“Herald Nikolas says you’re to stay as late as you want. Which’s good, ’cause that means I got a reason t’ stay as late as I want.” He smiled at her, and she chuckled and shook her head.
At that, Amily seemed to relax a bit more as some of the rest of the guests began to trickle in. Mags recognized all of them, although he still didn’t know most by name. They had all been in attendance at the house throughout the week. They were a wildly assorted lot. Some were clearly important and respected; some were, it seemed, just as ordinary as Mags was.
One was a Bard named Aiken, a man older than Master Soren, though brisk and vigorous. From the look and the cut of his scarlet tunic and trews, he was considered a Master in his own right. There were twin young men, a little older than Lydia, greeted by her as cousins, Blake and Eddin.
“Distant cousins,” said one of them, with a grin. “We’ve been sent up here to learn the business from Uncle. When he reckons that we’ve learned all he can teach us, we’ll be off home again and set up our own business.”
Mags nodded, and finally asked the question he still didn’t have the answer to. “So ... what is’t Master Soren does?”
“Oh, good gad, we’ve never said!” Lydia laughed, her hands going to her mouth. “He makes buildings. He plans and designs them, and oversees them being built, and sometimes does very fiddly bits himself.”
“Less now than I did before. The bones grow old and object to being made to climb ladders. Welcome, Mags,” said the man himself, motioning for Mags to sit as he began to rise. “I am what is referred to as a Master Builder, although I have yet to construct anything I would call a Masterpiece.”
Mags was saved from having to make any sort of response to that by the arrival of several more of the guests: a priest, Father Gellet, that Mags had enjoyed listening to—very much more than he would have ever imagined—another builder and the man’s nephew, who was apprenticed as the twins were to Master Soren. There was a ramrod-straight granite-faced fellow by the name of Okley who was the Royal Falconer and, in fact, tended Jakyr’s bird along with the King’s and any others that the King saw fit to be permitted to be lodged in the mews. With him came Marc, and only now did Mags learn that Marc was the Royal Falconer’s son, but had no aptitude for the birds and instead was in training to be the Master of the Royal Hounds. There were three highborn gentlemen, and five ladies, all of whom had grand homes built by Master Soren and had become fast friends with him in the process.
There was another Master Craftsman, this one a fellow who built bridges and roads. This was the group, and they all had but two things in common. They all thought the world of Master Soren and he of them—and for all of them, this would have been an evening spent alone or with one or two others.
By the time they all went in to dinner, Mags was convinced that this was going to be a very interesting evening.
Chapter 15
Once they were all seated, Master Soren rose, and the company fell silent. “We have a young man among us who is with us for the first time. This is Herald-trainee Mags, and as the host, I bid him welcome to our Vigil Night.”
“Welcome,” the others murmured, most with smiles.
Mags nodded. “Thenkee,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. “Right honored, sir. ’m glad t’ be here.”
Dinner was served then, and Mags sensed Dallen watching through his eyes. He smiled with some amusement. :Might as well stop lurkin’,: he thought. :I don’ mind ye bein’ there, do y’ ken.:
Dallen sounded amused when he replied. :I should have thought so. Well, there are several dishes that will be served that are highly symbolic. Would you like to know about this feast?:
:Please,: he replied, thinking wistfully that he wished he had first-hand knowledge of what was going on. The way that Lydia and her uncle shared warm glances made him wonder, with almost a start, what it would be like to have family. How would it be to have someone that close to you that you could say things to them without words? To have people you had shared this sort of night with all of your life?
His thoughts were interrupted by Dallen.
:Well, the first thing they will serve you is—there it is. Those are sprouted beans. The story is that in the first winter of the world, in the dark and the cold, the first people began to sicken. You know what I am talking about, Mags, when the teeth get loose, and the gums bleed?:
:Aye,: he replied. :An’ we grubbed up grassroots an’ cured it, back at the mine. Roots, anythin’ green, that cures it.:
:As do these. They’re quite good, so don’t be afraid of them.:
Since Mags had never once encountered a food he was afraid of, he conveyed a mental snort of derision to his Companion, watched what the others were doing, picked up his fork and tried them. And they were good; crisp and tasty, with some sort of vinegar dressing.
:So the story is that people were sickening and afraid they were dying. They prayed for help, and the Goddess of Spring begged Winter to allow her to come early to save the people. Winter, who was her husband and kept her with him three seasons out of the year, permitted it just long enough for the beans to sprout, and only those that were as white as the snow. And the Goddess of Spring told the first people to eat the beans, and they would be healthy again. And they did.:
There were several more dishes scattered throughout the meal that had similar stories attached to them. All of the stories followed the same theme: in the despair, the dark, and the cold of Midwinter, something happened to bring the hope of spring, and to bring life back to the people. Or sometimes to bring it back to the gods themselves.
There were, it seemed, a great many versions of how and why spring returned and a god or goddess was born or reborn, and Master Soren honored them all impartially. Which was noble, but contradictory and a little confusing.
There were a lot of dishes—but no more than a taste of anything was served. Mags instinctively understood the reason for this without Dallen telling him; this was not a feast meant to remind you of plenty, it was to remind you of hardship, of the privation of winter, of seeing the stores you had gathered shrinking, and knowing you must husband what you had left, for who knew when—or if—spring would ever come. A lot of the food was nothing one would expect on a rich man’s table: a soup made with the inner bark of trees; tough, coarse bread of the sort he and the kiddies used to eat; cabbage boiled to transparency. Mags caught Lydia or Amily giving him a knowing glance from time to time, or a curious one, as if they were asking silently, is this what you used to live on? They were too polite to ask directly, but he nodded a little and saw Lydia’s eyes darken in sympathy and Amily’s lips tighten with anger. That actually made him feel good, though he flushed just a little. They were both rather different from Lena, who seemed in a knot half the time with worry.
Finally, the strange meal was over. He had, of course, eaten far more than he’d had to subsist on at the mine. But he could see that Lydia was not the only one who’d been struck by the realization that he, someone they knew, someone they had spoken to, had actually lived, or rather, starved, on such food. It made it all more real to them. And he thought that there was something else in those looks of theirs. That they would never again take their good fortune for granted.