by Anny Cook
“I’ll go crazy if I have to stay here,” Bish declared. “Stark raving crazy!”
“That would not be good,” Dai admitted with a smile. “You don’t want me to introduce you to a woman. I don’t think you are interested in a man. Perhaps we need to find you a job? What kind of work did you do before you came here?”
“I didn’t have to work. I had a trust fund!” Bish realized that Dai might not understand the phrase. “I had enough money so why take another man’s job?” he explained defensively.
Nodding in agreement, Dai said, “Of course. Well, we have no money here. If you wish to eat, you must work. What skill do you have?” he inquired with a kindly tone but Bish had a nasty notion that Dai was laughing at him.
“I just told you! I don’t want to stay in your sexy baby land utopia. I don’t want a job. I just want to get back to my life.”
“Does that mean that you don’t have a skill?” Dai asked with bright interest.
Bish exploded again. “No! I do not have a skill!”
“Very well. Tomorrow I will take you to Gar. You may help him tend the woolies. It is renewal season and he will need an extra hand.” Dai stood and walked back toward the house as though all was decided.
“Listen, old man,” Bish shouted. “I’m not going anywhere except back home!” He stomped after Dai, determined that he was going to get the last word. “Did you hear me?” he roared.
Certainly I heard you. I would have to be deaf not to hear you. Dai stopped and stared at him. Since you have nothing useful to say, you will not talk until I give you leave.
Bish opened his mouth and tried but no sound came out. He turned red with the effort to make even a tiny squeak. When he thought to shake Dai, he found that his arms wouldn’t move. He panicked and tried to run, only to find that his legs wouldn’t move faster than a slow shuffle. When they reached the front door, Dai turned to him, pulled his head down by his chin so he could look him in the eye. I have been most patient with you. Tomorrow you will go to help with the woolies. Tonight you will eat and go to bed. When you show me that you can be civil, you will receive some freedom back. He let go and Bish raised his head. Then they went into the house.
At dinner, Tyger chatted uneasily to Bishop while Arturo consumed his dinner in silence as always. After their friendly conversation while fishing, Tyger was puzzled by Bish’s unresponsiveness. The second time Tyger didn’t receive a response from Bishop he took a close look, noting the straining muscles and blazing eyes. “You must have really ticked Dai off. He hasn’t given anyone the silent treatment in two or three years,” he commented offhand. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my advice but if you don’t quit fighting it, you’re going to have a really bad headache. And whatever you did to tick him off? Apologize. Soon.”
Bishop turned away, refusing to look directly at Tyger. Tomorrow, he would take his pack and leave. No one, not even the mighty Dai, was going to treat him like a child! As soon as he finished eating, he stomped off to his room and packed his belongings with swift, jerky movements. His anger was so great he could feel the swelling pressure in his head.
All the time he was packing, he continued to turn Dai’s words over in his head. Why had Dai done this to him? Surely it wasn’t because he refused to bond with Samara. Another thought struck him. Could they force him to bond with her? No, no, no. But they could make him damn uncomfortable—perhaps uncomfortable enough to encourage him to bond with her.
He stuffed the last of his toiletries in the bag and tied it shut, determined to be on his way at first light. Maybe he would discover a way to escape the valley if he explored on his own. After all, he had only the word of the inmates in this lunatic asylum that there was no exit. Maybe they knew how to leave but steered him away from the exits.
Chapter Seventeen
Bishop goes to work
The sun was high in the sky when Bishop woke the next morning. Alarmed, he rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the window, positive that he couldn’t possibly have slept so late. As he stared out the window, watching Arturo swing a scythe with wicked accuracy as he trimmed back the tall grass and weeds on the perimeter of the yard, Bish raked his fingers through his wild curls in frustration. His plans for an early departure were screwed.
Well, no one was going to stop him from leaving! With grim determination, he turned away from the window and rushed to the chest where his clothes were laid out in readiness. As soon as he was dressed, he would leave this crazy retreat and make his own way out of the valley. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that they were preventing him from leaving.
He was tying the last knot on his sandals when Dai appeared in his doorway. “Ah, I see that you are all ready to leave. Wonderful! Get your pack and meet me at the front door. We will have you settled by this afternoon.”
Bishop grabbed his pack and headed for the door that opened on the side patio. Screw meeting Dai at the front door. Fremont Llewellyn might have been an asshole but he hadn’t raised any idiots. The first signs that all was not going to work out as Bish planned came when he found that he couldn’t move past his bed. No matter how hard he struggled, his legs refused to move. Panicked, he backed away from the end of the bed toward the door leading into the hallway and found that he had no problems whatsoever moving in that direction.
He stopped dead in the doorway. Surely Dai could not compel him to that extent? His breath came hot and heavy as he realized that there were no jails or confinement facilities in the valley. Was this the reason? Then he recalled the day that Dai had casually mentioned that his talents were far beneath Llyon’s or even Wolfe’s. Holy hell, what were their capabilities, then?
I am waiting, Bishop. Dai’s calm voice in his head sent a flush of cold sweat down his back. It seemed that Dai could indeed compel him to do whatever he wished. Reluctantly, fighting every step of the way, Bishop walked down the halls and joined Dai at the front door.
With a pleasant smile, Dai motioned for him to precede him. Then after closing the door firmly behind him, Dai led the way down the path to Dai’s Hamlet. Halfway there Bishop conceded that it was too exhausting to fight his fate. It would be far better to choose his battles than wear himself out fighting when he couldn’t possibly win.
By the time they arrived at the tiny farm on the outskirts of Dai’s Hamlet, Bishop was ready to fall down on the path and weep in frustrated anger. Their journey had been a clear demonstration of exactly what Dai could compel him to do.
If Baron knew what you were doing, he would stop you! Bishop aimed his angry words at Dai.
“If you truly believe that, then call out to him. He will answer you,” Dai assured him.
Baron? Merlyn? You have to stop him! He’s crazy!
Who’s crazy? Merlyn inquired immediately.
Hmph. What do you know? This mind stuff works! Bishop stopped just a moment to ponder that before plunging back in. It’s Dai! He’s taking me to some farm and he’s gonna make me work!
So what is the problem with that? Everyone in the valley works.
I don’t want to work. I’m not staying in this kooky valley! If he had the freedom of movement, Bishop would have pounded on the stone wall next to him.
I’m sure that you believe that. In the meantime, if you want to eat, you must work. Gar needs help with the woolies. This will allow you some time to think about your future. Merlyn broke their connection, leaving Bishop both bereft and pissed off.
A brawny, taciturn man crossed the farmyard to meet them. Dai waited calmly for the man to approach them.
“Dai.”
“Gar. I have brought you someone to help you with the woolies.”
Gar studied Bishop intently. “Will he work?”
Not a prayer in hell.
“He will do whatever you tell him to do. He’s under compulsion,” Dai said softly. “No speech, so don’t expect him to answer you but he will work.”
Bishop tuned them out at that point. There was nothing more t
hat he wanted to hear. The next event of any note was when Gar said, “Follow me,” and walked away.
* * * * *
Samara and Wolfe’s departure from Sunrise to Rebaccah’s Promise was delayed almost an eight-day as several more children and two adults succumbed to the terrible effects of Red Dragon before the villagers located the small patch of the deadly weed growing in the deep shadows of the butcher shop steps. None had dreamed it could be within the village confines until old Aga became deathly ill. Her range of movement within the village was severely limited. That information dramatically narrowed the villagers’ search pattern. By the time they realized that the Red Dragon plants had to be within the village perimeter, every villager—young and old— was wearing a mask over their mouth and nose as a precaution.
Fortunately, no one died, though there were two youngsters who were facing a slow recovery. But Alcy assured Wolfe and Samara that she and the villagers could deal with the recovering patients without the visiting healer’s assistance. The entire village, except for their patients, had turned out to see them off in the damp, cool dawn. They were sent on their way with freshly laundered clothing and a substantial packed lunch.
It was nearly dark when they reached the tiny settlement of Rebaccah’s Promise. Wearily, Samara mounted the steps to Qwenna’s porch, looking forward to a hot bath and a comfortable bed. As soon as the door opened, spilling light onto the porch, Wolfe bade her goodbye, gratefully heading for his own destination.
Joshua, Qwenna’s bond mate, welcomed Samara with a brief hug before taking her pack and beading bag. “Finally! You’re just in time for supper!”
While Samara cleaned the travel dust from her hands and face, Qwenna placed the last of the food on the table. When Samara returned, steaming roast woolie and creamy rice with roasted vegetables awaited her. She inhaled the wonderful scents with a contented smile on her face. She was so tired that it took her a while to realize that something was not quite right with Joshua and Qwenna.
Finally, she stopped eating and demanded, “What’s wrong?”
Joshua kept his head down but Qwenna answered Samara’s question with one of her own, “How soon do you need to return to Lost Market?”
“I was supposed to be back next eight-day.” Samara shrugged. “I’ve already asked Mama to notify them that I will not be returning for at least another eight-day. Why?”
“We’re pregnant,” Qwenna replied baldly. “Since the bonding storm for Arano and Silence. I’m in schalzina so frequently that I can’t possibly teach. Can you stay for a while?”
“I don’t see why not. Glenys shouldn’t have a problem handling the children in Lost Market. If she needs assistance, Mama and Morgana are both qualified to teach. What about the Rebaccah’s Promise barter keeper? Does he approve of this arrangement?”
Calm and relaxed because Samara was agreeing to the arrangement, Joshua nodded cheerfully. “I’m the new barter keeper and I definitely approve.”
“Well then, I’m happy for you both. I will ask Mama to pack my clothes and send them up with the next person heading this way.” Samara resumed eating, praying that they would mark down her trembling to fatigue. It was actually a huge relief when Joshua and Qwenna abruptly fled for their bedroom after muttering “schalzina”, leaving Samara alone with her young nephew, Daniel.
There was a long moment of silence. Then Daniel observed with a heavy put-upon sigh, “They do that a lot. Now we’ll have to sit here at the table until they come back.”
She leaned over so she could whisper to him, “Since I’m here now, I think it will be all right if I help you get ready for bed. But first, I’m sure that I saw a quoltania tart on the counter. Shall we have some?”
His eyes grew big with astonishment. “Really?”
“Yep. Tonight I’m still company and I say that we deserve dessert.” Samara winked at him, her heart suddenly lightened by the happy grin on his face.
“Yes, please, Aunt Samara!”
Later, after she put Daniel to bed, she washed the dishes and cleaned up, mulling over all the problems young bonded parents faced with a new pregnancy—especially if they lived at the other end of the valley from their families. No wonder Joshua and Qwenna were thrilled that she finally showed up. Her mother hadn’t been surprised when she requested the extension for her time away. Apparently, Qwenna had discussed her ideas with their mother before Samara reached Rebaccah’s Promise. A bit surprised at herself, Samara found that she didn’t mind as much as she would have in the past.
Maybe her time as Bishop’s lover had changed her in more ways than she had imagined. Certainly, she now had a better understanding of the heated desires from schalzina. The last time she had seen Bishop, it had taken every bit of strength within her to send him away. Only the searing pain in her heart had been enough to withstand her longing. With a sorrowful sigh, she decided that time away from him would be the best thing but, oh, she wanted to be wrapped in his comforting arms tonight!
* * * * *
In the woods edging Rebaccah’s Promise, Jiph set up his camp with care. From all the conversations he’d overheard, Samara was planning to be in Rebaccah’s Promise at least an eight-day. That would give him time to trap and smoke some meat for the coming moons. Hunting would also provide a reason for him to be in the area should anyone notice his camp and come to inquire.
Waiting for Samara and Wolfe to move on from Sunrise had tested his patience, even after he knew why they were delayed. Their apparent selflessness irked him. He knew that Samara had murder in her black heart. How could she not when she had killed his brother and then lied about what happened? After watching her behavior with Bishop, he knew her for what she was…a garbonhzan behind that innocent façade.
He fought the growing urge to find her and wring her neck like he would a peekie’s. That would be much too fast. He wanted her to suffer as his mother and father had. The only possible way that would happen would be when he killed her lover, the outlander. Soon he would follow her down to Dai’s Hamlet where the fool was tending woolies. Then he would finish it.
* * * * *
The cold fall rains poured down in the muddy field, soaking Bish, Gar and the herd of woolies. Bishop shivered as he tried to push his dripping hair out of his face. Gar and Bish were herding the woolies toward their barn and they weren’t cooperating. By the time all of them were safely in the barn, they were soaked to their skin. The men dried them off with rough heavy rags from the pile Gar collected just for that job. When they were all dry, Bish forked down a pile of hay to pack down around them to keep them warm. Finished at last, he wearily put the pitchfork away. He had been Gar’s helper for close to three moons and knew more about woolies than he ever wanted to know. Dai had long since gone back to Lost Market but apparently he checked in with Gar every few days. Bish still couldn’t speak and still worked under the restraints Dai had imposed but he’d had plenty of time for thinking.
He thought a lot about was the fact that Gar worked as hard as he did himself and there was absolutely no likelihood for Gar to do anything else in his future. Gar was very proud of the herd of woolies he had. He willingly labored to keep them healthy so he would have good fleeces in the spring for the barter. When they went into labor in the middle of the night, he was out in the barn caring for them, gently easing the babies from their mother’s warm body. Bish worked by his side but Gar tended them from the heart. Bish had never spent any time with someone who was so bound to his life choices. Gar would spend the rest of his life as a woolie farmer, taking joy in it.
Sometimes Bish thought about the seemingly infinite power Dai had. The little old healer had made no funny moves with his hands or other silly stuff when he imposed his compulsion on Bish. He just made a statement and it was so. Bishop had an idea that there were things Dai could do that Merlyn had never even dreamed about. And if Llyon was a more powerful healer than Dai, what did that say about his nephew’s capabilities? Bishop recalled the thorough care Llyon had give
n Traveller, the light touch that erased the pain, the gentle humor that defused Traveller’s sarcastic complaints. He had no doubt that Llyon was a Master Healer, none at all, but what else was he capable of besides healing? That was a scary thought.
Bishop had spent hours trying to gauge the realistic possibilities of escaping from the valley. Reluctantly he decided that escape was not going to happen. Once he conceded that he was going to be in the valley for the rest of his life, he wondered what he would do when Dai released him. He was willing to admit that he had a few things to learn about valley life but he didn’t plan to learn any more of them at Dai’s hands if he could help it. The price was too high.
Given the choice, what would he do? He needed a skill that he could barter for food and clothing. One possibility was his skill working with wood, though the tools that he’d encountered here were primitive compared to those he was used to. Foolishly, he longed for his workshop at home with its modern tools and then told himself to move past such longings. His life outside the valley was over. Now he must face the future.
Would that future have a place for Samara? He didn’t know. During his time with Gar, he had time to observe the mating relationships between the valley men and women with a clearer eye. Without a doubt he had messed up all around. He still wanted her but now he was too damn tired most of the time to worry about whether or not he was getting sex. Gar woke him before dawn and they worked until well after dark. That didn’t leave much energy for jerking off. The lack of bathing facilities and limited hot water took care of the rest.
While Bish finished cleaning the woolie barn, Gar fetched him a skin of water. He grimaced at the leathery taste of the water but it was cold and hadn’t made him ill so far. Just another thing to adjust to, he supposed. After they each had a drink, they plodded through the rain to the rowans’ barn. If woolies vaguely resembled sheep, rowans were a cross between a horse and a cow. Their chief characteristic seemed to be the huge quantities of manure they produced. Gar bartered the manure to a farmer down the road in exchange for woolie feed. Bish was intimately acquainted with this quality of theirs as he shoveled the barn out every day and now had the muscles to prove it. When he arrived in the valley, he had superficial muscles from swimming and tennis. Now he had heavy muscles from working hard each day and could feel the difference.