The Healer's Legacy (13 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Milvari tarried, waiting for everyone to finish the evening meal. She nibbled nervously at her food, glancing now and then in the direction of her uncle’s library. Each night for the past week she’d sat here, trying to feel brave and waiting for a chance to slip into the hallway unseen. The hall that led from the main room to the library was filled with shadows, a few flickering candles providing the only illumination. Unlike the great room, which was hung with bright oil lamps, the hallway sconces held heavy wax candles. Tonight, as on most nights, only every third candle was lit and thick shadows danced in doorways and beneath the furnishings that lined the walls. Milvari had often lurked in those shadows and knew intimately where the gloom lay heaviest and could obscure even the largest of mice.

As the hall began to empty, she helped clear away the plates and cups from the table. Her mother wouldn’t like it if she knew Milvari was doing kitchen work, but as usual no one in the room took notice. With Tratine gone, Milvari didn’t have to fear her brother’s tattling, and none of the cooking staff had ever told her mother about the times that Brilissa allowed her to help in the kitchen.

Everyone else in the household took little notice of her. Only Brilissa seemed to see her. Most of the time, Milvari sat alone in the corner of the kitchen, out of the way. But sometimes Brilissa would hand her a bowl of something to stir, or a container of flour and a sifter. Neither she nor Brilissa would speak. Milvari would simply set to work. When she finished the task, she would drift back into her quiet corner.

Milvari loved the kitchen. It brought back hazy memories of her father. Winter mornings when he rose early, she’d followed him down the cold hall to the cozy room filled with the scent of baking bread and simmering porridge. He would fix them both tea and hot bread with butter and jam, and then carry her back to bed where he would tuck her in before leaving on his errands. Milvari shuddered. It had been later on just such a morning that the men had brought her father back to the hold, wounded and bloody. Her mother hadn’t let her go to him. The healer tried for days, but none could stay the turning of the wheel. Their morning meal together had been his last.

A log crackled in the grate and she glanced toward the hearth. A few people tarried by the fire, talking in quiet voices. Nearby, several children played a game of Spokes. They laughed and chatted as they took turns dropping slender colored sticks into a circle outlined with string on the floor. She set her stack of plates on the end of one long table and watched in fascination as the children vied to see who could complete the best pattern in one throw. Milvari had played the game as a young child, but always alone, or with her brother, never with any other children. Her mother had always kept her and Tratine apart from the other children, telling them,
Lords and Ladies shouldn’t mix with the lower classes
. Delighted laughter erupted as one young girl completed an almost perfect star in one toss. Emptiness raked its claws through her. She longed to sit beside them and play.

She turned away abruptly, remembering her purpose. She hoped that tonight she’d be able to steal into her uncle’s library and search the shelves for more books on plants and animals. She thought of asking the hunter, but each time she’d tried, she’d choked on the words. Since that first time, their lessons had gone back to the way they’d been, reading, writing and sums. They hadn’t gone out to the fields again. Milvari knew her mother had had something to do with it. She had berated Milvari at length after Tratine had recounted their lesson out by the stream. Uncle Milos was always so distant and unapproachable. She couldn’t possibly ask him. Besides, he might say no. Or worse, tell her mother she had asked

Milvari composed her face into the blank mask that kept others from seeing her emotions. Nothing hurts, nothing hurts, she told herself. But her chest was tight and pain bubbled up inside. Raw memories scurried around inside her head and vicious voices shouted at her. The voices were all jumbled together and she could never catch the words, but they were filled with anger and loathing. All their disapproval was directed at her, descending on her like thunder rolling down a mountain. Her head was ringing and she wiped her hands on her wrinkled skirt in an effort to push the voices down and away.

Nothing hurts, nothing hurts, nothing hurts. She sank down into a chair and squeezed her eyes shut. The angry sounds slowly subsided. She sat unmoving for a long time, afraid the ugly voices would return.

After a while, she sensed movement, and someone picked up the stack of plates she’d left on the table and carried them toward the kitchen. The room grew quiet. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The tables were empty and she was alone.

With a single glance toward the kitchen door, she slipped into the dark hallway, not giving herself time to change her mind. Sliding in and out of the deep wavering shadows, she stole up to the library and stopped. She stood outside the door, listening. There was no sound and no light shone from under the door, not even a glow from the fireplace. Her hand was stiff and cold as she gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Red and gold streaked the western sky as the coach creaked toward Sasson Hold. Mayet strained to sit up straight, head held high. She had forgotten how uncomfortable it could be spending day after day traveling. There were few settlements of adequate size between Tem and Sasson Holds, and the roadside inns and cots left much to be desired in the way of accommodations. The last inn they had stopped at had barely had enough room to house them for the night. And the food! Atrocious. Brilissa wouldn’t have slopped hogs with the fare that innkeeper had provided.

That at least was one thing Tem Hold offered, well-cooked meals. And more than common fare, too. Brilissa’s cooking was almost enough to make it worthwhile to put up with the woman’s uppity nature. Almost.

At least the inn had been able to provide her a place to bathe, although the innkeeper’s wife had no idea of how to properly press and steam a garment. Mayet ran her hands down the fabric of her skirt, to flatten out the wrinkles.

As they neared Sasson Hold, she stared out over fields filled with golden stacks of wheat and barley. Lisana was indeed a lucky young woman. Sasson Hold was one of the richest settlements in the Western Reach.

Tratine rode beside the carriage astride his father’s charger, looking older than his fourteen years. Several times already she had asked him how she looked. Each time he assured her of her beauty, but she remained nervous. She needed to make the best possible first impression to catch the eye of a worthy holder. Men had no idea what women must endure! The hours of endless worry over what to wear and how to behave. A man throws on a doublet and hose and everyone scrapes and bows, but if a woman isn’t perfectly dressed and coifed she’s considered plain and drab.

She shifted her weight on the cushions to ease the stiffness in her back. Days of rough roads and uncomfortable sleeping quarters had taken their toll. Her hand went to her face as she realized that age was catching up to her. Gently stroking the corners of her eyes with her fingertips, she searched for the telltale feel of wrinkles in her once-smooth skin. It was fortuitous that they had left the inn so late in the morning. Arriving after dark would give her a night to rest and recuperate, and time to make herself beautiful before anyone saw her. She sagged against the seat, letting her hands fall back into her lap.

Her mind began to wander. She had been born and raised on the western side of the great Zendel Mountains. There had never been any question of her not marrying a holder, someone with at least as much property as her brother would inherit, and remaining on this side of the mountains. But there was a time in her youth when she had wondered what lay on the other side of those great mountains. She would listen greedily to the stories and songs of traveling bards, trying to appear as bored as her mother. Those dreams were certainly past. She could barely endure two weeks in a carriage now. Crossing the Zendel range would be a torment. She sat up straighter. Fortunately, she had been raised a proper lady and had grown out of such silly childhood notions.

The coach gave a final heave and stopped bouncing. The road into Sasson Hold grew smoother and bright torches lit the roadway. Mayet leaned back. Some of the tension eased out of her aching muscles, and she moaned in relief.

They began to pass other travelers, mostly commoners, traversing the road, some herding fattened animals. A few men on horseback rode by and Mayet tilted her head demurely away from their gazes until they had passed, peeking out at them from under her dark lashes. More than one of the men were richly dressed and several were certainly wealthy landholders. She smiled. She would have to make inquiries to discover who the eligible holders were. A fresh sense of purpose skittered through her with a tingle of anticipation. It had been some time since she’d last sparkled on the floor of a bright hall lit for celebration. She began to anticipate the wedding festivities.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Milvari inched the door open and peeked into the room. Ruddy light flickered from the low fire and shadows rippled across the floor and walls. A heavy desk sat draped in darkness in the center of the room. She licked her lips and glanced back down the hallway. Fear beat upon her like a drum as she stepped inside. Holding onto the knob, she slowly closed the door, cringing at the audible click as it shut.

She brought out the taper she’d hidden in her skirt pocket, tiptoed to the hearth and touched the end of the taper to a bright red ember. The wick flared. She stepped away from the fireplace and held the slender candle before her. Pale light pushed toward the edges of the room. On one wall stood a tall wooden shelf filled with scrolls and books. Milvari took a step toward the shelf.

A dark figure loomed out of the shadows in the corner and a low voice growled, “Who’s there?”

Milvari gasped, nearly dropping the candle. Her uncle sat in a high backed chair. He leaned forward into the circle of light that seeped outward from the candle’s sputtering flame. His eyes were red rimmed and he blinked as if he were rousing from a deep sleep.

His hair was unkempt, his eyes bleary, and he looked like a demon in the dim light. Milvari’s breathing grew rapid. The flame flickered as the candle shook in her outstretched hand.

“Milvari?” His voice was gruff.

Milvari struggled to catch her breath.

Uncle Milos stood up, towering over her in the darkness. He moved toward her.

Milvari stared up at him. A small whimper escaped from her lips.

He knelt before her, lowering himself down onto one knee to peer at her. “What’s wrong, child?” His voice had softened.

Milvari shook her head and sobbed. “I-I-,” she stammered.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Milvari,” he said. His dark eyes shone in the firelight. “Don’t be frightened.” His brow drew down, but he seemed more concerned than angry.

Milvari stared into his dark eyes. There was something there she didn’t recognize. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

He stiffened. “Why won’t you speak to me?” His voice cracked.

She swallowed her fear. “I wanted books,” she whispered. “About plants. For healing.”

His hands fell away from her shoulders. “I have none. Not since . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she stammered.

He bowed his head. “No, Milvari. It is I who am sorry. Your father should be here for you, not I. Not I.” His voice fell so low she could barely hear him.

Was that sadness in his voice? Milvari gaped at him and some of the fear washed out of her. Was it sorrow she’d seen in his eyes?

He stood suddenly, rising once more to tower above her, then turned away. “You should be abed,” he said, his voice hard. The voice of her uncle once more.

Milvari glanced up. His shoulders were set, his back an insurmountable wall. She barely noticed the hot wax dripping from the thin candle onto her hand as she fled from the room.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kira entered the hold’s kitchen to prepare for the day ahead, shaking off the frosty morning air that crept inside with her. More than once in the past few weeks, Brilissa had pointed out that Kira was providing more game than the hold had seen in years. The kitchen was alive from early morning until late into the night. In between preparing meals, the kitchen staff kept busy with salting and preserving the extra meat for the winter months. Kira thought she saw new faces among the bakers, cooks and fire tenders.

“They’re not new,” Brilissa said, wrapping Kira’s morning provisions. “They’re from the outlying crofts.” She smiled. “You didn’t think Tem Hold sat alone in the region without crofts to support it, did you?” She put two ripe golden apples on the table with the rest of Kira’s food.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Kira confessed, taking a sip of her tea. The tang of lemongrass was a surprising contrast to the sweet ginger flavor of the brew. As the mornings had grown colder, Brilissa had finally convinced her to have a hot drink before heading out into the woods. “I know the holder’s sister-kin, Lady Mayet, has relatives to the north and that she’s gone there to attend a wedding. I assumed there were other holds like this one.”

“Not quite like this one,” Brilissa laughed, setting a dish of dark red jam onto the table. “I don’t suppose there are any other holds like Tem Hold.”

“How do you mean?” Kira took another sip, wrapping her hands around the thick mug to let the heat flow into her fingers.

Brilissa poured fresh water into a bowl of fragrant spice bark, wiped her hands on her apron and sat down at the table across from Kira. “First, let me tell you how Tem Hold is the same as other holds,” she said.

Kira glanced out the small window at the dark sky and nodded. Dawn came later each day as winter approached and the woods would keep for a while yet.

Brilissa poured herself a mug of tea from the steaming pot. “All holdings have a main hold, the place from where the holder manages his land and his people. All the lands about the hold belong to the holder, though they are farmed by crofters. The crofters are allowed to live on the land and farm it. In exchange, they help provide for the hold. And in times of trouble, they aid in the defense of the hold. In turn, the hold offers safety and support in hard times.”

“It sounds much like the country where I grew up,” Kira said. “Before the marauders came.” She set down her cup, unwrapping her fingers from around it.

“That may be,” Brilissa picked up a loaf of brown bread and sawed a thick slice off the end as she spoke. “But that leads us to where Tem Hold is different, or is becoming different, I should say.” She offered the bread to Kira.

Kira shook her head.

Brilissa shrugged and slathered a spoonful of rich jam on the bread. “The Lord of Tem Hold has determined to make some changes in the way the hold is managed.”

“Changes?”

“Our holder has ideas about the governance of his holdings that are rather . . . uncommon.”

“What do you mean by uncommon?” Kira asked.

Brilissa took a bite of bread and closed her eyes, smiling as she chewed. “Are you certain you won’t have some?” she asked when she finished swallowing. “This year’s brambleberry jam is some of the finest we’ve ever made.”

Kira reached over and sliced a piece of bread from the thick loaf. “It’s been a long time since I have eaten so well.”

“It’s my job to make sure the folk in this Hold are well-fed.” Brilissa pushed the jam toward her.

Kira smiled. “It’s clear that you are dedicated to your work.” She smeared a dab of jam on the bread and then bit into it. A rich burst of sweetness filled her mouth as she chewed.

“In most holds, the holder is considered the Lord and Master, and treated as such. His decisions are law and are rarely questioned.” Brilissa continued with a frown. “In some holds no one dares.”

The head cook paused, a distant look on her face. Kira stopped eating and waited for the woman to gather herself. After a moment, Brilissa, smiled. “Oh, I must have been dreaming,” she said, wiping at invisible crumbs on the table before her. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me how Tem Hold is different.”

“Yes, well, Tem Hold was ever the same as others. Even when Lord Kamar was Holder, may Troka hold him gently.” She bowed her head and invoked the Goddess, waving her hand in a circle before her to make the Sign of the Wheel.

Kira bowed her head and said a silent prayer to the Goddess.

Brilissa waited until Kira was finished. “Milos was the younger brother and had no desire to rule. He was always satisfied to let his brother, Kamar, lead even when they were lads,” she continued. “When he took up the rule of Tem Hold after Lord Kamar’s death, it changed him.” 

“You mean he wasn’t always so—“

“Dour,” Brilissa finished for her.

“I was going to say serious.”

“Yes, of course.” Brilissa winked at her.

“Even so, I still don’t see how that makes Tem Hold so different.”

“Oh, it isn’t his demeanor. No, no, no. It’s this new form of governance he’s introduced. People’s Rule he calls it. He holds meetings and lets every crofter and worker have a say in the running of the hold’s business, land and livestock alike. It’s got the other holders worried. They’re afraid it’ll spread like a grassfire on a breezy day.” A satisfied smile lit up her face. “Even the Lady Mayet’s been at him about it. For all the good it will do her.”

Kira wondered if all the people in the hold disliked its Lady as much as Brilissa and Harl seemed to. A pale streak had begun to spread across the eastern sky, signaling the dawn. Kira reached for the roll of provisions Brilissa had packed for her. “Thank you for the food, Brilissa,” she said.

“You are welcome, as always,” Brilissa replied. “Though, with all the extra work your hunting has caused me, I’m not sure I should keep furnishing you with provisions.”

Kira started to apologize, but stopped when she saw the cheerful glint in the other woman’s eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to waste away with nothing to do,” she retorted.

Brilissa slapped the table with her hand and chuckled merrily. “And speaking of nothing to do,” she said, rising from her chair, “it’s time I sent you on your way and got to work.”

Kira threw on her cloak and headed for the door.

“Oh, one more thing,” Brilissa said. “I would appreciate if you didn’t clutter up my kitchen with your garments.” She took a dark brown cloak from a chair by the table and held it out to Kira.

Kira inspected the heavy wool garment. “You know quite well that isn’t mine.”

“Ah, but it is,” the cook said, holding it out to her once more. “I won’t have it said that I sent Tem Hold’s hunter into the freezing cold with no more than a thin rag for a cloak.”

Kira started to protest, but recognized the stern set of Brilissa’s jaw. As a child she had seen that same stubbornness on Heresta’s face many times. It always signaled the end of an argument, with Kira on the losing side. She handed over the thin garment for the heavier one. The new cloak was thick and warm and would keep out the harsh winter cold much better than the old one had.

“Thank you, Brilissa,” she said. “I would like very much to repay you for your generosity.”

“You might bring me another fine boar in time for Season’s Turn,” Brilissa told her. “And a measure of fresh juniper berries. I have a new recipe I should like to try for the Turning feast.”

“I will do my best,” Kira said, throwing on the wool cloak with a flourish before heading out the door.

Trad stamped in the cold, eager to get moving as Kira tied the bundle of provender to the saddle. As she rode out of the main gate, she thought she saw a dark shape in the shadows, but when she looked back, the hold lay still and silent.