Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One (20 page)

He knew now they were real and where they came from, but not what he would be asked to do about them. They ached inside him, and he put his hand over his spirikai. He didn’t know if it was their pain he felt or his, or if it mattered. He walked.

Suddenly he smelled wood smoke and looked up. To his dismay, he saw he had veered away from his house and come upon Moro’s. He stopped, meaning to turn and stride off, but his eyes were drawn to the fine horse tethered outside the house. It was brown, with two white forefeet.

He knew this would happen. He knew that someone would surely seek out Mariat. But did it have to be Gwin?

He stood there, his hands clenched, until the bitterness ebbed away. It left behind a soul-soaking grief. He had made his choice and given Mariat the freedom to choose as well.

Riah had told him there was no limit to redemption, but it was atonement that had no end.

The toltyr heavy upon him, he turned away. It was hard to see on the way back.

That night in the loft, he reached out to Rulve, seeking the all-encompassing love that he had once experienced. His mind told him it was there, all around him in the dark, but he couldn’t feel it. Even if he did, how would that change things or make anything easier? His losses lay behind him and couldn’t be retrieved, and an unknown destiny awaited him and couldn’t be avoided.

He climbed down the ladder, put on his sheepskin jacket, and trudged a short way into the dark. The glittering sky of winter arched over him, and the icy night settled onto his upturned face. Embedded stars pulsed with half-perceived blues and reds and golds, and the vast power of creation thrummed behind them. The constellation of the Owl was rising over the deadlands, a lonely Walker glowing in its heart. He longed for a warm presence, but instead this distant immensity hung over him. The night was cold, but not cold enough to freeze what ached inside him.

A sense of unease gradually crept over him. He swept his eyes around the horizon. It surrounded him, and he stood alone in the center of its dark circle. 

In the middle of Herb-Bearer, just days before Etane had hoped his field-burn and wedding would take place, a sudden blizzard struck. Sheft and Tarn hustled Padiky and the chickens into the barn, but all day the wind rattled the door and whistled down the chimney, and snow filtered through tiny chinks in the north wall. When Sheft peered through the window of his loft, he could barely see the barn beyond the thick, swirling snowflakes.

On the second morning the storm momentarily let up. A huge drift blocked the door, so Sheft had to climb out the kitchen window. The whole fieldhold had changed into a vast whiteness, and everything lay under a strange, moist silence. From the look of the sky, there was more bad weather to come. They spent the rest of the day clearing a way to the barn, distributing feed, and filling the water trough. From time to time, a few flakes filtered down.

When all was done and Sheft was trudging toward the house, a sudden awareness of the Riftwood prickled across the back of his neck. He turned to look at it. The trees stood bone-silent and aware.

He had promised Yarahe that he would soon go there. As he watched, the Riftwood seemed to inhale the light from the snow-covered fields and exhale a twilight that crept across the river. Uneasy, he entered the house.

That evening the wind picked up again and soon sharpened with needles of ice. He lay on his mattress as the roof crackled with every gust, as the window thumped and rattled and the dried herbs hanging in the eaves twisted in the cold air.

When he ventured out in the morning, everything was covered with a veneer of ice. The sunrise had glazed the tops of the trees with gold, and dazzling crystal sheathed every hard bud or withered leaf. The slightest breeze filled the air with creaking sounds, like straining ropes, and caused bits of ice to rattle down from branches onto the hard-crusted snow. The storm had swept past, leaving behind a catastrophe. 

Fruit and nut trees all over the valley would be damaged, heavily-burdened roofs would collapse, and the toll would be high for any livestock caught in the open. With the roads impassable, some families in the more isolated fieldholds might be marooned in their houses for days.

At least, he thought, Tarn would not be going to the inn at Ferce for a while.

#   #   #

After Cloor had extinguished the lanterns out front and gone home, Ubela was left to put the last of the mugs away. There was a tap on the back door and, as she had known he would, Gwin came in. He stamped the snow off his boots, flung his cloak onto the work-table, and looked at her hungrily.

She rushed into his arms. “I can’t stay long,” Ubela murmured. “My stepfather—”

“You’ve been out late before,” he whispered in her ear. “And you only have to go next door.”

With a low chuckle, she stood on tip-toe to nibble his ear. “I’m persuaded, my sweet.”

So they lingered, and finally Gwin slipped out.

Holding her cloak tight about her, Ubela hurried down the cleared path between Cloor’s and her house behind the butcher shop. Surely her stepfather would be in bed by now.

He wasn’t. He began railing at her the minute she wiped her feet on the mat. “Where were you?” he demanded, his small eyes narrowed in suspicion. He put down a tankard and stood, swaying slightly, to face her. “Who were you with?”

Sokol was a powerful man, whose big hands were accustomed to heaving sides of meat and hacking through gristle, and Ubela was terrified of him. She hung up her cloak and turned to him, trying to keep a quaver out of her voice. “I was just finishing up at the ale-house. And I wasn’t with anybody. Just ask Cloor.” She licked dry lips. “Did you eat? Do you want me to make you something?”

He grabbed her with a hairy arm. “Was it Gede?”

“No! Let me go! It wasn’t anybody.”

“You know what I’d do to him, don’t you?”

Twice he had dragged her into the shop out front and showed her his big, carefully sharpened knives. “Yes, you told me. But I was alone.”

“No man in this village must touch you. Damned if any of them are good enough for you.”

Ubela smelled the beer on his breath and pulled away from him. “They don’t come near me. I make sure of it. I’m always with Wena or Melis. Just ask them.” 

“I will,” he muttered, staring hard at her. “I will ask them.” A different light crept into his eyes, and his gaze moved slowly down her body.

“I’m going to bed now,” Ubela said quickly. “I’m very tired and it’s—it’s my moon-time.” She felt his look on her as she entered her sleeping room and drew the curtain behind her.

Since her mother’s death, she had pleaded over and over for a real door, but he had never found the time to install one. So far, the flimsy curtain kept him out. She had her back to it, and began undressing for bed when the curtain was suddenly whisked aside. She whirled to face him, clutching her blouse in front of her.

He reached for her, then stopped. “What’s that on your shoulder?”

“What? Where?” 

He spun her sideways, into the light coming from the other room. “This, right here. By Ele, it's a love-bite!”

Ubela almost blacked out from fear. She didn’t think Gwin had marked her. Sokol jerked her around to face him. “Who did this to you?”

“No one! It’s a spider bite.”

“I’m no fool! I know what I see.”

“It fell from the rafters while I was cleaning at Cloor’s!”

He slapped her. She staggered back, her cheek stinging, barely holding onto her blouse. 

“Tell me, or you’ll regret it.” He took a step forward, his big hand clenched into a fist.

“It was the foreigner! Tarn’s son. He was there at the back door, just as I turned to leave Cloor’s. I tried to stop him, Sokol, but I couldn’t.”

“You’re lying to me!”

“No! Who else would do such a thing? You’ve heard the rumors. They’re true. They’re all true, and here, right here on my shoulder, is the proof.”

“Why didn’t you scream? I would’ve heard.”

“He said he would kill me if I did. He had a knife.” 

“He took a
knife
to you?”

She nodded, fear thumping in her chest. “A—a carving knife. But I threw a pan at him and got away.”

“By Ele’s eyes,” he shouted, whirling about and stumbling out of the room. “He wants to play with knives? Well, I’ve got plenty right here!”

Ubela flung on her blouse and ran to stop him. “He’s gone. You’ll never find him in the dark. Tell Parduka in the morning.”

“Eh? Why her?”

“She knows the truth about the foreigner. Lots of the men do. I heard them talking at Cloor’s, about how they meet in the House of Ele at night. Join them, Sokol. They’re making plans about what should be done.”

“I don’t need any plans,” he muttered. “My knives are my plans.” Breathing heavily, he sank down at the table again. He muttered curses against the demon-spawned foreigner, the council that let him live, and their weak-kneed Holdman. At last he noticed his cup was empty. “All this talk,” he grumbled, “makes me thirsty. Fill up my cup, Ubela. That’s a good girl.” 

She obeyed, shaking with relief. Now he would drink himself into a stupor, and no more curtains would be wrenched aside this night.

#   #   #

The next morning, Parduka closed the door on the butcher’s retreating back, her heart full of praise for the goddess. Nine men were needed to form the new council, and she had just been granted the seventh. All her persuading and cajoling these past weeks—at cremations, during worship, at secret meetings in the night—were bearing fruit.

As the snow melted and the damage in the surrounding fieldholds was revealed, farmers and villagers came to the House of Ele to bemoan their losses. To these also she preached her message. “Dorik and his cronies have forsaken the righteous path, and now Ele punishes us all! Our goddess will relent—but only when we face our responsibilities, take up our courage, and reclaim our ancient heritage. She will take us to her bosom again, like a mother who comforts her children, but only when we form a new council and restore her sacred Rites. But we must act quickly, for the dark moon of Seed is approaching.”

Her words helped them place blame where it belonged, fueled the anger needed for change, and added urgency to their task. By the end of the month, she judged it was time for another meeting and sent word out through Gwin.

#   #   #

It was the first day of Seed. Although there was a chill in the air, the sun shone brightly, a few red-winged blackbirds were calling their
conk-a-rees
near the river, and the air smelled strongly of earth. The blizzard of two weeks ago lingered only in a few patches of snow under the long-skirted fir trees. Out in the yard, Sheft scooped up a handful of soil. It stuck together in a ball, too wet for planting, but just right for a field-burn.

Etane must have thought so too, because his face was flushed with excitement when he appeared at Sheft’s door a short time later. “Tomorrow, Sheft! We’ll start digging the perimeter tomorrow, and the burn will take place the next morning. Thanks to you, I’ll be a married man that very afternoon.”

Field-burns were much anticipated celebrations, especially if they preceded a wedding. Guests from neighboring villages traveled to the prospective groom’s house to feast, catch up on gossip, and help clear a field for the young couple. The actual wedding ceremony, a simple exchange of vows in the presence of the Holdman, usually took place on the third day after the burn. But, because Sheft had spent so much time during the winter cutting brush and raking it into piles, Etane would have his bride at the end of only two.

“That’s what I hoped for,” Sheft said. “I know you did too.”

Etane nodded, and his eyes shone with so much happiness that Sheft had to look away. 

“I’m in a rush,” Etane went on. “A lot of Leeza’s relatives will be spending the night, so my dad will need help spreading straw in the barn for those who can’t fit in the house. Ask Tarn if he can come over today to give us a hand setting up and all.”

A thought dawned on Sheft. “All these people will have to be fed. It sounds like a lot of work for—” He found he couldn’t say her name, so ended with a lame-sounding “for everyone.”

“Leeza’s mother and sister are already here, helping Mariat peel and bake and whatnot. And—I’m sorry, Sheft—Dad invited Gwin to the field-burn. Gwin’s got my father convinced he’s a ‘fine lad,’ and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I’ll make sure he and the others will be working on the other end of the field from you.”

“I understand. I’ll be leaving, but you have to live with these people.”

At this reminder of his departure, Etane’s face fell. “I’ll be sorry to see you go. Maybe—maybe me and Leeza can come up to Ullar-Sent someday and visit you.”

Sheft squirmed inwardly at the assumption he’d allowed his friend to make. But the truth was just too complicated. “Maybe. But first I want to give you something.” He went into the house and emerged with the bowl he had carved. “This is for you and Leeza.”

With a half-smile, Etane ran his finger over the wheat design. “This will always remind us of you. Thank you.” He grabbed Sheft in a thumping hug, then hurried home over the fields.

#   #   #

That night Parduka held her lantern high as seven cloaked figures darted through the back door of the House of Ele. Their cast-back hoods revealed the angry, indignant, or determined faces that belonged to Pogreb, Blinor the miller, Gwin, young Temo, two of Greak’s neighbors, and the newcomer to their group, the butcher Sokol.

Carrying a lantern, Parduka led them to a shadowy corner of the hall, swept aside a weaving that hid a door, and ushered them into the low, narrow room in which they had been meeting. She placed the lantern on a small table, then rubbed her hands to warm them as the others found places on the two short rows of benches. They all seemed distraught. 

Asher, one of Greak’s neighbors, was practically moaning. “Most of my fruit trees—oh Ele, even my beautiful peaches—they’re all ruined. Blasted by ice. How will I feed my family?”

“Every one of our chickens is gone,” the other neighbor said bleakly. “Blizzard took the fence, and wolves got ‘em. They were supposed to feed us for the rest of the winter.”

Temo grabbed her arm. “Mama broke her leg,” he cried, “slipping on the ice! She’s an old woman, priestess, still grieving Father’s loss.”

“I feel for you,” Parduka told them. “My heart breaks over all these disasters.” She raised her clenched fists in frustration. “But every one of them could have been avoided! Even the deaths from the fluenza. Ele would never have sent these punishments if the council had listened to reason.”

Asher spread out his big, calloused hands. “How can the elders look at all these catastrophes and still protect the foreigner? Can’t they see he’s at the very root of them?”

“He took a knife to my Ubela,” Sokol spat out. “I won’t be satisfied until I take a knife to
him
.”

In the midst of their talk, Rom and Gwin came through the door. Parduka’s heart leaped when she saw that two others followed them: the cattleman Delo and Olan, who had barely survived the fluenza. She had tried to convince both of them to come, but Rom apparently had had better luck. The blacksmith threw back his hood and gave her a worried look, as if to say, “I’m not sure about these two.”