcarver said.

  “Aye. Herri will complain of the state of the inn when it’s over, but you can tell he’s enjoying himself.”

  “Love’s being indispensable, does our Herri.”

  Jordy studied his neighbor’s face. “How’s Jaea?”

  “Sad,” Kessit answered. “Still, we had to come. She said she won’t let last year’s bad memories destroy the meaning of the Festival for her. She’s true to her vows.”

  Jordy nodded. “A strong woman.”

  “I miss the boy,” Kessit said. After an awkward pause, he changed the subject. “You must be pleased with your year’s work.”

  “Eh?”

  With a nod of his head, Kessit indicated the dancing young people. “The girl’s doing well. Last spring we didn’t see her dancing at the Festival. Seemed afraid of her own shadow, remember? When she wasn’t speaking as a Redmother, that is.”

  Jordy stole a glance at Cyril. His wife’s eyes were on the embroidery in her lap, her expression serene. His attention returned to the dancers. “Iris is stronger than she looks. We’ve given her the security, the support, that any child needs. That’s all. The rest she’s done for herself.”

  “Mordi’s boy, Lim, likes her. I think he’d more than like her if it wasn’t for Tob.”

  Jordy looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re about to become rivals for a girl’s affections. It’s the last thing I expected, considering the difference in their ages. Lim’s nearly nineteen. Time for him to think about a wife. I’m sure he’s hoping that Tob’s first infatuation won’t last long, and that after it’s over Iris will want a young man closer to her own age.”

  “I knew Iris and Tob were growing close this winter,” Jordy said. “I should have seen that Lim was getting involved, as well. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Not that there’s much you can do about it.” Kessit got up with a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t be in your place, carter. Lim and Tob aren’t the only boys she’ll attract. A real beauty, graceful as a princess. Maybe we can hope she’ll make her choice and marry soon.”

  The woodworker’s words hung in the air after he’d gone. Jordy drew his arm away from Cyril and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The dance concluded with a burst of laughter and applause. Iris imperiously gestured several couples to form a line, and placed herself and Tob at the head. Graceful as a princess. Her red hair had grown a great deal in the past year. She wore it loose for the Festival, a luxurious cloud which, with her greenish eyes, gave her a striking appearance.

  He sat up so abruptly that Cyril put her embroidery down and turned toward him with concern.

  “It’s all right. No one else will see it,” he murmured, the reassurance as much for himself as for her. He replaced his arm around his wife’s waist. As the shock lessened, a cold anger grew within him. He was going to have a serious talk with Jenil. ‘This is Iris,’ the Greenmother had said. Naturally he’d accepted the name without question. The oddities in the girl’s personality and attitudes he’d attributed to Soza.

  The time had come to stop fooling himself. He’d seen a face and hair like hers only once, when he was a youth on his first visit to Edian. He’d managed to forget that day in the courtyard of King Hion’s castle. There wasn’t much he cared to remember of the life he’d led before wedding Cyril. But there was no point in denying this particular memory. Iris’s resemblance to her mother was remarkable.

  Her mother, Gallia, wife of Hion. Her mother, Queen of Rhenlan.

  Oh, yes. Jenil had some explaining to do.

  * * *

  “You’ve only been here a few days, why do you have to go?” Jeyn pouted and tried to look pleading. Ivey kept packing his bag. She tugged on his sleeve. “Look at me when I’m being petulant.”

  He laughed and grabbed her around the waist. “You’ve been taking Feather lessons, love. I’m not sure I like it.”

  “She’s a bad influence on me.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Jeyn pressed herself against him. “Then stay in Raisal as a counter to her bad effect.”

  “I’ll be back.” He kissed her, then let her go.

  Outside, the last of the festival celebrants had begun to disperse. A burst of laughter carried from the field to the house on the still evening air, and the staccato drumming of hoof beats announced the departure of one of their more affluent guests. By any measure, this year’s festival had been a huge success. They had sent out word of Chasa and Feather’s marriage ninedays ago, and every village in Sitrine had sent a representative, if not an entire delegation, to witness the royal wedding. Greenmother Jenil came, too, but either Chasa forgot that he intended to have words with her, or he never tore his eyes away from his new bride long enough to notice the Dreamer’s presence. Jenil spent most of the day in Sene’s company, to their evident mutual satisfaction. Jeyn watched her father throughout the day, but saw no hint that he felt anything other than joy at the marriage of his son and his ward. Jeyn’s only disappointment in the entire day was that Aage had to leave immediately after the ceremony, to go help Morb.

  That is, it was the only disappointment, until now. Jeyn sat on the bed beside Ivey’s pack. She was tempted to dump the contents out, or pull him down beside her, but folded her hands in her lap instead. She was used to the way the minstrel intermittently entered and left the king’s household. He’d been doing it for years. However, that was before he’d become so important to her. Last summer,
she’d gotten used to his being more in than out of Raisal. She had hoped that pattern would continue this summer. Yes, the minstrel’s life was on the road, where he could attend to his singing and his duties as courier and spy. All very well and good, but she did not like the idea that her lover would be gone for a whole season or more. She was lonely already.

  “Let me go with you,” she said suddenly.

  “Jeyn!”

  The idea seemed to surprise Ivey as much as it had her. She smiled slowly, even as Ivey frowned. Of course. Why not?

  “You told me once that when you had a lass you’d take her on the road with you.”

  He looked shocked. “I didn’t mean you!”

  Jeyn gestured around the bedroom. “If I’m not your lass we’d better have a talk about the rent.”

  He scratched his chin. “Would I be able to afford it, Highness?”

  “No.”

  “Then I suppose you’re my lass.”

  “I know I am. I love you, Ivey.” She’d murmured it often enough while they’d been making love, but she had never said it, just said it, to him before. She held her breath.

  He colored, looked pained, relieved, and finally gave her a delighted smile. His bright blue eyes answered her even before he said the words. “And I love you, Jeyn of Raisal. What do you think we should do about it?”

  “You’re going to make love songs.”

  “I’ve done that already.”

  “And marry me.”

  He went back to rubbing his chin. “Very likely,” he agreed. “But, then what?”

  “You’ll take me with you on the road. Feather can do almost everything I do around here. Besides, it’s time Chasa learned how to do more than bring home magical body parts and chase Abstainers. Take me with you.”

  “That I will not.”