“They do if you tumble down a cliff looking for some in a mist,” I told her dourly, and turned my face aside from her.
For a long time, that was as close as I came to having a conversation with anyone.
We journeyed on, moving only as fast as laden wagons and a herd of sheep would permit. The days were remarkably similar. The countryside we passed was remarkably similar. There were a few novelties. Sometimes there were other folk camped at the watering places we came to. At one, there was a tavern of sorts, and here the caravan master delivered some small kegs of brandy.
Once we were followed for half a day by folk on horseback who might have been bandits. But they veered off and left our trail in the afternoon, either bound to a destination of their own, or deciding what we possessed wasn’t worth the effort of a raid. Sometimes other folk passed us, messengers and folk traveling on horseback, unslowed by sheep and wagons. Once it was a troop of guards in the Farrow colors, pushing their horses hard as they passed us. I felt an uneasiness as I watched them pass our caravan, as if an animal scrabbled briefly against the walls that shielded my mind. Did a Skilled one ride amongst them, Burl or Carrod, or even Will? I tried to persuade myself it was merely the sight of the gold-and-brown livery that unnerved me.
On another day we were intercepted by three of the nomadic folk whose grazing territory we were in. They came to us on tough little ponies that wore no more harness than a hackamore. The two grown women and the boy were all blond with faces baked brown by the sun. The boy’s face was tattooed with stripes like a cat’s. Their arrival occasioned a complete halting of the caravan, while Madge set up a table and cloth and brewed a special tea which she served to them with candied fruit and barley-sugar cakes. No coin exchanged hands that I saw, only this ceremonial hospitality. I suspected from their manner that Madge was long known to them, and that her son was being groomed to continue this passage arrangement.
But most days were the same plodding routine. We rose, we ate, we walked. We stopped, we ate, we slept. One day I caught myself wondering if Molly would teach her to make candles and tend bees. What could I teach her? Poisons and strangling techniques, I thought bitterly. No. Her letters and numbers she’d learn from me. She’d still be young enough when I returned for me to teach her that. And all Burrich had ever taught me about horses and dogs. That was the day when I realized I was looking ahead again, was planning for a life after I’d found Verity and somehow taken him safely back to Buck. My baby was just an infant now, I told myself, suckling at Molly’s breast and looking about with wide eyes and seeing all new. She was too young to know something was missing, too young to know her father wasn’t there. I’d be back with them soon, before she learned to say “Pa.” I’d be there to see her first steps.
That resolve changed something in me. I’d never looked forward to something so much. This was not an assassination that would end in someone’s death. No, I looked forward to a life, and imagined teaching her things, imagined her growing up bright and pretty and loving her father, knowing nothing, ever, of any other life he’d ever led. She wouldn’t remember me with a smooth face and a straight nose. She’d only know me as I was now. That was oddly important to me. So I would go to Verity because I had to, because he was my king and I loved him, and because he needed me. But finding him no longer marked the end of my journey, but the beginning. Once I had found Verity, I could turn about and come home to them. For a time, I forgot Regal.
So I thought to myself sometimes, and when I did I walked behind the sheep in their dust and stink and smiled a tight upped smile behind the kerchief over my face. At other times, when I lay down alone at night, all I could think of was the warmth of a woman and a home and a child of my own. I think I felt every mile that stretched between us. Loneliness was a thing that ate at me then. I longed to know every detail of what was going on. Every night, every moment of quiet was a temptation to reach out with the Skill. But I understood Verity’s admonition now. If I Skilled to them, then Regal’s coterie could find them as well as me. Regal would not hesitate to use them against me in any way he could imagine. So I hungered for knowledge of them, but dared not attempt to satisfy that hunger.
We came to one village that was almost worthy of the name. It had sprouted up like a fairy ring of mushrooms around a deepwater spring. It had an inn, a tavern, and even several stores, all catering to travelers, with a scattering of houses surrounding it. We got there at midday, and Madge declared that we would have a rest, and not move on until the following morning. No one really objected. Once we’d watered our animals, we moved our beasts and wagons to the outskirts of town. The puppeteer decided to take advantage of the situation, and announced in the tavern and inn that his troupe would stage a performance for the whole town, with gratuities cheerfully accepted. Starling had already found a corner of the tavern to call her own and was introducing this Farrow town to some Buck ballads.
I was content to stay with the sheep on the outskirts of the town. I was soon the only one at our encampment. I did not especially mind. The horses’ owner had offered me an extra copper, if I’d keep an eye on them. They scarcely needed watching. They were hobbled, but even so, all the animals were grateful to stop for a bit and search out whatever grazing they could find. The bull was staked out and likewise occupied with scavenging grass. There was a sort of peace to being still and alone. I was learning to cultivate an emptiness of spirit. I could now go for long stretches without thinking of anything in particular. It made my endless waiting less painful. I sat on the tail of Damon’s cart and stared out over the animals and the gentle undulating of the brush spotted plain beyond them.
It did not last for long. In the late afternoon, the puppeteer’s wagon came rattling into camp. Only Master Dell and the youngest apprentice were in it. The others had stayed in town to drink and talk and generally enjoy themselves. But the shouting of the master soon made it apparent that his youngest apprentice had disgraced herself with forgotten lines and incorrect movements. Her punishment was to stay in camp with the wagon. To this he added several sharp cuts with his strap. Both the snap of the leather and yelps of the girl were clearly audible across camp. I winced at the second one and was on my feet by the third one. I had no clear idea of my intention, and was actually relieved to see the master go striding off away from the wagon and back into town.
The girl wept noisily as she went about the task of unhitching the team and pegging it out. I’d noticed her before in a casual way. She was the youngest of the troupe, no more than sixteen, and seemed most often to be under her master’s lash. Not that that was unusual. It was not uncommon for a master to have a lash to keep his apprentices devoted to their tasks. Neither Burrich nor Chade had ever taken a strap to me, but I’d had my share of cuffs and raps, and an occasional boot from Burrich if I wasn’t moving fast enough to suit him. The puppeteer was no worse than many masters that I’d seen, and kinder than some. All of his underlings were well fed and well clothed. I suppose what irritated me about him was that one snap of his lash never seemed enough for him. It was always three or five or even more when he was in a temper.
The peace of the night was gone. Long after she’d finished staking out the horses, her deep sobbing rent the stillness. After a time I could not stand it. I went to the back of their traveling wagon and rapped on the small door. The weeping paused with a sniff. “Who is it?” she asked hoarsely.
“Tom the shepherd. Are you all right?”
I’d hoped that she’d say she was and tell me to go away. Instead the door opened after a moment and she stood peering out at me. Blood was dripping from her jawline. I saw at a glance what had happened. The end of the strap had curled past her shoulder and the tip had bitten wickedly into her cheek. I didn’t doubt that it hurt badly, but I suspected the amount of blood was scaring her even more. I saw a looking glass set up on a table behind her and a bloody cloth beside it. For a moment we looked at one another wordlessly. Then, “He’s ruined my face,” she sobbed.