The buzz of conversation rose to a happy roar as people filled their plates and made their way back to the seats. There were a hundred adults here, and many of the older children-the youngsters were over in the schoolhouse building, having their own dinner.
Dorothy Rose, their piper, strode up and down the open space within the tables, making what the charitable or extremely Scottish would consider music.
"You know why pipers walk up and down like that while they play?" Juniper asked.
Havel shook his head; so did Signe, back with a heaped plate, followed by Pam with two more.
"To get away from the music, of course," Juniper said.
They both laughed, although that didn't slow down their eating; roast pork with applesauce, she noticed, as well as the salads and steamed vegetables. She'd scattered the other Bearkillers among the people at the high table; Astrid was deep in conversation with Eilir again, catching up on all they'd missed in two weeks' separation.
When the plates were cleared, the children filed out.
"This is our… well, sort of a school play," she said.
The leads were Mary, Sanjay and Daniel. Mary got to play the Goddess with tinsel woven into her mahogany hair, as the Crone, while Sanjay was the Holly King, slain by the Oak King in a dramatic duel with wooden swords; the Goddess held a wand out over them during it, then made a speech about the Wheel of the Year. A chorus sang in the background, skipping around each other in a dance that looked quite pretty between the collisions.
It gave the kids a chance to show off what they learned in Moon School, and it didn't have to compete against TV.
"Errr… you're all pagans here now?" Havel said. "Not that I object-I'm a lapsed Lutheran myself-"
Juniper nodded: "Well, we call ourselves Witches. To be technical, we're rather old-fashioned Wiccans, at least my original group were, and something like two-thirds of those who've joined us since have signed up-as fast as we can run the Training Circle, with some corners cut. It's a new situation for us, having actual congregations!"
A little way down the table, Ken Larsson leaned forward to talk to her:
"Founder effect," he said. "First bunch in a community tend to have a disproportionate influence on what comes after."
He waved around the room with his fork. "I suspect this is happening all over the world-some leader or small group is lucky and smart and attracts individuals to join, and then they take on the same coloration, grabbing at anything that seems to work in a world of death. It certainly happened with us. I bet there will be some pretty weird results in a couple of generations."
Havel nodded. "Although-" He cut himself off and nodded again.
Juniper grinned. "Although we don't remind you much of pagans you met before the Change?" she said helpfully. "Although you might think the obsession with dressing up in costumes has survived?"
Havel coughed into his hand, then looked around as if he was contemplating something on the order of: My, aren't the walls vertical today?
Signe smiled slyly and nudged him with an elbow. "Gotcha, Lord Bear. Roll over and show your tummy, boy! You're whipped! I told you to leave all the diplomatic stuff to Dad."
Juniper took pity on him: "Types like that did get lot of attention before the Change," she said. "They weren't the whole story even then." She smiled. "Do I believe magic works since the Change? Of course! But I believe it worked before the Change, too, remember, and I never took"-she gestured at the decorations- " 'My other car is a broomstick' bumper stickers literally."
"Err… thanks," he said. "It's nice to know we'll have sensible neighbors."
"Good save," Signe muttered in a stage whisper.
"If only we didn't have the Protector as a neighbor," Juniper said. "We've been fighting him most of the year-"
"Us too," Havel said, and smiled grimly. "Oh, yes, the castles on Route 20 weren't our first encounter."
She frowned. "I think you mentioned… well, tale-telling is a Yule tradition too. We'd be very interested to hear it. If you wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all."
Juniper smiled and nodded. Havel looked as if he'd rather gouge out his own liver than talk in public, so…
She caught Signe Larsson's eye, and got a wink.
"In fact… "
She used a fork to ring a small iron triangle before her, tapping out a simple tune. The pleasant buzz of conversation died away.
"Our guest, Lord of the Bearkillers, has a tale to relate."
The buzz warmed up again for a second; hearing a story like that was entertainment now, and of high practical value as well. Everyone was eager for news from outside their strait local horizon.
"He and his had to fight earlier in the year-even before the Protector's men attacked Sutterdown. He'd like to tell us about it."
Havel gave her a stricken look. Signe gave him a nudge in the ribs, and he sighed and cleared his throat.
"We were around Craigswood, in Idaho," he said. "A bunch of bandits-they called themselves the Devil Dogs; a lot of them were in a biker gang before the Change- were trying to-"
Juniper leaned back with a cup of the mead and listened, smiling slightly to herself. Havel gave the story baldly, in what she imagined was the style of a military report.
The Chief of the Mackenzies let her storyteller's mind take them and weave in scent and sound and the thoughts of humankind; she could feel the beginnings of a song stirring and that felt very good indeed. Her fingers moved, unconsciously strumming-Mike Havel's theme, sharp as knife steel, but with hidden depths like rushing water, and a cold clear tang of danger…
It had been too long a time since she'd done much composing, and she'd never had quite this sort of subject.
Thirty-four
So that's Larsdalen," Juniper Mackenzie said.
Her clansfolk-the score or so who'd come along to escort their allies home-clustered behind her, their horses stamping and snorting breath-plumes into the crisp evening air. The clouds had parted for a while, and the sun gilded every grass blade and spiderweb with diamonds. The noise and bustle of the Bearkiller caravan and their herds were behind for now, though she could hear the lowing of cattle in the distance.
Ahead the broad valley narrowed, rising to low forested heights north and west, shaggy with Douglas fir and yellow-leaved oak, silhouetted against the setting sun. Below the rolling lands were silent, grass waist-high in the pastures, the blocks of orchard and vineyard gone shaggy with a year's neglect and sere with winter-save that not one bunch of grapes hung withered into raisins. Willows dropped their tresses into ponds, and ducks swam. The big house on its hill was yellowish-red brick, mellow, bowered in its trees-from this distance the broken windows and doors swinging free couldn't be seen.
No smoke came from its chimneys, but you could imagine it, and a bustle of life among the barns and cottages and outbuildings, under the musty damp-leaf smell of the dying year.
Havel and his Signe walked past them, leading their horses. Hooves and feet crunched on the gravel of the drive. The Bear Lord stopped, handed her his helmet with its snarling namesake crest. His people gathered around him, mostly afoot; from the saddle Juniper could still see him over their heads.
"I've ran far enough, come far enough. This earth is mine."
Signe whispered in his ear, and he nodded before he went on, a little louder: "None of its folk will want for bread or justice or a strong arm."
His eyes met Juniper's for an instant, wholly serious. He went to one knee, cut a section of turf loose, and plunged his hand into the moist dark dirt below. For a moment he looked at it, brought it to his lips for an instant.
Then he stood, his voice powerful, harder somehow than usuaclass="underline"
"And I shall be father to this land and all its people. So witness all of you here." t-