The Gathering, page 4
part #1 of The Hundred Series
He came around the desk and made a small bow before offering his hand. Yvonne took the hand and experienced a firm but not overwhelming handshake. He was shorter than she was, the top of his head barely reaching her shoulder, looking up at her with bright, interested eyes. Not one trace of resentment, or avarice. A mayor who did not surround himself with sycophants, who did not dress in the elaborate robes of office that were probably hanging in a cupboard somewhere. A mayor who worked just as hard as everybody else around him.
She was beginning to understand why Fir Tree Crossing was so wealthy, and so peaceful, and found her mouth curving up in an unexpected smile.
“I’m newly arrived in town,” she repeated, “and wanted to let you know I was here.”
“Yes. Thank you. I am Priadan. This is my sister, Orla. You are most welcome. Please, have a seat. Has my sister offered you any refreshment?”
“It is not necessary,” Yvonne began, taking the seat indicated. It put her opposite the mayor, and he had artfully arranged his desk so that anyone sitting in the chair would have a clear view of him between stacks of paper and ledgers.
“Tea, I think,” he said to Orla, who nodded once and left the room. “We have not had a Hunar in town before. The last one passed through before my time. More than ten, perhaps even twenty years ago. All stories say that she was very kind.”
“A small woman with red hair?” Yvonne asked, pain searing through her heart. There were no other Hunar who she would have described as very kind. It had been her very first impression of Elinor. Yvonne had been broken when they met, terrified of her own shadow and wounded in ways she had not understood, trying to protect the pair of wulfkin children who had been clinging to her as though she was their only hope. And Elinor had made them all tea, even the youngsters, speaking to them in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. It was only later that Yvonne had learned that Elinor was as fierce and stubborn as she was kind.
“Yes. You knew her?”
“Elinor. She was my mentor.”
“Was? I am sorry.”
“Thank you.” The polite words were an automatic response, Yvonne holding herself still and breathing through the fresh wave of grief. Mentor was a poor, shallow, description of what Elinor had been. Teacher. Friend. Confidant. A place of safety and refuge.
Orla returned with a tea tray, interrupting further conversation. Plain, beautifully made mugs and a similarly plain, well-made tea pot, that did not drip when the drink was poured.
Locally made, the mayor was happy to tell her. There was a pair of skilled potters in the town, great rivals, and he had a tea set from each, used on alternate days.
There was a bright gleam in his eyes when he said that, and Yvonne found herself smiling in turn, grief fading once more.
~
After a pleasant round of tea and conversation with the mayor and his sister, at least as well-informed and involved in the running of the town as he was, Yvonne went back into the sunshine with a lighter heart. Mayors did not always run their towns. The weak ones tended to give way to criminal gangs, or the local cerro, often a bully. Even the good ones were quite often more concerned with keeping up relations with the merchants, who paid hefty taxes, than with actually running the town for the benefit of townspeople, and mundane matters such as road repairs. She had the distinct impression, from the little she had seen, that Fir Tree Crossing was quite different and she found herself, for the first time in a very long while, looking ahead with a little bit of hope. She might have signed a five year lease, but that did not mean that they had to stay that long. Now, she was considering it. Daring to think that this might be a place to settle for a while.
A place for all of them. Somewhere, finally, that Joel and Mariah could settle and flourish, form friendships that might last longer than a year or two. Somewhere with enough people in the town and passing through that a Hunar might be kept reasonably busy. The tentative and tantalising possibility of somewhere to call home, after so long displaced.
She shook her head slightly. All possibilities. There was a long way to go still, and one more place she needed to go today, before anywhere else.
The law keepers’ office was not far from the mayor’s building, the purpose of the squat, stone building shown by the stylised metal gates hanging in place of a sign. She paused for a moment, looking at the sign. It was a miniature portcullis, exquisitely made. As well as excellent potters, the town must boast an excellent blacksmith. She wondered how many other fine craftsmen were to be found.
She went to the open door of the building, pleased again to find that the town’s offices were holding to a long tradition of open doors, allowing townsfolk to come and go as they needed, rather than having to make an appointment or, worse still, hunt out the people they needed.
The inside of the building was simple. A set of stairs ahead led down, to what she imagined was a basement, possibly with some cells. To one side there was an open door into what looked like an office, with an imposing desk, and the wall behind the desk covered with an array of weapons. It was an intimidating display, enough to make many people pause. To the other side of the entranceway was an open archway leading into a refectory, full of low benches and tables and the tantalising smell of food. There were about half a dozen people in the room. Men and women both. They were not in any particularly rigid uniform. Dressed in dark, serviceable clothing, a few with arm braces, a couple with the glimpse of chain mail under their over tunics. They also had the air of soldiers waiting for the next battle. A lot of them were still, settled in deliberately relaxed postures on the benches, idly playing dice. Others were tending their weapons. It was the sort of idle busywork that she had seen before, in mercenary groups or King’s armies, when they were between duties and between skirmishes.
It was also an odd thought to have in a town’s law keepers’ office. Law keepers were traditionally drawn from the townsfolk, given a badge and a cudgel, and not much more training than that.
“How can we help?”
The voice was male, low, cultured, and not at all what she had expected. Almost accent-less.
She turned to find the speaker was a tall male, a fraction taller than she was, dressed in the same, nondescript, serviceable clothing as the others she could see, a loosely knotted black scarf around his neck hiding what she was sure must be a mail vest under his black over-shirt. He had arm braces, and a sword at his side. Not a casual sword, either. It had a plain, serviceable hilt similar to hers, and the little she could see of the scabbard had seen a lot of use.
“Good day to you,” she answered, noticing that his eyes were inspecting her as keenly as she was inspecting him. “I’m newly arrived in town, and wanted to introduce myself, in case of need.”
“Hunar,” he said, lips twitching. He made a shallow bow that no ordinary soldier would do. He was older than she had thought at first. There was grey sprinkled in his dark hair, lines around his eyes, and a slight pull to his mouth that suggested a long and hard life. “We had heard rumours,” he added. “I am Grayling, law keeper of this town.”
“Yvonne,” she answered, with a slight bow, unable to help her gaze drifting again to the other law keepers settled around the refectory.
“Won’t you come and sit for a while. Tea?”
Tea was a rare treat. She was surprised, for a moment, that it was so readily available, and then remembered the wide river, with its barges. It was possible that every house in the town had access to tea. She gladly accepted a mug and was amused to see that it came from the same pottery as the set the mayor had used, commenting on the same.
“Oh, yes. The great rivalry. We have two sets of everything as well.” It was said with a sort of weary amusement that suggested that the law keepers had been involved in the great rivalry more than once, and regarded it as a mildly amusing diversion, rather than a serious threat. Yvonne was quite sure that this man, who was not the simple law keeper he appeared to be, would treat a serious threat quite differently.
They exchanged idle conversation, about the weather, about the number of barges, about the merchants passing through town. By then the tea was drunk and Yvonne hesitated before raising another, far more serious matter. No one had asked for her help, yet, but it was not in her nature to simply do nothing whilst people suffered.
“I have come from Ilfton. There were stories on the road. Young people going missing. As young as ten, as old as twenty-five. Girls and boys.”
All the idle amusement had vanished from his face and he was now as focused and intent as she had imagined he would be.
“Yes. We have heard rumours too. We arrived just before winter. Nothing in Fir Tree Crossing yet, but we have doubled our patrols and we are keeping an eye out. What have you heard?”
They exchanged information, Yvonne not surprised to find that he knew almost as much as she did. News travelled slowly across most of the lands. But this was a trading town, and merchants paid attention to anything that might affect their business.
Still, neither of them had any first-hand, eyewitness accounts. Just second-hand information rumours, innuendo, and speculation the followed familiar patterns. In some of the smaller, more outlying villages, some of it was attributed to superstition, and monsters in the night. In the larger cities, speculation concerned pleasure houses, and individuals catering for specific tastes. None of it was proven.
She left a short while later, satisfied that Fir Tree Crossing was in as good hands as it possibly could be, between the mayor and the law keepers. She wondered if the mayor knew that he had a group of Antonine Rangers posing as law keepers. It was no wonder that the town was peaceful. She also wondered what had happened to make the Rangers leave their home, far in the northern reaches, and busy themselves in a small trading town where, she was quite sure, not much of significance happened. There were no vettr here, the stone creatures able to decimate entire towns, their only effective enemy the powerful Rangers. And there were no wars here, either, that threatened the population. It was possible that the Rangers were tired of war. Tired of fighting near-indestructible creatures. Perhaps they, like her, were looking for somewhere to settle and call home.
That little glimmer of hope she had felt leaving the mayor’s office resurfaced, unwilling to fade. She tried to quash it, at least for now. There had been too much false hope over the years. But she had never encountered this before. An honest mayor. Law keepers who were Antonine Rangers, with oaths like hers. A cerro who held to the old ways, protecting his range. The hope surged up again. This could be somewhere to settle.
~
The town had its own market square. She got what she needed, enduring the curious stares from the traders and passers-by. The symbol of the Hunar was there for all to see on her shoulder, the green outline of the Firebird unmistakable, even if many people still believed the Hunar to be as much of a legend as the Firebird herself.
Taking a different street, she made her way back towards The Tavern, pausing in her stride as she saw that, ahead of her, there was a thick white line painted along the precise centre of the street, across the uneven cobblestones.
Curiosity spiked, she continued forward, seeing as she drew closer that there were shop fronts on either side of the street across from the line. Both selling pottery. She remembered the carefully maintained sets of pottery both the mayor and Grayling had commented on.
Some instinct made her walk onto the white line, and not to one side or the other. It was more than wide enough to act as a path.
She glanced to one side and then the other and saw that each shop had an almost identical display at the windows, and through the open doorways she could see a short, slender man in one and a tall, burly man in the other, standing with folded arms staring across the street at each other.
She briefly considered stopping and asking them why they hated each other so much, forcing herself to keep walking until she reached the end of the white line. In the shadows ahead, a figure moved, raising a hand to his head in a brief acknowledgement. One of Grayling’s men. The town’s law-keeper was keeping watch on the potters.
After the misery of the journey, the night’s encounter with the haunting, unexpected and welcome laughter bubbled up. She hastily put a hand across her mouth, covering a fake cough, and nodding in response to the Ranger as she passed. His eyes were dancing with amusement. So, she was not the only one that found the situation ridiculous. She wondered how long the mayor had been trying to get one or other of the potters to take different premises.
Movement further along the street drew her attention away. A beautifully crafted fabric banner was fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Her feet took her there without any thought and she found herself outside a clothier’s shop, the window full of a life-size man made of straw clothed in plain, serviceable clothing that nonetheless was beautifully made.
The door to the shop was open, a tall, slender lady sweeping imaginary dust into the street. One glance and Yvonne knew that this was the owner.
“Good day to you, Hunar.”
“Good day, mistress,” Yvonne answered. “You do excellent work.”
“Thank you,” the woman answered, dipping her chin. There was no false modesty. She knew her own worth. “Newly arrived?”
“Indeed. Just yesterday.”
“Old man Sanderson’s place, isn’t it? Haunted, they say.”
“Not any more,” Yvonne answered, hiding another smile. She had found the centre of the town’s information network, quite by accident. She wondered how many items of clothing the mayor and his sister had purchased here, all in the name of getting information. “Would you tell me, mistress, about that white line?” It seemed an entirely safe topic of conversation. Something very unusual.
“Name’s Frida. Everyone calls me that,” the woman answered, then looked down the street to the potters’ shops, shaking her head slightly. “Idiots. Too long a tale for just now. Another time. You must come and have tea.”
Curiosity roused, Yvonne accepted. She thought she might enjoy the tale, and had a feeling that Frida knew she had already had plenty of tea that day. The woman glanced past her shoulder again to the silent potters.
“It doesn’t help that Handerson,” Frida nodded her head towards the shop with the slight man, “has a rather beautiful daughter that Keffle’s son,” she tilted her head towards the burly man’s shop, “is smitten with. And definitely not helping that Keffle’s son is a lovely lad but nothing special to look at.”
“A kind heart will take you far, though,” Yvonne put in, fascinated.
“That it will. And the children are as kind hearted as you could wish.” Frida eyed her up and down. “I could fix that for you,” she offered, nodding to Yvonne’s sleeve.
Yvonne looked down and sighed. There was a small tear in the sleeve. She didn’t remember catching it, and yet there was an unmistakable tear.
“That is kind of you, but my daughter loves to sew.”
“She did the rest of the repairs?” Frida asked. It was not a mean-spirited question. Instead, it was a professional one, her eyes keen and assessing as they moved over Yvonne’s person.
Yvonne could not remember precisely how many repairs Mariah had needed to make over the years. A lot.
“Yes. She taught herself.”
“Self-taught?” Frida’s eyes narrowed further. “I would like to meet your daughter. She’d never be short of work here.”
“I will tell her so,” Yvonne promised, smiling. Mariah loved to sew, and loved to talk. There had never been anywhere that she was accepted where she had been able to do both. Yvonne continued on her way with a lighter step, that little bit of hope, that most dangerous emotion, spreading further in her chest.
CHAPTER FOUR
That little bit of hope was warming her through by the time she reached the small bridge that crossed the river near the house. She drew Lothar to a halt at the summit of the bridge, looking at the scene ahead of her. The haunting was gone. There was just a large, square, house with grounds around it gone wild with neglect. There might have been a vegetable garden once. And a hen coop. And the fields around were more than enough for four horses, once the fences were repaired.
The warmth grew. This could be, finally, a place to settle. A dressmaker who wanted to speak with Mariah. A variety of trades in the town which might suit Joel. Somewhere they could have some time, and space, to work out what they wanted after so long moving around, and after so long feeling unwelcome. They knew they would always have a home with her, however long they wanted. She was not ready for them to move to homes to their own. Not yet.
As well as places for her children, there should be more than enough passing trade to keep a Hunar moderately busy. And people she would like to get to know better, to work with. An honest mayor, and an equally hard-working sister. Law keepers with a background as complicated as hers. A dressmaker who, she was sure, would hold all the town’s secrets. And that was just on her first day here.
It was enough. It was more than enough. Even though she could see, in her mind’s eye, the tilt of Elinor’s head and the disappointment in her mentor’s face. Elinor had said, more than once, she could not live without love and passion. Her very different lovers had each brought different things. Yvonne had not been able to imagine, then or now, sharing her life with anyone in that way.
Seeing her children grow. Interesting work. Friendships. A house that was hers, that could become familiar over time, a place where old memories had no place.
It was a life. A comfortable, safe life that she wanted to try. At least for a while.
“I hate you!”
The scream, at full volume, carried faintly to Yvonne’s ears, cutting across her pleasant imaginings. Lothar merely flicked an ear. He had heard Mariah in a temper before.
He did not want to move on when she asked him. More sensible than she was, perhaps, but she knew she needed to be there when Mariah said something unforgivable, or Joel punched through another wall because he had just enough restraint not to punch his sister, no matter how furious she made him.
