“Amaree.”
“Grandad met the baker’s daughter by accident one day. He was working on his own while everyone else was off in the mines. Almost all of the walls were up, and he was experimenting with different brews to give the men. Getting quite good at it, too. He was gathering blackroot at the edge of the forest when a shoe dropped out of the trees and hit him on the head.”
This part of the story always made the girls in the audience giggle excitedly. And every so often. they would pipe in with the next few pieces of the tale.
“He looked up, and there she was!”
“And he said, ‘What in Spirit’s name are you doing up there?’”
“And she tried to jump down and run home, but he caught her around the waist and wouldn’t let go until she told him why she was up in a tree, watching him!”
During one such outbreak, Fox distinctly heard one of the miners by the fireplace say to his companion, “Every girl in the valley hopes she can have a love story like this one. So steer clear of the woods in the springtime. Shoes dropping all over the place from eager hands.”
“Amaree had seen Grandad trading in the valley square one evening,” Lai would continue. “She heard him talking about spices and recipes with her father, and you might say she liked the look of him. The prospects for a baker’s youngest daughter aren’t the best, so Amaree took matters into her own hands. And when Grandad caught her that day, she offered her services.” Here, Lai would smirk mischievously. “Offered, I say, but truthfully she wouldn’t take no for an answer. When Grandad sent her home, saying he didn’t need any help, did she listen?”
An emphatic “No!” from her listeners would echo through the common room.
“Every morning he would find her in the kitchen, pounding out dough and grinding cinnamon. And every morning he would kick her out. But she came back in the evening with the dinner customers. She’d sweep floors and clean up tables. Run drinks from the bar. She would stay until closing. For weeks this went on, until one day Grandad didn’t turn her away. He handed her a key and said, ‘Take the room at the far end. I never fill it anyway.’ They were married at the midsummer festival, and the Five Sides remains, to this day, a tribute to the family they created here when they brought the valley together.”
Fox had heard the story so many times, but it still made him feel warm and at home. He looked around the empty common room and smiled to himself, excited for nightfall when the place would fill up with music and miners and games.
A heavy tread on the back stairs announced the arrival of Lai’s father, Borric Blackroot. Moments later he emerged, a fresh barrel of drink balanced easily on his shoulder. He was a massive bear of a man who made Fox’s own father seem downright weak in comparison.
“What’s this?” he said, his booming voice echoing in the empty tavern. “Dripping all over my clean floor?”
He set the barrel down and swept Lai up into his arms. “I ought to send you off to bed without supper. For a month! How would you like that, little missy?” he said. He sounded completely serious, and slightly terrifying, but Fox knew the man all too well. Sure enough, Lai laughed and planted a kiss on her father’s cheek, and his false anger melted into a warm smile. “I suppose I’ll let it slide, just this once.” But Fox and Lai both knew that Borric would never punish her, nor would he ever need to. Lai did more than her fair share of work around the tavern, and the few times she actually did get into any real trouble, Borric would laugh it off and say “That’s my girl!”
Fox found Lai and her father to be fascinating. They seemed to enthusiastically break the rules of Thicca Valley, where people were often smaller and stockier than they were in the south. But here was Borric, big enough to graze the sides of any door frame, and his daughter, slight and delicate and taller than all of the other girls. They were a mismatched pair if ever there was one, and they attracted oddballs and strays like moths to a candle. And Fox, quite proudly, was one of them.
Borric set Lai back on her feet. “Off to the kitchen then. Put those wet things up to dry, and take care of those mussels. You brought ’em, you clean ’em. Picck’s got enough work to be getting on with, without you adding to it.” As Lai scrambled into the kitchen, Fox scooped his boots and socks off the floor and nodded to Borric, who hoisted the ale barrel onto his shoulder again and said, “Your mother’s doing well, I take it?”
“Very well, sir,” said Fox. “She’s cleaned the house so much this week, Father won’t even know he’s in the right place.” And he followed Lai into the kitchen as Borric’s hearty laughter filled the air.
The kitchen fireplace was already lit and crackling merrily, bathing the room in warmth. At the hearth, Lai was laying out her wet socks and tucking firestones into the toes of her boots to help them dry faster. As Fox joined her, there was a cheerful cry of welcome from across the kitchen. “Morning, Foxglove!”
Lai grinned at Fox, and he rolled his eyes. His full name, Forric Foxglove, was almost never spoken. He’d always preferred simply Fox. But Lai’s cousin Picck, the kitchen boy, ignored this completely. Fox dropped his socks next to Lai’s and turned to greet Picck with a resigned smile. “You owe me for that, Picck-ling,” he said.
Picck smiled a wide, red-cheeked smile, and Fox felt his slight irritation simply fizzle away. Picck was so genial, and so delightfully odd-looking, that Fox could never stay mad at him for long. Lai’s cousin looked absolutely nothing like her or her father. His hair was so curly and bushy Fox wondered how he ever ran a comb through it. His ears stuck out too far, and his nose was almost the only thing on his whole face that you noticed. Still, he had always been a good friend to Fox, despite his oddities. “Well, I’m working on something special just for you, you know,” he said, giving Fox a quick punch on the arm. “Smell it out, and you’ll get the first taste.”
Obediently, Fox closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Rabbit; cinnamon sticky buns; fresh spring onions; rabbit stew with carrots and corn-silk mushrooms. And there, another scent.
Fox felt a wide grin spread across his face as he opened his eyes. “My bread.”
“Ha!” said Picck, clapping Fox on the back. “I tell you, that nose of yours could find a lost snowflake in a blizzard.”
“The rosemary bread?” asked Lai excitedly. When Picck nodded, she squealed excitedly. “Oh, how long until it’s done?”
“Another hour, but you get those mussels done and it’ll make the time go by faster.”
They set to work, sitting and scrubbing the mussels by the fire. As they did, Picck bustled around the kitchen singing.
Picck was nearly seventeen, but he’d been working at the Five Sides since he was nine. He belonged to Borric’s younger sister, and while all her family were miners, Picck’s lungs weren’t right for mining work. But even from childhood, his family knew he was a very gifted cook. So, when it came time for him to start learning a trade, he moved into the kitchen, where he rolled out a sleeping pallet by the fire for himself every night. Borric had offered him a room, or even a space in the basement storage, but Picck refused time and time again. So finally, they just let him be.
The mussels were scrubbed clean and a whole bundle of onions chopped when finally Fox and Lai were excused with a hot loaf of rosemary bread each. They sat on the bar in the common room to eat it, munching away happily as they watched Borric wipe down the mantle.
And then they sat playing cards, waiting for the tavern to fill.
The children were first in. As they finished their chores, they came looking for news. When Borric said he hadn’t heard anything, some of them joined in the card game, and others went home to update their mothers. Then some of the shopkeepers wandered in and ordered drinks, and sat down to wait. Outside, a light snow began to fall as afternoon faded into evening, and Fox smiled to himself in satisfaction. His nose never lied.
The youth from the mines started trickling in, shaking snow from their hair and clothes. A handful joined in the game, but most sat, exhausted, by th
e now-roaring fire. By full dark, it seemed most of the valley was packed into the Five Sides. Farmers and their wives, and most of the miners. Almost all of the children had come back and were gathered on or around the bar with Fox and Lai. Many of the waresmen’s wives were perched on stools by the fire, telling their neighbors over and over that no, they hadn’t heard anything yet.
Hours dragged by, with heads turning every time the door opened and people pressing their faces to the windows whenever someone thought they heard something. But finally, when Dirrik Bracken fell asleep in his stew, the women of the valley seemed to decide that they’d had enough waiting for tonight. Fox watched as the tavern began to empty again, with mothers plucking their children out of the group and wives dragging their husbands away to bed. His own mother, who’d made a brief appearance for supper and then disappeared again, wasn’t the kind to come and fetch him, but Fox knew on his own when it was time to go home. He said goodbye to Lai and fetched his warm, dry shoes from the kitchen, then journeyed out into the cold spring night.
It was still snowing, but Fox didn’t mind. It would be over by tomorrow morning, he was sure. As he made his way home, his eyes kept wandering to the Highborns. He wondered if Father was as eager to get home as they were to have him. Well, he would ask him tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Fox stopped, frowning. He hadn’t meant to think it, but now that he had he was sure. Tomorrow. The caravan would be home around midday tomorrow. He could feel it, just like the snow. He could smell it.
Fox rubbed his nose vigorously and then breathed in, focusing hard. There were the smells of the tavern behind him, and the Lillywhites’ grain mill far off to his left. The familiar odors of the valley that he’d known all his life. And then, there was just the hint of something else. Something he couldn’t place. But he knew it was the caravan.
He wondered for a moment if he should turn back, and announce to those few left at the tavern that the caravan was near. But, almost at once, he reconsidered. No one would believe him, of course. Why would they? Smelling the caravan ... it sounded like nonsense, even to him. Lai would believe him, perhaps, but she would be busy now helping her father clean up. If tomorrow came and went with no homecoming, then who had to know? And if they did show up ... well. That was another matter entirely.
✽ ✽ ✽
Fox didn’t waste time waiting by the bedroom window the next morning. Instead he dressed at top speed, hurried through breakfast and then got right to his chores. By the time Lai came to see him, Fox had weeded the back garden, gathered wild goose eggs from the riverbank, and snared a beaver which he then traded for a packet of soap cakes. Lai found him on the front porch, scrubbing a pair of trousers in the washbucket. “Need a hand?” she asked, leaning on the railing.
“Nope,” he said, “almost done.”
“Good,” said Lai. “Then you can come berry-picking with me. Dad says the timing is perfect, because the lingonberries are newly showing, and they’re just tart enough for his pies!”
Fox looked up quickly from his washing. “Did he hear something? About the caravan? Because if he’s starting to make his pies, it means he’s preparing for the Homecoming and that means he knows —”
“No, nothing yet,” said Lai. “He just wants to get things ready. He’s waiting to make the crust, but he wants his berries now before the rabbits start getting at them.”
Fox wrung out his pants and hung them over the porch railing to dry, thinking hard. Then, as casually as he could, he said, “Maybe he should start making all those crusts anyway. You know, just in case.”
“In case?”
“In case the caravan comes home soon ... or today.” Fox turned away from his laundry and went on quickly. “I mean, so many pie crusts must take a long time, right? And he should really be prepared, shouldn’t he? Because there’s always a chance that they could be home sometime today ... this morning, or afternoon, or ...”
“Fox?” said Lai carefully, “have you heard something?” When Fox didn’t answer, she cocked her head to one side curiously. “What’s going on?”
Lai would believe him. She had to. She was Fox’s best friend in the entire world, and she had always been on his side. Fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, he said, “Last night ... I had a feeling. It was like I could smell them coming.”
“Like with the snow?” said Lai.
“Exactly!” said Fox excitedly, glad she was catching on so quickly.
“So when are they due?”
“This afternoon. At least, I think this afternoon. This has never happened to me before, so I’m not exactly sure, and I don’t —”
“You don’t want to say anything, in case it turns out not to be true,” Lai finished for him. She stood there for a moment, surveying him thoughtfully. Then, she seemed to come to a decision. She turned abruptly and started back down the road.
“Where are you —”
“I’ll take care of it,” she called over her shoulder. “Come by when you’re done!”
Fox watched her go, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Not for the first time, he found himself amazed by Laila Blackroot.
✽ ✽ ✽
An hour before the midday bell, Fox let himself into the tavern’s kitchen entrance and stopped, staring around in amazement. A thin cloud of flour hung in the air, and he was almost overwhelmed by the smells of fresh berries and honey. Picck and Borric were rolling out and shaping pie crust so fast it made Fox dizzy just to watch. He found Lai in the far corner, peeling her way through a pile of small, pink frost apples.
“Lai?” he said. “What did you do?”
“Da, Fox is here!” called Lai, barely looking up from her work.
“Ah, excellent.” said Borric, looking over his shoulder and spotting Fox. “C’mere, boy. I’ve got a job for you, too.”
When Fox ambled over to the long counter, still amazed at the pie production surrounding him, Borric handed him a heavy bowl full of freshly-washed blackberries. “There’s cinnamon in the cupboard over there. Just finished grinding it this morning. Go mix.” And then he turned back to his crust and Fox hurried back to Lai’s corner, fishing the cinnamon out of the spice cupboard on the way.
He sat cross-legged on the floor next to Lai’s stool and began stirring cinnamon into the berry bowl, delighting for a moment in the mixture of smells. Then he said in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, “What’s going on? What did you say to him?”
Lai glanced quickly over her shoulder to make sure her father was occupied. Then she said quietly, “I told him you got a messenger bird from your father, but that it wasn’t set in stone and you didn’t want to excite the whole town. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
His secret. Was it that? For a moment, Fox wondered what would be so wrong with telling Borric that he simply smelled the caravan coming. Like he could with the snow. His keen nose for weather was widely known, and Picck was fascinated by his ability to identify any scent. So why was this any different? Fox couldn’t even explain it to himself. But for some reason he felt that if people knew, it would change the way everyone looked at him. For now, better to keep it to himself.
The midday bell rang from the heart of the town square, making Fox jump and drop his spoon into the thick berry paste. He looked up and met a pair of eyes that danced with excitement. “Well,” Lai said, “go and look!”
Fox stood nervously and crept out into the common room, wiping his hands on his shirt front as he did so. He climbed up onto one of the high benches at a table by the window and wiped a spot of glass clear with his sleeve. His eyes found the mountain road, and for a moment he saw nothing but grey and snow. And then, a flash of color caught his eye, and he shifted his gaze. There, making its way down the last curve into the valley, was the caravan. Father was home.
Chapter Two
The Homecoming
Things started happening so quickly Fox could barely keep up. The bells in the square began to ring out again, and messenger birds filled
the sky, heading to the mines and the outlying farms. Within minutes, the town square was filling with eager families, and Borric was stoking the common room fire. Then Fox was swept up in a flood of people taking refuge from the cold at the Five Sides. He scrambled out of the way and hid in the kitchen with Lai, who was pulling a hot pie out of the oven. “It’s mad out there!” said Fox.
“As it should be!” said Picck, swooping in quickly to scoop the pie out of Lai’s hands and set it on the cooling rack. “A little madness now and then is good for you, Foxglove. Embrace it!”
“Go,” said Lai excitedly. “Go see your father!”
“Yes,” said Picck sagely. “Go to him. Brave the madness!”
Fox grinned and hurried back to the kitchen doorway, peering out into the common room. He could hear cheering and whistles outside. He put one foot out the door and then stopped, hesitating. In a moment Lai was at his side. “Fox? What’s wrong?”
Fox turned to her. “I was right,” he said quietly. “I knew they were coming.”
“Yes,” said Lai, just as quietly.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
Lai bit her lip, for a moment looking just as lost as he felt. “I don’t know,” she said finally. She squeezed his shoulder, and Fox took a deep breath. Then, he plunged into the sea of bodies, threading his way through the crowd to the open door.
Wagons and carts of all sizes were parked outside the tavern. As Fox watched, a handful of women detached themselves from the crowd and ran to the caravan, throwing themselves into their husbands’ arms. Children followed behind them, calling out and waving, and Fox craned his neck, looking around for his own father. But before he could look very far, he was scooped up into the air and squeezed in a strong hug. “Dad!” he said, throwing his arms around Father’s neck and hugging just as tight.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 2