Rain knew that wasn’t true. “I had no enemies, only faithless townsfolk who hoped to gain some advantage for themselves.”
“Or maybe someone just disliked the way that you always go around with your nose in the air, acting like you’re better than they are! Here I am, the pretty little lady—to the manor born.”
Della wasn’t the most pleasant woman to look upon. Nor was she ugly. But it was plain that she felt ugly inside. Her father had not had a title, though he was a respected cattleman.
“I’ve never done that,” Rain said. “I’ve never been a snob. Mother taught me to hold my head up high, to look others in the eye. That isn’t the same as being proud.”
Della opened her mouth, and then stopped, a sure sign that she had something truly devastating to say. “Going back to that boy would be a poor tribute to your father. He died to save your honor.”
That was the problem, Rain decided. He hadn’t died to save her honor. She’d seen the look in his eyes before the fight began. He was willing to kill Aaath Ulber—and Draken, and anyone else who got between him and his money.
“Father saved my honor,” Rain said candidly, “but took little thought for his own.”
“He was trying to feed his family,” Della said. “You’ll understand what he was going through someday, when you’ve spent enough nights awake worrying about how to feed your little ones.”
He could have tried to work it out, Rain thought. Della’s trying too hard to defend him. Suddenly she understood something. “You think it’s my fault that my father is dead?”
“He died to save your honor,” Della insisted. She stumbled over a root and caught herself, switched her babe to the other shoulder and patted its back, trying to soothe it to sleep. The babe was only nine weeks old. It was a colicky thing that spent most of the night crying. Now it raised its head, as if to let out a wail, but instead just lay back down to sleep.
I’d be colicky too if I had to drink Della’s sour milk, Rain thought.
She tried to track Della’s logic. When Rain had been caught and taken to Warlord Grunswallen’s manor, Owen had waited for the man to leave his home, and had then ambushed him in the market, overpowering his guards.
He’d tried to avenge Rain’s honor, but he’d struck too late. The fat old warlord had already bedded her.
Still, Owen had known that his deed would bring retribution on him and his family, so the whole family had fled that day, taking boats downriver for thirty miles, reaching a town in the full night, and then creeping overland for days.
They hadn’t stopped to purchase food for a week, hadn’t met with a stranger. They’d traveled only at night.
When they did resurface, two hundred miles from home, they heard rumors of how Owen Walkin’s entire realm had been “cleansed.”
At first, Rain imagined that it was their fault, that Grunswallen’s men had taken revenge upon the entire realm. But all of the bards agreed—the lands were cleared in the morning, and new tenants began to arrive by noon.
That could only have meant that Grunswallen had sold their lands months earlier—perhaps as much as a year in advance.
He’d simply become more rapacious as the time for the cleansing neared. Taking her as his slave was simply one last mad act among a long list of crimes.
So Rain’s father had saved her. In fact, he’d saved his entire family, and Rain felt grateful to him. But she did not feel guilty about the manner of his death.
She hadn’t wished it upon him. She hadn’t sensed it coming. She would have averted it, if she could.
“You say that my father died for my honor, but it seems to me that he died for all of us—just trying to get by.”
“You shouldn’t have stepped in!” Della said. “Your father couldn’t fight that giant—and you!”
Now Della’s true feelings came to the fore. Rain felt angry. She’d tried to talk her father down, stop him from committing a senseless murder. She’d hoped to remind of him of his honor.
But now she saw the true reason for Della’s rage. She suspected that Owen had been slow to react precisely because he feared hurting his own daughter.
Maybe she’s right, Rain thought.
She halted a moment, feeling ill, overwhelmed by the questions that raced through her mind.
Della’s youngest boy was trudging along ahead. He turned back and whined, “I want some water.”
“There’s water ahead,” Della urged.
The road before them wound over a long stretch of gray rocks that could not support even a gorse bush or a blade of rangit grass. The sun beat down mercilessly. Rain’s mother had forged far ahead of the rest of the group, and was now approaching a line of gum trees and wild plums, a sure sign that there was a creek. They had come perhaps two miles from the Borenson camp.
Suddenly Rain’s mother burst into a sprint, stretching her legs long as she pounded down the road. She looked as if she was breaking free, running from all the troubles of her past.
“There she goes,” Della said, as if she’d been expecting her to run. “Off to town. That mighty Lord Borenson is going to hang when she gets through with him.”
Rain’s mother was heading toward Fossil. It would be a long run—twenty miles—but she could make it in a few hours.
The blood burned in Rain’s face, shame and rage warring in her.
She worried how her mother would twist the tale. She couldn’t hope to gain much sympathy if she told the truth, so she’d have to lie: tell the townsfolk how a giant had killed her husband, a cruel beast who was intent on robbing a bit of salvage from her poor family. She’d neglect to mention what her husband had done.
But there was one thing that Rain felt sure of. No matter what happened, Aaath Ulber would not get a fair hearing. People would see his size, his strange features, and cast their judgment based on that.
Most likely the law would demand that he hang. Whether for the killing or for the robbery, it did not matter. The penalty was the same for both. Justice here in the wilderness was stark and sure.
Rain hurried her pace until she reached the line of trees.
They came upon a relatively broad creek, perhaps eight feet across. White gum trees grew along its banks, as did wild apples and plums. Rain crossed it and looked beyond—across a broad expanse of more gray rock, interspersed with fields of rangit grass. She studied her surroundings.
The fruit trees were the same breed as found in the Borensons’ old orchard. Most likely, burrow bears or borrowbirds had eaten the fruits in ages past, and then shat out the seeds here on the ridge. In this manner the fruit trees had gone wild along the creeks.
“This looks like a good place to camp,” Bane said. He was now the oldest of the Walkin brothers. So he urged the families to set camp beneath some trees, while the children went about searching for food.
An hour later, half of the children were asleep and Rain was wading in the creek, lifting rocks so that the children could catch crayfish, when Draken showed up.
One of the children saw him and raised a warning shout, as if he might have come to attack the camp.
As he came in out of the sun, beneath the shelter of some woody old peach trees, he called out, “Is Greta here?”
No one answered at first. Rain didn’t want to tell him. But finally she answered, “She’s gone . . . to Fossil.”
She watched his face fall, saw the fear building in his eyes.
Della laughed, “Your father is going to swing, if the town can find a tree big enough!”
Several of the children chimed in, “Yeah, he’s going to hang.”
Draken withstood the insults. “When she returns,” Draken asked, “will you give her this? It’s the salvage that Owen found last night.”
He held out a piece of white linen all bundled together.
Rain knew that he was trying to make things right. She suspected that he had come here on his own, defying his father.
“We don’t want your blood money,” Della calle
d out. “Besides, there isn’t half enough to buy us off.”
Rain’s thoughts raced. Della didn’t want his money but she wanted him to double his offer?
Reverently, Draken set the money on the ground. “I’m not trying to buy you off,” he said. “This is for Greta . . . and her children. I was hoping she could use it to get some land and some food, so that the children don’t starve.”
No one stepped forward to take the gold. He stood for a long moment, gazing at Rain, and she merely remained by the creek, her heart breaking.
“Just so you know,” he said, “it wasn’t my father who did this. Anyone could tell you, my father was a fair man. But since the change . . . well, you can see . . . Aaath Ulber . . . my father isn’t himself.”
Draken stood shaking, peering into Rain’s eyes. He was forty feet away, but seemed afraid to draw any closer.
“You’d best get out of here, little man,” Della called.
Draken peered into Rain’s eyes, and with all that was in him begged, “Come with me!”
Rain just shook her head. He was asking too much of her. She turned and raced off into the trees, tramping loudly, blinded by tears. When she was in the deep shadows, she swiped her face and turned to see Draken out in the sunlight, trudging over the barren rock on stiff legs.
“Your da is going to hang!” Della shouted, and the children offered up similar catcalls, even as one of them grabbed up the little bundle of gold.
Rain felt confused, broken. Draken had tried to do something noble, had tried to make things right. But her family was just being mean and vindictive.
We were nobles once, she thought. Now we are reduced to being beggars and thieves, liars and robbers.
She loved Draken; that much Rain knew.
He was decent and strong. As a child he’d served as a Gwardeen, a skyrider flying on the backs of giant graaks. She admired his courage, his devotion to the people he’d served.
She knew that in all of Landesfallen, she’d never find another man that she shared so much in common with. Both of their fathers had been barons in Mystarria. Both of them had fled to the ends of the earth to start a new life.
Suddenly she realized that their fathers had even shared a common flaw. Draken felt humiliated by his father’s actions, just as Rain was embarrassed by what her father had become.
If Draken were more like my father, would I love him better? Rain wondered.
The answer was obvious.
I would not love him at all, she realized. I would think him mean and lowly, unworthy of affection.
She felt deeply troubled by the realization. The problem was that her entire family was changing, becoming the kind of people that Rain could not respect or tolerate.
For long minutes she sat in the deepest shade there in the grove. She saw a flash of red above as a day bat went winging about, hunting insects.
At last she got up, and began walking west, toward Draken, and hopefully toward a brighter future.
She passed by the edge of camp, and worried what her family would say. It seemed that all eyes followed her—the children’s, her aunts’.
She’d reached the blinding sunlight and the path over the rocks before Della spat, “I hope you die with them!”
Rain considered many replies before she turned and said, “Della, I hope that you have a happy and prosperous life, and that all of you can find peace.”
Half an hour after Draken left, Myrrima realized that he’d stopped bringing in firewood. She knew instantly where he had gone.
She wasn’t sure if he’d return to her.
Aaath Ulber had finished digging the grave for Erin, and now he put her body in. He gave a worried glance to the east, looking up the trail for Draken, and finally acknowledged that his son was gone by saying, “I reckon we lost another one.”
Then he went down to the ship and made ready for the voyage by wrestling the big water barrels onto the deck and stowing them in the hold. It was a job befitting a man of his size. Myrrima estimated that each barrel weighed nearly three hundred pounds. She and Sage together could hardly budge one.
The family gathered at Erin’s grave, and each of them spoke for a moment, talking about the best and brightest memories of her that they would treasure.
When it was Myrrima’s turn, she spoke of the blue dress that Erin had made for her last Hostenfest with material that she had bought herself. Erin had sewn it in secret, out in the barn, and when she had brought it out as a gift, Myrrima had feared that it would be ill-fitting or badly sewn. So she was astonished to find that it fit perfectly, and that Erin had sewn it as well as any seamstress in town might have done.
Aaath Ulber talked about how Erin had always been one to do her chores. He told her once when she was six that it would be her job to feed the pigs, and every day after that she would be up at dawn mixing the mash for them. He’d never had to tell her again.
Sage told of a time when Erin was only a toddler, and wanted a horse. The family didn’t have one, so Sage took Erin out into the fields until they found a burrow bear. Sage had used a bit of dried plum to tame the creature, simply offering it fruit from her pocket until it followed her around, and then she put Erin on its back so that she could ride.
Myrrima laughed at the tale. She’d never heard it before, and she wondered how many other secret acts of kindness Sage had done for her children.
With a heavy heart, she looked off to the east, hoping that Draken would return, but she didn’t see him. It was past time to go.
So she reached down and grabbed the first handful of dirt.
“Wait,” Aaath Ulber said. “He’s coming!”
From his higher vantage point, Aaath Ulber could see better. He gave a shout. “Hurry up!”
Draken raced into camp a minute later, looking shaken and guilty.
Myrrima called, “You couldn’t get Rain to come?”
Draken shook his head.
Aaath Ulber asked in his deep voice, “Did you give them the gold?”
Draken nodded, face pale. He was ready to take whatever punishment Aaath Ulber proffered.
Aaath Ulber grunted. “I saw you take it,” he admitted. “It won’t make things right between us, but Greta will thank you for it, come winter.”
“Greta wasn’t there,” Draken said. “She’s running ahead, to tell the townsfolk in Fossil what happened.”
Myrrima worried. The townsfolk would be quick to sympathize with the poor widow once they heard her tale. The best that Myrrima could hope for was that they could get into town, grab a few supplies, and then escape before Greta made it there.
Then, of course, she had to worry about the mayor and his men, coming to seize the ship.
“So much to do, so little time,” Aaath Ulber mourned. He began shoving dirt over Erin’s grave.
Moments later the family was on the ship. Draken unmoored it, and together they hoisted the sail.
They weren’t sixty feet from shore when they heard a shout from the cliff up above.
Rain raced downhill, reached the shore, and leapt out into the water. The men struggled for a moment to drop the sail as Rain swam out to meet them. The ship drifted farther and farther from shore faster than Rain could swim. The ship was nearly a quarter of a mile out when at last Draken was able to pull Rain into the boat, sopping wet.
She hugged Draken and wept, and Aaath Ulber said dryly, “You didn’t happen to bring a change of clothes, did you?”
She just laughed and cried and shook her head no.
Myrrima felt happy, for a moment. Happy for Draken, happy for Rain, happy that she hadn’t lost another child.
But instantly Aaath Ulber pointed out, “We’d better get under way, lest Greta reach town before we do and get us all hanged.”
The race was on.
Myrrima shook her head sadly at a sudden realization. It wasn’t her husband that she was worried about: it was any townsfolk who tried to stop him.
9
RETURN TO THE OAK
Every man serves himself, and that is the proper duty of man. But once in a while, if we are to live in good conscience, we must serve something greater than ourselves. Give freely to the Powers that Protect, and humbly proffer that which you have to those who are in need.
—Jaz Laren Sylvarresta
The trip to Fossil took too long for Aaath Ulber’s comfort. He wanted to speak to no one, and no one wanted to speak to him. He was glad to have Rain aboard ship, though there was a wall between them. He wanted to offer his sympathy, but he knew that she would have none of it.
I have become a monster, he thought. I have lost myself.
At home in Caer Luciare, it was considered a boon to be born a berserker. His gift was a prize. But here in Landesfallen, the gift had become a curse. He’d always told his children that they should retain control of themselves.
But how could he ask it of them, when he himself was out of control?
Aaath Ulber had no answer except one: I shall try to do better in the future.
But he felt weak, bereft of comfort. His children had seen him at his worst, and he knew that his life could never be the same. They wouldn’t trust him.
So he set his mind to other matters.
Right now, he felt an urgent need to get out on the open ocean, set sail for Mystarria. He yearned to know what had befallen Fallion, and he wanted to get home to Caer Luciare—to the wife and children that must be wondering about him.
But it wasn’t his mood that made the trip feel slow. An afternoon breeze was blowing up the channel toward the village, and ship could have made good time but for the debris floating in the water.
Only a day before the Hacker River Valley had been filled with orchards and woods, cities and homes. Now the debris was rising to the surface. Whole trees lay hidden in waters the deep brown color of dark ale. Bits of bark and wood floated everywhere, along with the occasional cow or burrow bear or dead fish or person. Beams from barns and homes littered the surface of the channel, along with bits of thatch, here a stool, there a chest that held some young girl’s dowry.
Often their little ship plowed over a sunken tree, and Aaath Ulber would hear it scraping the hull—or he’d hit a submerged body and feel it bumping along.
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