Pattern

Leith looked up. 'You don't say.'

'That was another thing they told me I had to do. But it could have been worse, as you'd say. I reckon I've been very lucky there, as it happens.'

Leith forced a smile. 'Well, there's something,' he said. 'You married. That's like the old story about the wolf who became a sheepdog. Still, at our age you've got to settle down, haven't you?'

'Apparently,' Poldarn replied.

'And you've found yourself a nice little girl,' Leith went on. 'Well, you would, wouldn't you?'

Poldarn nodded. 'Colsceg's daughter. You know her?'

'No.' Leith looked away. His hands were spread out flat on the table, palms down, fingers splayed out wide. 'Since my time. Anyhow, that's only one of the places we went. I never liked it much out that way, anyhow. Bleak old place in winter, Colscegsford.' He stood up. 'I think it's about time I was hitting the road,' he said. 'If I start straight away I can make Elletswater by dark.'

'What was it you came here to tell me?' Poldarn asked.

'Look.' There was a suggestion of panic in Leith's voice. 'If it's stuff only you and me would know about, and you've forgotten it anyway, who the hell cares any more? Besides, we're different people now. Married, with responsibilities, we can't go dwelling on the past. Take me, for instance, I'm nothing like I used to be. If I caught my eldest boy doing some of the stuff I used to get up to at his age, I'd skin him alive. People change, it's part of life; but if you're going to change, you've got to get rid of some bits of the past, break the old habits, get out of the patterns, that kind of thing. Like, if you and I were meeting now for the first time ever-well, I guess that's what we are doing, far as you're concerned-I mean to say, would we be best friends now? 'Course not, we've grown apart, nothing in common except the obvious stuff-the farm and the weather and running a house. Do you really want to hear a lot of things about someone who's nothing but a stranger to you now? That's me-and you, of course, you as well.' Leith shook his head. 'I'll bet you anything you like, if it was the old you, like you were when we were kids, the old you stood here instead of me-do you think you'd recognise him, or have anything in common with him? I don't think so. You probably wouldn't like him, even. So why burden yourself with stuff that a perfect stranger did, twenty years ago? Makes no sense. I'm the only one who remembers now, and I won't tell anybody, for sure. So; it never happened. It's like a log of wood you put on the fire, it burns up and it's gone for ever.'

Or a book, Poldarn thought, the last copy of a book in a big old library; and I can remember burning the library down, but God only knows what was in the books. 'Looks like you've had a pretty pointless journey, then,' he said.

'Oh, that's all right,' Leith replied. 'Doesn't bother me. And it's done me a favour, when you think about it. Like, there's only so much room in a man's head for memories. Means I can clear out a lot of old stuff I won't ever need again. So that's that, then. And remember, if ever you're out our way, make sure to drop by. Always glad to see you, any time.'

'Thank you,' Poldarn said. 'And if ever you get one of those sudden urges to dash off somewhere a long way away for a bowl of porridge and a quick chat about the weather… you know where we are.'

'That's right,' Leith said. 'Though I don't get out much as a rule these days, I don't go raiding or stuff like that. I'm very quiet these days. It's better that way.'

'I think so too,' Poldarn said. 'There's always so much work that needs doing, for one thing. Some days, I hardly know what to do with myself.'

'Oh, same here,' Leith said emphatically. 'If it's not one thing it's another. Anyhow, take care, and my regards to your wife. I'd have brought her some flowers or a bottle of wine, only I left in such a hurry.'

'Of course. And besides, I only just told you I'm married.'

'Yes.' Leith took a step backwards. 'I really had better be going,' he said, 'it's a long way. We'll see each other again, I'm sure of it.'

'It's a small world,' Poldarn replied.

When Leith had gone, chivvying his horse into a canter as soon as he was out of the yard, Poldarn went and found Raffen, who was splitting kindling.

'Who was that?' he asked.

Raffen put down the hatchet and looked up. 'How do you mean?' he asked.

'That man who was here just now. You told me you knew him.'

'Of course I know him. Him and his brother, they lived here for years, when you and he were kids. You two went everywhere together.'

'So you said. But I don't remember, and he wouldn't tell me anything. In fact, he was acting like he was crazy or something. What else do you know about him?'

Raffen shrugged. 'Not a great deal,' he said. 'Really, you want to ask Colsceg, not me.'

'Colsceg.'

'That's right. They're related.'

'Oh.' Poldarn frowned. 'He didn't say anything about that.'

'Probably thought you already knew.' Raffen put a piece of wood on the chopping block and tapped it smartly with the hatchet, dividing it neatly into two. 'His uncle married Colsceg's sister, but she died young. And Colsceg married his other uncle's sister, that's his uncle on his father's side, of course. That was his first wife, Barn's mother. She died young, too, when she had Egil. Then Colsceg married Sterley's eldest daughter-Sterley was Leith's mother's brother, or at least properly speaking he was her half-brother, because their mother was married twice, once up north, which is where Sterley came from, and then again when she moved back here. There was some sort of trouble with a stranger, apparently, and she left her husband up there. Anyway, her second husband was Halder's uncle Crim; so when they both died, Leith and his brother-what was his name, now?'

'Brin,' Poldarn said.

'That's right, Brin. And there was an older sister, too-Essel, she married Suart, Lyat's dad, back when they lived at Suartsdale. I think she stayed there when Lyat moved on to Lyatsbridge. Leith and Brin, they came over here to live, till their dad died and it was time for them to go back and build their house. So you see, they're all family, one way or another.'

'I see,' Poldarn said. 'Well, I think I'll go and do some work. Is there any work I can be doing?'

Raffen frowned; then his face relaxed into a grin. 'So happens there is,' he said. 'Just the job for you, if you feel like it. You know the three-cornered field just below the old house, where we put in the peas, just before we left there?'

'Of course I do, I live here. What about it?'

'Bloody crows are tearing it all to pieces,' Raffen said, with a touch of anger he couldn't help. 'I was going to go up there later on and put up some bells, but that won't do any good. Waste of time, soon as my back's turned they'll be in there again. Where's the point of planting stuff if those bastards pull it all up, anyway?'

'I can see that,' Poldarn replied. 'And I used to be good at scaring birds, when I was a kid. Isn't that right?'

Raffen nodded eagerly. 'You really took to it,' he said. 'Made a good job, too. It isn't as easy as it looks, you know.'

'Then maybe it'll come back to me,' Poldarn replied. 'It'd be nice to find something I'm actually good at around here, even if it's just clapping my hands and shouting.'

Raffen pulled a face. 'There's a bit more to it than that,' he said. 'Just scaring the buggers off won't do any good. You've got to sort 'em out, once and for all.'

'Whatever,' Poldarn said.

The three-cornered field lay under a long, low, crescent-shaped hill topped with a knot of spindly fir trees. Along the western edge ran a ditch backed by an overgrown thorn hedge, with a thick mass of nettles and cow-parsley on the field side. The other two boundaries were open, marked only by a low drystone wall on the side facing the house, and a hump on the southern side where a bank had been grubbed out at some point, twenty or thirty years ago.

When Poldarn arrived, carrying a billhook, a leather bottle of weak cider and an old wooden bucket, the field was black with crows. They didn't get up as soon as he came into view, which annoyed him rather. About a third of them spread their wings and lifted off the ground in a spiral, the way dust blows up in a high wind; they swirled round in a tight circle and pitched a little further up the field, in good order. He stopped and studied them for a moment-careful reconnaissance is never wasted-taking note of the patterns they made on the ground, the way they aligned themselves to the wind, their spacing, the distances between groups, the gaps they left so that newcomers could pitch without overflying a contingent and spooking them into the air. Observing them, he couldn't help being impressed at the perfection of their society-their orderly conduct, unselfishness, consideration for others, flawless cooperation, unblemished unity of purpose. Against the grey of the turned soil they stood out like the shadow of a low cloud on a bright day, or the black ash that the volcano had dumped there, not so long ago.