Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (13 page)

“Granny’s heart is breaking?” He sat on the hassock before her. “Archell will stay.”

“No, Archell,” she whispered. “You go. I’m due a little rest.” The rocker creaked, her eyes closed, and she hummed while her hand rested on his unkempt curls. “You’ve such a rare gift, my boy. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Use it. Let it grow into something grand.” Her voice weakened as her breathing slowed.

“Granny?” Archell clutched her hand.

“It’s all right.” Jewel drew to her knees beside him. “It’s all just been too much for her. I’ve made sure she’s not hurting.”

“Speak me a verse,” whispered Terry. “Something about the hills in summer.”

Wrapped in a comforting melody that helped link one ending to the next beginning, Archell’s words went something like this:

“Mountains high with sunny slopes—Draped in carpet green— Flowers bloom in rainbow hues—Blessed is the view. We often wonder when we look—If this awaits us all—When this life is through, we are weary—And sweet reward is due.”

Archell stopped singing as the chair fell still. He released Terry’s hand and finished the words, choking back tears as he altered them to fit the moment.

“Mountains high with sunny slopes—She once again can see— Petals drop to pad her steps—In Forever she’s renewed.”

Your good, your bad—your children learn from them both. —Jewel Kaelans

Fall winds found Kaelan’s new family snug within the volcano dome’s safe confines. They settled into a many-chambered cavern equipped with a natural smoke hole and shallow spring. Kaelan and Archell prepared for winter, stockpiling wood and dried nassie dung for the fires, while Jewel and Myrla swathed and bundled grasses for when the weather prevented the stock from grazing. Preferring to lone, Rankil hunted small game and gathered fall edibles, keeping the family from dipping into their vital stores. She had become sullen, a solitary figure, consumed by emotional scars far deeper than the physical ones jagging down her face and arms. She never focused it on others but appeared that way more and more often. Instead of the play and chitchat of the other children, she chose to refine her weapon skills, becoming a deadly shot with the bow and knife. Kaelan was beginning to teach her the more intricate points of swordplay when the first winter snow forced the family fully indoors.

“I had hoped Rankil would open to Myrla like she does Archell.” Jewel replaced the lid on the heavy pot hanging over the evening fire. “Rankil seems disinterested in her, short at times. Do you think they’ll ever find a common ground?”

“They will eventually.” Kaelan looked to where the tallest of her foster children dozed in a remote corner. “Rankil is going through a myriad of changes. Her mind is giving her mixed messages. She feels a child at times, other times, she sees herself as adult. Broadbacks do that, my love. Adolescence is a confusing time for us, more so, I believe, than it is for gentlewomen. Myrla seems to be accepting who she is well enough.”

“Yes, she does.” Jewel settled on their ground mat. “But she craves Rankil’s attention. I think therein lies the difficulty with their relationship. Rankil doesn’t know how to accept or demonstrate affection. Her time with Terry wasn’t enough.”

“Jewel,” chuckled Kaelan, coaxing the fire a little higher before feeding it. “You mean to tell me Myrla fancies Rankil? She just turned fourteen!”

“Don’t you remember how I pursued you when you were Rankil’s age?” Their daughter’s happy laugh drifted from where she and Archell were engaged in a Taelach game. They were far too busy carving their moves into the dirt to notice their observers. “I remember you avoided me for over two passes.”

“I hated you for the longest time,” admitted Kaelan as she viewed Rankil’s irritated reaction to the outburst. “Found you to be an annoying little pest. Then one day, close to winter like today, I saw you tending the smoker fires with Ashklara. You were a vision—hair a mess, face streaked with soot.”

“Don’t tell me that’s the first time you found me attractive!” moaned Jewel.

“It was. It was also the first time I realized you felt the same about me. You became embarrassed when you caught me staring, then mad for making you blush. I couldn’t take my eyes off you after that, took every chance I could to be near you, bothered your raisers until they gave me permission to court you.”

“You were a bit on the wild side.” Jewel pushed a strand of hair from her broadback’s eyes. “Gaylord and Cirina hoped me to take up with someone already stabilized.” She checked the cook pot and finding the contents thickened, swung it from the heat. “It’s ready. If you’ll get the mugs from the shelf, I’ll warm the bread.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” Kaelan used the fire poker to flip the ends of Jewel’s winter skirts. “Anything at all.”

“Kae!” Jewel’s reprimand turned to a laugh at sight of her lover’s deep leer. “You’re incorrigible!”

“And still a bit wild at times, in case you haven’t noticed.” Kaelan retrieved the mugs from one of the many shelves she’d mounted onto the cavern’s walls and preceded to fill them with the aromatic stew. “I think I’ll take Rankil mapping tomorrow.”

“Please do.” Jewel pulled crusty bread from the warming rock and placed two slices beside each mug on the serving tray. “It worries me when you go alone. Besides, Rankil could use a little, um, how should I say—”

“One-on-one attention from one who understands what is going through her mind at present?”

“Exactly.” Jewel called the children to their meal, the start point for their evening lessons. Instruction consisted of conversations in Taelach. Rankil and Archell had only listened during the first evenings of cultural teaching but were beginning to comprehend enough to venture choppy questions and replies.

“There’s half a mug left,” said Jewel in her clearest Taelach. “Someone must empty the pot for me. It’s shameful to waste what the Mother has provided us.”

“This Mother you speak of,” Rankil said, willingly receiving the scrapings. “Who is she?”

“She’s the creator, the one who made us all.” Kaelan stoked the fire against the icy breeze rising from the cavern entrance. “She watches us, guides us through life.”

“So, she is like Raskhallak?” The adults were quick to reject Archell’s comparison to the Autlach deity.

“No,” replied Jewel. “She is not unforgiving and demanding like Raskhallak, nor does she have lower deities. The Great Mother simply asks we live our lives within certain guidelines and recognize the efforts she puts into her creations by doing what we can to preserve them.”

Archell shook his head as he struggled to put Taelach beliefs into context with his raising. “But, Raskhallak says we are soulless unless we follow his commands. You are not soulless, Jewel, and neither are you, Kaelan. But, you don’t believe in Raskhallak, do you?”

“No, we don’t.” Jewel said to him. She appreciated, how in serious matters, he attempted to refrain from rhyming verse. “But neither are we denying you the right to believe in him if you so choose. It’s your choice.”

“I never thought much of a god who said I was damned from birth.” Rankil downed her remaining stew then cleaned the sides and bottom with her blade, catching the smallest of remainders. “Hard to believe in something that loathes your very existence.”

“Most sisters would agree.” Myrla rose and attempted to take Rankil’s empty mug to the washtub with her own.

“I can do for myself!” Rankil snatched the earthenware away. “I’m not helpless.”

“Never said you were!” Myrla masked her crushed sentiments with an indifferent sulk. “See if I ever do another helping deed for you!”

“Do them for Archell if you’re so inclined.” Rankil tossed the mug into the dishwater, lit a lantern, and made her way to the toilet dug in one of the cavern’s rear alcoves. “I’ll wash it as soon as I return.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll catch it with the others.” Jewel made a quick wash of the dishes while Archell, declaring it was his helping deed for the day, dried. He admitted he was still uncomfortable with the idea of a woman as the all-powerful creator but assured his foster raisers he embraced the idea of a kinder being watching over them.

“Rankil dankle is a moody girl,” he mumbled in broken Taelach as his cousin retook her remote corner. “She is confused by herself.”

“That she is.” Jewel emptied the water pan by fanning the contents over the ground a distance away. “Let’s see if your sweater sleeves are long enough. Kaelan swears they aren’t.”

“Kaelan is right,” he grinned when the woven nassie fleece barely reached mid-forearm. “Archell is too big.”

“No, dear.” Jewel pulled the sweater over his head. “I just made the sleeves too short. It’s nothing that can’t be remedied.” She returned to her mat and began to undo the right sleeve’s bottom stitches.

“Told you.” Kaelan began to pick the other sleeve. “Myrla, have you finished the head wrap I asked you to make?”

“I have.” Myrla produced the handiwork. Jewel looked over the weave and passed it back to its maker.

“Well done. Tight stitches and sound knotting. Want to give it to Rankil tonight?”

“I made this for her?” The nassie fleece drooped in Myrla’s slender hand. “Why would she wear something I made?”

“Because I expect her to.” Kaelan’s statement boomed across the stone walls in its most officious manner, rattling Rankil’s defiant ears. “Come sit with the family, Rankil. It’s warmer by the fire. We can’t have you sick.”

“I want to think.” Rankil turned her back to the fire.

“That wasn’t a request.” Kaelan sternly replied. “Come to the fire with your thoughts. You can keep them and yourself warm at the same time.”

Rankil took great pains in letting the others know how much she disliked the idea of joining them, thudding into the firelight and taking position as far away as possible, scooting closer only when Kaelan threatened discipline.

“Much better. You keep too much to yourself, daughter. Let others in now and then.” Kaelan nodded for Myrla to present her gift. “Myrla has been kind enough to make you a head wrap to ward off the winter winds.”

“Thanks.” Rankil grabbed for the wrap.

“No.” Kaelan batted Rankil’s hand away. “Serpent law bids the giver of a clothing gift get the privilege of trying it on the recipient. You will stand and let Myrla put it on you.”

“Must I?” moaned Rankil.

“Yes!” Kaelan glowered. “You will not be rude to a gift giver.”

Myrla had the momentary pleasure of demonstrating her affections to Rankil. She fussed over the fit, standing on tiptoe to straighten the headpiece around Rankil’s flame red cheeks.

“It fits.” Rankil scowled after one too many adjustments for her liking. “Thank you.”

“I think you need mitts, too.” Myrla stepped back. “Maybe some red ones.” She thought of how they would match Rankil’s blush. “Yes, definitely red.”

“I don’t need them, but thank you anyway.” Rankil rolled the gift into a neat ball and returned to her seat, her shoulders slumped.

“We all need winter mitts.” Myrla moved her mat closer, unsettling Rankil all the more. “And red is a good color for you. Snowberries will be ripe soon. You get the best color from them. I’ll dye the yarn and knit you some in the next moon cycle or so.”

Swayed by Kaelan’s critical gaze, Rankil accepted Myrla’s offer, her crimson blush fading as the conversation steered in other directions. Kaelan had let Rankil’s ill moods go unchecked for too long, a situation she remedied the next day as they mapped.

“I know things are difficult for you right now.” Kaelan held her voice to a gentle but firm tone. “But there’s no reason for you to mistreat Myrla. She’s only being kind.”

“It’s just that I’d rather be alone as of late.” Rankil curled on a low boulder. Kaelan scribbled their position onto a heavy hide scroll, the torch’s orange glow dancing high and back as she inked the small chamber’s position.

“A need for solitude is one thing. Demanding it by way of hatred is quite another.” Kaelan blew on the ink. “Manners are important throughout your life. My progenies will not be known for being lax in them.”

“Yes, Kaelan.” Rankil was quiet for a moment then tilted her head in a confused fashion. If anyone understood what was going on right now, she supposed it would be Kaelan. “Have you ever had so much going through your head you thought it might burst?”

“All the time. I’ve found it’s preceeded by a period of no thought at all.”

“That’s what gets me.” Rankil was relieved she wasn’t alone. “It’s all or nothing, empty or full. Why can’t it be one thing at a time?”

“Anger, fear, joy, frustration and pain in one giant burst and then a blank. Hard to control, impossible to express so someone else might understand.” Kaelan rolled the map and slid it into her sling. “Let’s see what’s down that right hand corridor.” They proceeded in silence, Kaelan almost inaudible as she measured the paces to the next chamber.

“Kaelan?”

“Don’t make me lose count.” There remained silence until they reached their destination, and Kaelan had recorded the distance. “You were saying?”

“Never mind.”

“You sure?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then tell me.”