Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Read online

  To keep him from somehow getting the information out of her, she took him around to see those few of her patients who were still abed, and the now-healthy flock of Fellowship sheep. The Fellowship had put them in a pasture along the edge of the river, an easy walk from the village, and quite an enjoyable stroll in the warm spring sunshine. A feeling of laziness crept over her as they came up to the fence and propped their arms up on the top rail, the wood rough and warm under her hand. He leaned over the fence looking as relaxed as she had ever seen him, watching the silly beasts graze and wearing a small but contented smile.

  “I have to admit something to you, young Keisha,” he said at last, after they’d both listened to a woodlark sing until it flew off. “I envy you this part of your practice, and I am very glad that you aren’t one of those who thinks herself too valuable to waste time tending animals.”

  “If one of those ever gets around me, they’ll get an earful,” she chuckled, totally relaxed now that the only human anywhere around was her mentor. “If our job is to see to our people’s well-being, how can we ignore the well-being of their animals? If their beasties fail, they’ll starve, and how’ve we done our duty then?”

  “Good point, and one I’ll remember the next time I need it.” One of the sheep looked up at them, and for some reason known only to it, decided to come over to the fence to see what they were doing there. Gil reached over the fence to the animal, let it sniff his fingers, then buried his hand in its woolly head, scratching around its ears. The sheep went cross-eyed with bliss, and Keisha giggled at its expression.

  “The shepherds tell me they’ve always been marvelously tame, but it’s been really pronounced since the rain,” she told the Healer. “I think they were reminded that many of them grew up in boxes next to warm stoves, so now they’re almost like pets—which makes me glad they’re wool-sheep and not mutton-sheep.”

  “There is something to that,” he agreed. “Seems like a betrayal to raise a creature as a pet, then eat it. Most chickens being an exception, of course.”

  Keisha laughed; she’d been pecked by too many hens and chased by too many mean roosters to disagree with him. “Most chickens can’t be pets; they’ve got less brains than Piel, if that’s possible,” she pointed out. “Since you’ve got your fingers in it, what do you think of the wool in its natural state?”

  “Why do you think I’m scratching her? It’s as much for my pleasure as hers; I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft.” He finally stopped his ministrations with a gentle pat on the top of the sheep’s head; just as well, for the ewe looked ready to fall over at any moment. He looked her over with a measuring gaze as she shook her head until her ears flapped, then went back to grazing. “Just about shearing time, isn’t it?”

  “Just about. The Fellowship always waits until they’re sure the cold weather is over before they take that protection away. I’ve told you how delicate this lot is.”

  “Yes, but obviously worth it. The shawls wouldn’t be half so desirable made out of ordinary fleece. That reminds me; Lord Breon’s son Val plans to pick out a shawl this Midsummer Faire, or so Lord Breon tells me,” Gil offered. He caught Keisha’s interest immediately. If the son and heir of their liege lord was getting married, the whole village would want to know all about it, and as soon as might be.

  “For whom?” she asked. “Anyone we know?”

  “Some sweet young thing at the keep where he fostered until this spring.” Gil chuckled. “I’ve got the notion that Lord Breon had that in mind when he fostered Val there in the first place. With eight daughters to choose from, there was bound to be something that would take.”

  “I’ll tell the Fellowship about the shawl first,” Keisha replied, already deciding who she’d tell first, and in what order, so as not to upset the delicate ranking order in the village. “They’ll probably want to do something special for Val, and they’ll want every moment of time to plan it.”

  “Yes, do that—but I won’t tell him they’re making a special shawl for him. He’s got it set in his mind that he has to pick the thing out—as if there’s a special magic to what he’d pick only he and she would appreciate properly or some other romantic nonsense.” Gil shook his head. “He’s been listening to a lot of love ballads lately—he and that lovelorn lad of yours have that much in common. Sometimes I think Bards do more harm than good.”

  “Well, they give us all something to dream about, I suppose,” she said doubtfully, then returned to the practical aspects of the courtship. “Meanwhile, I think we can all arrange that he gets his special shawl without knowing it’s his special shawl, if that makes any sense.”

  “Complete sense.” He looked up at the sun, and pushed away from the fence. “And if I’m to get back before sundown, I’d best collect my horse and be on my way.”

  They parted amiably enough at the pasture, and Keisha returned to the haven of her workshop. She still had plenty more to do while there was a relative lack of illness and injury, and just now nothing would tempt her back into the proximity of people. She felt relaxed, and she wanted to hold onto the feeling as long as she could.

  She truly dreaded having to go back home; lately at least one of the boys would have some sort of unpleasant dream each night, and although the dreamer never woke up and never remembered the dream, she did and it woke her up. The workshop was far enough away from the rest of the houses that nothing ever reached her here, and it would be so good to go to sleep knowing that the only thing disturbing her would be her own nightmares, if any.

  It would be so nice to have a good night’s sleep again, the way I did during the rains, she thought fretfully. I wish I could just live here and be done with it.

  Then—I wonder why I couldn’t just do that?

  She abruptly sat down in the chair Gil had used. All right, I’ll be methodical. The reasons why it would be difficult are—

  Mum would object, firstly.

  True enough, but she could point out that now no one else would get roused in the middle of the night just because someone needed her. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were going to be living out at the farm, or somewhere else out of sight and alone. She’d still be near at hand, quite near enough to keep an eye on.

  I’d have to start doing my own meals.

  Yes, but she did that sometimes anyway. The memory of the Fellowship’s communal meals popped into her head, and she realized that she could easily trade some of the routine health care of their flocks for the right to eat with them. Other than that—she could start taking a little more of her fees in food-barter. It could all be worked out.

  I’d be by myself. Mum will say that people might talk.

  Now, if it had been Shandi who’d wanted to live in the workshop, that would have caused a scandal. Shandi was pretty and had suitors, and people would certainly start to gossip. For this purpose, Keisha’s prickly personality gave her all the protection she needed, for there wasn’t a young man in the entire village who had ever showed any .interest in courting her, and they surely wouldn’t start just because she was living alone.

  And what’s more, Rafe can move into the cubby Shandi and I shared, and that will break up the quarreling with Torey. For that reason alone, Papa will back me up on this.

  But it was easiest to get something done if you didn’t stop to ask permission first—so before anyone came home from the farm, she decided to get all her things and move them over to the workshop. Move now, and argue about it later.

  She went straight home, and working quickly, had everything she could truly call hers piled on both beds. Clothing, of course, that was the largest pile; the carved wooden box Papa had made to hold her jewelry was on top of the pile of underthings. She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the top, following the familiar course of the curls and whorls he’d incised there.

  Beside that were her two dolls; all the rest of her toys had been handed down to her brothers as she outgrew them. One was a faceless, battered, and much beloved rag-doll;
worn out with loving and much play, but too much adored to be discarded. Beth had been the subject of many an adventure, many a peril, and so much hugging that the stuffing was permanently squeezed out of her middle. She had been rescued by Heralds and Hawkbrothers from every hazard imaginable, from forest fires to slavers—then, as Keisha’s interest in Healing strengthened and grew, had not only been rescued, but had been cured of every illness and injury possible, and some that would have been the death of any lesser creature. Her embroidered mouth was stained with all the potions that had been pressed to it; her goat-hair braids a little matted from the compresses tied to her head, and every limb had been stitched and restitched with sutures for imagined wounds. Keisha gave her a self-conscious little kiss, and put her down again.

  The other doll, an immaculate and beautiful porcelain-headed lady-doll that she and Shandi used to practice on when they were first learning sewing skills, was in near-new condition, for Anestesi had been a gift to a much older Keisha than Beth. In fact, Shandi and Keisha still used this doll to work out a new cut for a gown or the like.

  She picked it up and smoothed down the folds of the last gown they’ d sewn for it, a dainty creation for Shandi on the occasion of her being chosen Harvest Queen last fall. Of course, the doll’s gown was a patchwork of scraps with a network of chalk lines and other marks on it, which gave the gown a rather odd look—but Shandi had looked like real royalty....

  Yes, both dolls would definitely have to come. They could share the loft with her bed; that way no one would see them and tease her about them, and Beth could reassure hurt little ones.

  Next, basketful of toiletries. Scent, lotions, the cosmetics she and Shandi had created that Mum would have had a fit over, had she known about them—no doubt there; these had better come too. At least now she’d have some privacy to experiment with those cosmetics without anybody finding out. And if Mum discovered them, I hate to think what a scene it would cause.

  All of the extra sheets and blankets came next, but there was really no need to take them.

  I’ll leave the bedding, I’ve enough at the workshop, and if I need more, I can barter for it. She stowed it all under the bed where it had been kept before.

  Embroidery basket, knitting basket, plain-sewing basket—all of her handicrafts stored in baskets, making them portable enough to take along anywhere. Shandi had come up with that idea, and now Shandi’s baskets were somewhere between here and Haven in a peddler’s wagon.

  Yes, yes, and yes. I’m still going to need my baskets. I’ve got all that wool to knit up if I want a new sweater this winter.

  A pile of fabric—which had mostly been Shandi’s choices, but which Shandi was hardly going to need now, seeing as how she would spend the next several years wearing Trainee Grays exclusively. Keisha had kept the pile of fabric when she’d sent on Shandi’s clothing and handiwork baskets. Will I have time to do any sewing for myself? Well, probably. And colors that suited Shandi would also suit Keisha. True, the fabrics would do for new shirts for the boys, but when was Mum going to have time to sew them? She hesitated, then added the pile of fabric to the growing list of things she was taking. I have plenty of things that I can wear to work in, but not much else. It might be nice to have a pretty gown or so.

  Rag bag—

  Definitely. No one can have too many rags.

  The big box of odds-and-ends she was always meaning to do something with—brilliant feathers, a cured snakeskin, seeds that looked as if they might make good beads, half finished bits of carving and crafting—

  Maybe I’ll get some of that done.

  Eventually she had it all sorted through, and decided that three trips would do to get it all to the workshop. On the second, neighbor Tansy came outside with a basket of wet clothing and looked at her with a surprised expression.

  “Keisha!” she called, before Keisha could escape out of earshot. “Have you fought with your parents over something? Is something wrong? Why are you moving?”

  Keisha paused and peered around her burden, licked her lips nervously, and said, “We haven’t quarreled, but—Tansy, with Shandi gone, the house is just too small to hold all those boys and just me. Besides, I’m in the shop more than I’m here.”

  Tansy looked relieved, and nodded. “That’s the truth, and I’ve been saying to my Olek that you must feel like a kickball, in there with all those rowdy boys and no Shandi to make them behave like gentlemen. Well, good, as long as you haven’t gone and had a fight with your Mum or Da. I’ll remember you’re on your own, and bring you over a bite to eat now and again.”

  Keisha flushed, and smiled. “Thank you, Tansy. That’s more than I’d expect.”

  “Oh, it’s no more than we did—or should have done—for Wizard Justyn, bless his brave soul.” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the statue in the square. “I won’t keep you, dear—and I hope you enjoy a night without having to listen to your brothers for a change!”

  “Oh, Tansy—” Keisha laughed,“—they snore so loudly I’ll probably still hear them!”

  When she returned for the third load, Tansy was back inside her house, and she brought over the last of her things with a feeling of profound relief.

  The relief deepened into pure content as she stowed her belongings away—clothing into the clothes-chest in the loft and the wardrobe-cupboard downstairs, fabric up on a shelf where it wouldn’t get dirty, one workbasket in the window seat, one in the loft, and one beside the fire. The dolls sat side-by-side in state on her bed, and all the rest of her possessions fitted into nooks and corners as if they’d belonged there all along.

  Now it looked like a home. Her samplers and embroidered tapestries were on the wall, a lap rug lay over the back of the fireplace chair, embroidered cushions softened seats, and her blue glass vase sat on the tiny table where she ate her meals.

  And it was hers, all hers, with the stamp of no other hands on it.

  Wizard Justyn would never recognize the place, she thought happily. Not that she had ever seen it when Justyn was in residence, but some of the village women had given very succinct and pungent descriptions. They all boiled down to one word—one which made a world of sense to women, though it baffled men.

  Bachelors.

  Justyn had been a bachelor, and an old one at that. Bachelors didn’t clean up after themselves, for some unknown reason—nor did they really allow anyone else to clean up after them. The place would have been a right mess when Justyn lived here, with shelves crammed full of dusty oddments, clothing lying about on the floor or draped over a chair where the wizard had left it, and dirty crockery filling the sink.

  Now, every perfectly straight and level shelf held its proper contents arrayed sensibly. The big table that had taken up most of the space was gone, replaced by her tiny table, a short stool, and a couple of comfortable chairs. A tall stool stood beside her clean, orderly workbenches, the floor was swept, the hearth clean, and enough firewood to take care of the fire for the entire evening stacked in a log holder beside it. Kindling was in a bucket beside that, not scattered across the hearth. The biggest of the two windows had been deepened, and a window seat built into it. Her embroidered Windrider hung over the hearth, her first and second samplers on either side of it, and her Moonlady up in the loft over the window. Braided rag rugs softened and warmed the floor. All the food was stored out of sight in a closed and mouse-proof cupboard. There wasn’t a crumb to tempt mouse or insect anywhere to be seen.

  On the “domestic” side of the cottage, shelves were laden with her personal books, handiwork, linens, and other purely personal belongings. Here, the wardrobe and cupboard resided. On the “Healer” side, shelves were burdened with more books, prepared medicines, raw materials, bandages, the knives and probes, needles and Tayledras silk and catgut of her trade. This was where the workbenches were, and the sink with its pump. The fireplace divided the two “sides,” and beside it was a rolled-up pallet, where she could treat anyone who couldn’t stand, or needed sewing
up. That way the victim couldn’t thrash around and fall off a table or bed— and what was more important to her, if he was delirious or uncooperative, she could sit on him to hold him still if she had to.

  Acres and acres, and it’s mine, all mine! She giggled, remembering the punchline to a salacious joke she wasn’t supposed to have overheard.

  Everything was as neat and clean as soap and water could get it, including the loft where her bed was.

  And that, of course, would be another change. I remember when we cleaned this place up. Dirt had actually packed into the corners!

  Still, that was a little uncharitable, for Justyn had kept his own treatment areas clean. It was just that—

  Well, bachelors don’t seem to realize that dirt gets under things and into corners where you can’t see it. Bachelors think that as long as it’s not gritty underfoot, the floor’s clean.

  It was time to think about making supper—

  Or going to talk to the Fellowship. I think I’ll be lazy.

  As she closed the door behind her, she realized that there was something gone from her—resentment. And another thing—a feeling of being desperately crowded.

  It’s because now I don’t have to share anything, that’s what it is. Not the washbasin, not the chores, not a room. Bright Havens! I can choose to share, I don’t have to! I’m going to have privacy! Real, and total, privacy! She couldn’t remember having had complete privacy in her entire life. It was such an astonishing thought that she couldn’t think of anything else right up until the moment that she knocked on the door of the Fellowship’s Hall, their main building.

  She recognized the old man who answered the door as the “Eldest”—not really a leader, but the oldest man of the founding family, the grandfather of Alys. As such, he had the authority to make simple bargains for the

  Fellowship such as the one she had in mind without putting it to a vote.

  “Eldest Safir,” she said, with a half-bow. “I have a proposition I would like to put to you.”