Meri (21 page)

It was four doorways up, a little better kept than the other
shops in Blaec-del and somewhat more tidy. She tucked into the doorway and
found herself in a dark, low-beamed cavern of a place with a huge ember-filled
hearth at the far end and a service bar near the door. There were people here, sitting
at rough little tables about the room. The only light in the place came from
the hearth coals and candles and from dirty, sunlight falling, exhausted, from
high, narrow windows in the second floor gallery.

No one had seen her come in or, if they did, they didn’t
seem to care. She scuttled over to the hearth and huddled there, curling
herself into as small a ball of flesh and hair and cloth as she could. She felt
whipped and raw inside; ready and willing to lie down and give up and weep
until she ran out of tears.

Clutching the Wisdom amulet in both hands, she closed her
eyes and gave in to silent despair.

The goal of the Osraed must be to open the
hearts,

fill the stomachs,

calm the minds,

brace the bones,

and so clarify the thoughts and meet the needs

that no sly meddler could touch

those he has touched
.

— Book of the Meri, Chapter 9, Verse 72

Meredydd woke with a start, unknowing how long she had
slept. She did not feel particularly cramped and the embers in the big hearth
looked about the same; she thought she must have merely napped. Reluctantly,
she uncurled herself and raised her head. She was still in the wayhouse and the
little village of Blaec-del was very likely still outside its doors.

Yawning silently, she began watching the room. There were
few people in it, and most of them were involved in eating breakfast or
drinking hot beverages. Behind the bar worked a sturdy, crane-like woman who,
though her clothes were poor, exuded an aura of cultivation. She held her head
high, even while cleaning up after her more careless patrons.

At the end of the bar opposite the door was a staircase on
which sat a girl about Meredydd’s age. She was huddled in a misery which seemed
no less abject than Meredydd’s own, and rocked continuously back and forth,
back and forth. While Meredydd watched, the woman behind the bar called to the
girl sharply and she rose, moving awkwardly to the woman’s bidding.

Even in the half-light, Meredydd could tell she was
pregnant. The woman continued to speak to the cailin harshly, gesturing with
both hands. The words were lost in the field of chatter and mumbles that lay
between them, but the gestures were clear enough to Meredydd. The girl was
lazy, they said, had left something undone, had not listened, had not obeyed.

Her sympathy was immediate. She doubted this poor creature
could have managed a disobedience comparable to her own and no one deserved to
be derided before a room half-full of people. Not, Meredydd had to allow, that
anyone was paying the least bit of attention. That implied the scene was not an
unfamiliar one.

The front door opened a crack just then, and a small,
shapeless figure appeared for an instant before the room was plunged once more
into shifting gloom. Meredydd sat up straighter and strained her eyes in the
direction of the door.

In seconds she was looking into a pale, grimy face that wore
an incongruous grin.

“Hello, mistress,” said Gwynet and plopped down next to her
on the hearth. “I thought you might be here after what happened...” She jerked
her head toward the mercantile.

“How did you know about that?” Meredydd puzzled.

“I was about. I’m always about. Kind of have to be. Ruhf
always needs somethin’ done.”

“Ruhf...he’s not-not your father, is he?”

The little girl let out a trill of laughter. “Oh, no,
mistress! Whatever’d make ye think tha’? My folks’re dead. Ruhf, he
just...looks after me.”

“He’s your guardian, then.”

“He gives me a place to sleep when I’m not on outs with him.
Otherwise its the stable.” She grinned as if she had not just said something
that twisted Meredydd’s heart. “Hay makes me sneeze, so it’s best I stay in wi’
Ruhf.”

“Aren’t you afraid of him?”

Gwynet cocked her head to one side and seemed to consider
the question. “I s’pose ye could say he’s sparked some fear in me now and
again. But if I stay clear while he’s in one of his dangerous moods, well—I’m
safe enough.”

Meredydd raised a hand to the girl’s cheek. “Did Ruhf give
you those bruises, Gwynet?”

The blush was visible even beneath the smudges of soot and
grime. Gwynet covered the other cheek with her own hand. “I can’t rightly
recall, mistress,” she said. “It means naught.”

Meredydd opened her mouth to say that it meant a great deal,
when a sharp voice called over the welter of conversation in the room.

“Gwynet! Gwynet, where are you? I heard that laugh of yours.
Get over here!”

“Yes, mistress. Right here.” Gwynet popped obediently to her
feet and moved toward the bar. Meredydd followed her.

The house-mistress was glowering into the semi-dark room,
her eyes lighting unpleasantly when they fell upon Gwynet. “Here you are, girl.
My stupid daughter’s having her sickness again. Take her upstairs and see to
her. Then take up her chores.” She glared at the pregnant girl, who was now
cowering beside her just behind the bar. “
Someone’s
got to do them.”

Gwynet’s head bobbed. “Yes, mistress. At once, mistress.”

She moved swiftly to the older girl’s side and helped her to
her feet.

Even in this dark hole, Meredydd could tell the girl was
pallid and sweating. Her eyes were like two bruised jets set in her pasty face;
they were devoid of any defiance and held a hopelessness that Meredydd found
hard to bear. Instinctively, she found herself moving to help Gwynet with her
huddled charge.

“Who are you?”

Meredydd swung about and found herself face to face with the
girl’s mother. “I’m Meredydd, Moireach. I’m...a friend of Gwynet.”

“A friend, is it? And of Gwynet? And how does such a filthy
little urchin collect friends? Where’re you from, girl?”

“From Nairne, mistress,” answered Meredydd without thinking.

“And how do you come to be in this hole, Meredydd from
Nairne?”

“I was...just passing by and came in to-to get a bite of
food and visit the Cirke.”

The woman laughed. “Did you hear that?” she said to the room
in general. “This little lady wants to visit our Cirke. Well, I doubt it’ll be
a pleasant visit, little lady. Our Cirke-master has a way about him that
visitors seem to find odd. He’s a strange one, our Cirke-master.”

Meredydd nodded. “I’ve met him, thank you. I found
him...most interesting on the history of Blaec-del Cirke.”

“Oh, aye.” The woman nodded. “Him and his Wicke stories.”

“Aren’t they true, then? The story of the Wicke buried under
the Cirke, and the altar stone and the windows?”

The woman eyed her speculatively. “Oh, they’re true enough,
I suppose, as true as any two hundred year old legends might be. But that fool
really believes that some Wicke is going to challenge him in his own Cirke.
Free the souls of the dead Sisters.... Tell me, girl. You didn’t come to
Blaec-del to hear tales of Wicke and live burials.”

“No, Moireach. I came here to...to find a new situation. You
see, my parents are dead and I’ve no home to return to and”

“Oh, dear God, another weepy Tell!” The woman rolled her
eyes and moaned. “This place is full of tales of orphans and death and homeless
urchins. You’re just one more story, here, cailin. But look here, do you cook,
sew?”

Meredydd nearly smiled. It seemed that question had been put
to her once today already. “No, Moireach. I do neither. I’ve a way with herbs,
is all.”

The woman’s brows rose. “Healing? That’s not something you’ll
get to do around here. Only men and Wicke heal. They’ll take healing from the
one and bury the other alive.”

Meredydd tried hard to pierce the darkness—to receive a
clearer view of the other’s face. “You’re not from here either, are you,
Moireach?”

“No, I’m not. I married myself to this God-lost place. Fool.”
The disparaging comment was clearly directed at herself. She grimaced and shook
her head. “So, it’s a situation you want is it? Well, I’m short of girls right
now. One’s more pregnant than even Flann, here, and another left just last week
with some sheepherder. Since you can’t cook and you can’t sew and you can’t
heal, you might just want to think about setting yourself up here.” She jerked
her head toward the stairs. “The men hereabouts are a crude lot, but except for
a few, they’ll leave you in once piece.”

Her smile was one that made Meredydd’s blood run absolutely
cold. She was innocent, but not enough to mistake what sort of “situation” the
woman was offering.

“Ay, Hadder!” A man leaned against the bar several feet away
and set his mug down on the pitted wooden surface with a sharp crack. “’Nother
ale.”

The woman nodded briskly then gestured up the stairs with
one hand. “Get her to her room before she’s sick all over my lodge. Stupid
girl,” she added, and went to serve her customer.

So, Meredydd thought, as she and
Gwynet helped the

unfortunate Flann up the stairs to her bare little room,
that was the fearsome Hadder. It was not surprising Ruhf Airdsgainne trembled a
bit at the thought of her wrath.

When she and Gwynet helped the mute girl out of her dirty
gown, Meredydd’s empty stomach curled in on itself. The girl’s distended belly
still bore the marks of what could be taken for any number of things: buck’s
hooves and upside-down cloven hearts among them. The scene in the mercantile
came back as clearly as an aislinn vision, rocking Meredydd in a sea of sudden
nausea.

Chilled completely, she sat back on the edge of Flann’s bed
and watched Gwynet gently minister to the older girl, cleansing her
sweat-soaked body and easing her into a ragged but clean gown. Through all, the
child kept up a running monologue in a sweet, musical voice—soothing the ears,
quieting the mind.

Flann ceased shivering and even seemed to regain a little
color.

“I know an herbal medicine for this,” Meredydd said after a
while.

Flann’s eyes moved sullenly to her face, but she said
nothing. Gwynet, on the other hand, smiled broadly. “Oh, do you, mistress? Is
it easy to get?”

“Well, yes, if the herbs are available—and they should be
around here. It’s a really simple thing—some grasses and leaves. Do you know
where there’s some chamomile and mint?”

Gwynet nodded. “Surely. We’ll get some as soon as I’ve got
my chores done.” She glanced at Flann. “Is that good, Flann? Can ye wait?”

The older girl finally spoke. “Must I? Please, if ye can
take away this pain—” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and leaned
forward. “It’s awful, really it is.” Her eyes, pleading, had more life in them
than Meredydd had yet seen.

“I’ll help you with your chores, Gwynet. That way they’ll be
done more quickly.”

“Please!” moaned Flann. “Please don’t make me wait.”

Gwynet put a gentle hand on the girl’s forehead. “Now, now,
Flann. Don’t ye fret so. We’ll get the herbs and Meredydd’ll make ye a
wonderful tea, won’t ye Meredydd?” Her eyes, too, pleaded their concern for the
pregnant girl.

“I think I can do something right now to help take the pain
away,” Meredydd offered, regretting the words as soon as she’d spoken them. “But
you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Promise,” Flann said immediately and Gwynet nodded.

“All right. Lie down and close your eyes and be very, very
quiet and still. You, too, Gwynet. Be very still.”

Gwynet nodded again, her eyes bright and intent.

When Flann was lying quietly before her, Meredydd got to her
knees beside the low pallet and began a silent meditation. She focused her mind
in on itself at first, collecting her senses, gathering her resources. Then she
began a healing duan, starting at a whisper and allowing it to grow until her
voice filled the little room.

The warmth flickered behind her eyes and in her abdomen at
once, then moved to coalesce behind her breastbone. A tingling sense of the
blue power trickled down from Beyond, through the crown of her head, and pooled
with that warmth. She continued to sing, concentrating the energies, one ear
trained on the hallway, listening for a footstep. In this village, an
eavesdropper would be dangerous, but so too, could splitting her concentration.
She forced the open ear to close and gave to Flann the sum of herself.

She stretched out her hands, feeling the blue healing course
down her arms to coil beneath her palms. She pressed those palms very gently
against Flann’s swollen belly and poured out the healing. For a minute, perhaps
more, she concentrated in this way, then, feeling the draw from Flann’s body
lessen, she let the duan return to a whisper and brought the Healweave to a
close.

She opened her eyes. On the cot, Flann slept. Already
dreaming, her eyes flickered beneath the blue-tinged lids.

Gwynet stirred restively, moving to stare at the sleeping
girl. “Tha’ were wonderful, mistress,” she breathed and threw her arms around
Meredydd’s neck. “Ye’re a saint.”

“I doubt Cirke-master thinks so.”

“Well, Cirke-master mayn’t know everything.”

“Cirke-master certainly mayn’t know what happened here.”

Gwynet made a lip sealing gesture. “I’d have no call to tell
him.”

Meredydd rose. “How about your chores? What are we to do?”

“Oh, clean the rooms mostly. There’ll be the traveler’s
rooms and then the girls’ quarters.”

“Hadder’s girls?”

Gwynet nodded, glancing aside. “Aye. Come now, we’ll do
linens first.”

“Tell me about Hadder and Flann,” Meredydd pressed as they
worked on the first room together. “Did Flann really.... Those marks on her
stomach, the ones that look like buck’s hooves—”