Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar (28 page)

“Dory?”

She lifted stony eyes to Simen's face. “Better do as your ma says,” she sneered. “ 'Cause you always do as your ma says.”

Scarred hands curled into fists, but they stayed at his side. “Fine. I'll go.”

“I don't' care.”

“Fine.” But when he turned, Brock was in his way.

Jors tensed to urge Gervis forward, but at the last instant, for no clear reason, he changed his mind.

“Stay and say good-bye.” A heavy shove rocked him in place but didn't move him. “Stay.” And then gently. “Say good-bye to baby.”

Simen stared down into Brock's face, then wordlessly turned back to the grave.

Brock returned to his place and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “Sometimes,” he said, “babies die. Mamas and papas love them, and hug them, and kiss them, and feed them, and they die. Nobody did anything bad. Everyone is sorry. The baby wasn't bad. Babies are good. Good-bye, baby.”

“His name,” Simen said, so quietly Jors almost missed it, “was Tamas.”

Brock nodded solemnly. “Good-bye, Tamas. Everyone is sorry.” He lifted his head and stared at Tamas' parents standing hunch-shouldered, carefully apart. “Now, you cry.”

Dory shook her head. “Crying is for the weak.”

“You have tears.” Brock tapped his own chest. “In here. Tears not cried go bad. Bad tears make you hurt.”

“You heard Aysa. She buried a son and two daughters. She never cried.”

“She is the mean lady,” Brock said sadly. “You can't be the mean lady.” He opened his arms and, before Dory could move, wrapped her in one of his all-encompassing hugs.

Jors knew from experience that when Brock hugged, he held nothing back.

It was a new experience for Dory.

She blinked twice, drew in a long shuddering breath, then clutched at his tattered sweater and began to sob. After a moment, Brock reached out one hand, grabbed Simen and pulled him into the embrace.

“Cry now,” he commanded.

“I . . .” Simen shook his head and tried to pull away.

Brock pulled him closer, pushing Dory into his arms and wrapping himself around them both. Simen stiffened then made a sound, very like his son might have made, and gave himself over to grief. All three of them sank to their knees.

Gervis shifted his head.
:It seems they're getting it.:

 

With the funeral over, Jors pulled himself into something resembling official shape and sought out Aysa.

“Your son attacked a Herald.”

“
His
son just died. He was mad with grief.”

“You goaded his brothers . . .”

“To stand by him,” she sneered triumphantly. “I never told no one to hit you. And now I'm givin' you and that half-wit food and shelter. You can't ask for more, Herald.”

Given that he and Brock were trapped on her side of the river, he supposed he'd better not. “About the bridge . . .

Without the bridge, there was no way back. The river wasn't particularly wide, but the water ran deep and fast.

“You come out here to stick your nose in on us, then you're stuck out here till we head in to town and we ain't headin' nowheres until them hides is done. We wasted time enough with Dory having that baby. You want to leave before that, then you and the half-wit can rebuild the bridge yourself.”

“That's fair. I can't expect you to drop everything and assist me.” His next words wiped the triumphant sneer from her face. “I'll have them send a crew out from town.”

“You can't get word to town.”

He smiled, hoping he looked a lot more confident of the conversation's outcome than he felt. “There's a Herald there and I already have. By this time tomorrow, there'll be a dozen people in the valley.”

“Liar.”

“Heralds can't lie, Ma.”

“Shut up!” Aysa half turned and Kern winced away as though he expected to be hit. Lip curled, she turned back to Jors. “I don't want a dozen people in the valley! And it don't take a dozen people anyway. And the water won't be down enough tomorrow.”

“Then I'll have them come when the water goes down.”

“You won't have no one come. My boys'll rebuild.”

“Then the townspeople can help.”

“My boys don't need help. They ain't got brains for much, but they can do that. You let them know in town I'm hostin' you
and
the half-wit till then.”

It was a grudgingly offered truce, but he'd take it.

Jors wasn't surprised that Aysa'd refused help. The last thing she'd want would be her sons exposed to more people, to people who'd make them realize they were entitled to be treated with kindness. Over the next few days, while they waited for the water to recede, she proved that by keeping him by her side, keeping him from interacting with anyone else at the holding.

Brock, she considered no threat.

Which was a mistake.

Because Brock treated everyone with kindness.

 

“You call that supple? ! I could do better chewin' it! How could you be doin' this all your life and still be no damned good? You're pathetic.” Enric and Kern leaped back as she threw the piece of finished leather down at their feet. “Pathetic,” she repeated and stomped away.

“Mean lady calls me names, too,” Brock sighed, coming out from behind the fleshing beam and picking up the hide.

Enric ripped it out of his hands. “We ain't halfwits.”

“Mean lady calls me half-wit. Not you.”

“You
are
a half-wit!”

“Are you pathetic?”

Kern jerked forward, face flushed. “You callin us pathetic?”

“No. It hurts when people call names.” Brock looked from one to the other. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“If your half-wit falls in a liming pit,” Aysa snarled as Jors caught up, “my boys'll stand there and laugh.”

“You taught them that.”

“I'm all they got.”

“They're terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Dory isn't.”

“You think one of my boys is stupid enough to pick up a weakling?” Aysa nodded toward the garden where Dory heaped cabbage into a basket. “But she does what I say like the rest. If she doesn't like it, she can leave any time.”

While they watched, Dory lifted the basket, gave a little cry and let it fall.

Aysa snorted. “ 'Course that baby left her stupidly weak.”

Jors took step toward the garden but stopped as Simen came out of the chicken house and hurried across to his wife.

“Simen! You get back to work, you lazy pig.”

His mother's voice froze him in his tracks. Then he shook himself, and began retrieving the spilled cabbages.

“Simen!”

He ignored her.

“This is your fault, Herald. Turning a woman's family against her.” Muttering under her breath, she strode toward them.

Dory looked up, saw her coming and stood, hands on hips.

“You think you can face me down, girl? Simen, get up!”

He stood.

“Now get back to work.”

He took a step forward and put his hands on Dory's shoulders. “When I'm finished here, Ma.”

Aysa's mouth worked for a moment, but no sound emerged. Finally, she spun on one heel and stomped away.

The corner of Simen's mouth curled. “You'd best help here, Herald. I wouldn't follow her right now.”

 

The river was low enough the next day.

The bridge took only a day longer to rebuild and for the most part involved fitting the original pieces back into place.

Jors stared the completed bridge in amazement. “That's incredible.”

“Nothin' incredible about it, Herald,” Enric snorted. “Damned thing goes out every other season. Easier to build it so it breaks apart clean.”

His bare torso red with cold, Kern shrugged into a sheepskin coat. “Supports slip out so they don't shatter, logs end up in the same place, we float 'em back and rebuild. Any idiot can do it.”

“Trust me, I've crossed a hundred rivers—or maybe a couple of rivers a hundred times—but I've never seen anything like this.”

“Ma says it's not . . .” Simen paused, frowned, and looked up at the Herald. “It's really good?”

“It's really good.”

The brothers exchanged confused looks and Jors had the horrible suspicion this was the first time they'd ever been praised for anything.

 

The next day while Jors was checking Calida's girth strap for the trip back to town, Dory came out of the house with a bundle. “It's for Brock,” she said, folding back a corner. “I want you to give it to him for me.”

At first Jors thought it was white leather. Made sense; they were tanners after all. Then he realized the leather had been cut and sewn into a fair approximation of Herald's whites. Dory had clearly taken the pattern from his and sized it to fit Brock.

“I saw he didn't have none of his own.”

Oh, help.
“Dory, you know he's not . . .”

“Brother Herald! We go now? What you got?”

His hands and Dory's together closed the bundle.

“It's a surprise,” Dory said, her cheeks crimson. “For later.”

“Not for now?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He took Calida's reins and stood waiting patiently while Jors tied the bundle behind Gervis' saddle.

The whole family went with them to the bridge. Jors didn't know why the rest came, but he was certain Aysa just wanted to make sure they were off her land. He wanted to say something, something that would convince them they didn't have to live inside the darkness of an old woman's anger, but before he could think of the right words, Brock hugged Dory. And Simen. And Enric. And Kern.

Then he scrambled up into the saddle and, from the safety of Calida's back, took a deep breath, looked Aysa in the eye, and spoke directly to her for the first time. “Why don't you love your babies?”

Her lip curled. “I buried my babies, half-wit.”

He nodded toward the three young men standing to her right. “Not them.”

She turned, looked at her sons, looked back at Brock and muttered, “Half-wit.” But there was little force behind it.

Jors had no idea he was going to do what he did until he did it.

“Jors, you hugged mean lady.”

“Yeah. I know.” Although he still couldn't believe it. “Everyone else got hugged, I just . . .”

She'd pushed him away with such force that he'd slammed back into Gervis' shoulder.

“You are the bravest Herald. Ever, ever.”

“Thank you.”

Then she'd snarled something incomprehensible, turned, and stomped away.

He'd probably accomplished nothing at all by it.

The bundle Dory had given him pushed against the small of his back.

 

The weather remained clear and cool and just as the sun was setting, they stopped outside the village.

“Gate will close when sun is set,” Brock warned.

“I know. Brock, I think you should go back to Haven with Isabel.”

“Lots of Heralds in Haven?”

“Yes.”

Brock sighed and shook his head. “No. I have to stay here. I am the only Herald.”

“Brock, you're not . . .” He couldn't say it.

Brock waited patiently for a moment then smiled. “Is it later?”

“Yes . . .”

‘What's Dory's surprise?”

“Um . . . it's um . . .”

Both Companions turned their heads to look at him. Their expression said,
this is up to you.