“I am not-kin—” My own voice surprised me, for the words which formed so easily in my mind came out with halts between as if my tongue and lips were weighted.
She lowered me to the pallet, then reached up and loosened my hold.
“You are ill,” she returned as if that fact could excuse a sin no matter how dark. “You will rest—”
When I tried to speak again, to make her understand, she set her fingers firmly across my lips so that once again I flinched from the pain in my swollen and distorted flesh. Then she arose and paid no more attention to me, moving around her house place as she counted those bundles and boxes on her shelves, now and again pulling one out and placing it back in another place as if there were a need that all be in a certain order.
Perhaps it was her brew which made me sleepy for I discovered that I could not keep my eyes open. Once more I fell into a state mercifully free of dreams.
When I awoke the second time it was Gathea who stood by the fire. The pot still seethed there and she was stirring its contents with a long-handled spoon so that she could remain at a little distance. Which was well, I noted, for now and then that liquid sputtered, and a spatter of its contents flew out and down into the low fire which blazed in answer. I must have made some sound of which I was not aware, or else she was set to watch me, for my eyes had not opened for more than a few breaths before she looked to me, withdrew the spoon which she laid on one of the shelves and came over, having brought another cup with her.
This time I levered myself up on one elbow, not wanting her help, and found that what she had to offer was clear water. I drained the full contents of the cup and never had anything tasted so good as that cold draft. When I was done I brought myself to make plain what her mistress had not seemed to understand:
“They have made me non-kin—” I kept my chin up, my eyes on hers. The shame was mine, but also how I bore it was mine and I could do that well or ill. “Lord Tugness shall find profit in sending me back to Garn. He may hold your Wise Woman at fault if she does not reveal where I am—”
The girl interrupted me and she was frowning. “Zabina is no kin-blood to Lord Tugness. What he will or will not do is no matter of hers. You are hurt, you need her help—that is according to her craft and let no one question her concerning that!”
I felt that she still did not understand. Among our people one who is not-kin is cursed and those who give shelter to such can also raise trouble for themselves. Henceforth no man or woman would speak me fair. I was the undead walking, and who would company with one who was nameless, clanless?
“It is because of the Lady Iynne—” That which had brought me here—not to beg their tending—filled my mind. “She went to your Moon Shrine. I found her there several times but I did not tell Lord Garn. Now she is gone, perhaps drawn into some evil spell of this land.”
“We know—” she nodded.
“You know?” I struggled to sit up and managed that somehow, though my head felt as heavy as if helm of double iron now weighed it down. “You have seen her?” The thought that perhaps Iynne had encountered this girl and maybe even sheltered with her—though why she would do so—
“You talked when the fever was in you.” Thus she dashed my first small hope. “Also Lord Garn came of himself to the dale in hunt. They rode westward afterward for there was no word of her here.”
“West—” I echoed. Into that unknown country which even the Sword Brothers treated as a place to beware of—what would have taken Iynne there?
“She may have been called—” Gathea said as if she lifted that question from out of my thoughts. “She went to the shrine at moon’s full and she was one who had no shield or protection.”
“Called—by whom and to where?” I demanded.
“Perhaps it was not your right to know that. Zabina will decide. Now,” she had gone to another shelf and brought me a wafer of bread fresh baked, with it a bowl of fruit stewed into a soft mass which only caused me slight pain when I ate, “fill your stomach and grow strong. There is perhaps a road for you—and others.”
Leaving the meal in my shaking hands, she left the hut and I had no one left to question save myself. And I had no answers.
5
I fought against weakness, striving to make myself strong enough to leave this place. For I still knew that, Wise Woman or not, Zabina courted trouble by sheltering me. Lord Tugness, I was certain, was not one to be ruled by custom when it was to his advantage to move otherwise. Though all I knew of him came by rumor only, still in the core of such always lies a hard grain of truth.
My head still ached with dull persistence but I could see now through the eye earlier puffed shut, and my fingers, touching my skull gingerly, found that tightly clothed by a bandage. I had, in spite of waves of dizziness, managed to draw on my breeches, slide my feet into the softer trail boots and was picking up my linen undershirt (which had been fresh washed and carefully folded over my other clothing) when the Wise Woman returned.
She straightway crossed the small room to stand before me, frowning.
“What would you do?”
I pulled the shirt down over my head, tensed against the wince which came in answer to even such slight a touch on the bandage about my head. “Lady,” I could not dare to bow, but I gave her courtesy of address, “I would be out of your house with what speed I can. I am kin-less—” I got no further when she made an abrupt gesture to silence me before she asked a question of her own:
“Do you know what ill tie lies between Tugness and Garn?”
“Not between them.” She surprised the answer out of me. “It is an old feud between the Houses.”
“Yes. Old indeed. . . . Why do foolish men cling to such matters?” Her tone was one of impatience. She made another abrupt motion with one hand as if she so swept away what she had deemed foolishness. “It was started long before Garn’s father came from the womb—being marriage by capture.”
I sat very still, making no more move to press the shirt under the belt of my breeches. Though my head still buzzed, I was not so lacking in wit that I could not guess what she meant.
“Tugness’s son?”
That Iynne’s. disappearance might be a simple—or simpler—matter of human contriving had not crossed my mind until that moment. Now it was far easier for me to accept that my cousin had vanished because of some stealthy act on the part of our old enemies than that she had been rift away through forces loosed in a forgotten shrine. But, this being so, how much more was I the guilty one! To achieve such an act Thorg must have spied long—lain in wait for the coming of Iynne—watched her movements until he could make sure of her. While I, who had been sent to patrol the heights, had not even suspected that we were under his eyes. I had been foolish, stupidly too interested in the strangeness of this land to take thought of old trouble.
The idea she planted in my mind grew fast. Out of it was born strength so that I was on my feet now. I might not have been able to face with success a battle with the unknown (though that would not have kept me from trying), but I could bring down Thorg. Give me only steel in hand to do so!
Now I said with authority that I might not have used moments earlier:
“Your handmaiden spoke of the force of the Moon Shrine; now you push my mind toward Thorg and old struggles. Which is the right?”
Her frown grew darker and I saw that she had caught her lower lip a little between her teeth as if to hold back some impatient or betraying words. Then she said:
“Thorg has volunteered many times through these days to go hunting. He has passed by on his way to the heights, but it would seem that his skill fails at times, for two days out of three he returns with empty hands. Also, he is not trothed to any maid. There were none who would accept Tugness’s offer on his behalf. I have had to give him warning when I found him looking too often after Gathea. He is one who is hot now for a woman. It is a quarrelsome family and few can say good of their house for three generations or more. Also, there was Kam-puhr—”