The River's Gift Read online

  "Go among—but—how—" Magda's face grew as red as a ripe apple as she struggled to express herself through her surprise and outrage. Ariella simply went about her business, changing swiftly out of her fine gown and into her comfortable dress, though as a concession to Magda she did slip on a pair of old pattens over her bare feet.

  She half thought that Magda might try to push herself between Ariella and the door, but instead the woman sat abruptly down on the edge of the bed, still struggling to make her feelings known. Ariella strode firmly out the door, ignoring Magda's splutterings.

  Nor was that all; she went openly to the stillroom and made up a proper basket of medicines and remedies, thinking that if she was going to defy Lady Magda, she might as well do so properly.

  Thus armed, she went down to the village and to each and every tiny earthen-floored home, looking for anyone who might be ill or injured. She was greeted with astonishment and open mouths, but not a one of the people to whom she offered her help turned her down. She found there pretty much the same sorts of ailments that she had been treating in the forest: babies with sour stomachs or nagging coughs, grannies with aching bones, children and adults with sprains, nasty cuts, and a broken bone or two. All her practice on the forest creatures stood her in good stead now, and she was glad of it, for she didn't think she dared exert her healing touch on fellow humans, at least not yet. Before she had gotten half through the village, some of those who had been working out in the fields and sheds came trickling in with minor hurts, probably summoned by children carrying the astonishing news that "the Lady" had come to tend to them.

  As she bound up the last of the sprains, she looked about only to find herself surrounded by curious onlookers in their dusty, earth-colored, threadbare working clothes. But the work-worn faces around her showed no sign of fear or animosity, only puzzlement and gratitude. She stood up and straightened her shoulders, and with a nod, addressed a stoop-shouldered old man who she instinctively felt was probably considered to be a leader here. He looked her fearlessly in the face.

  "Thenkee, milady," he said humbly. "Th' last hand t' tend us thuslike was yer blessed Lady-Mother. 'Tis far fer us t'be goin't' the Abbey fer sprains an' belike—"

  "Then it's high time I took Mother's place, isn't it? If you like, Uncle," she said, giving him the title that the serfs used with a man they respected, "I'll come every day from now on to see to the village—and beyond, if you'll spread the word. It would be easier for me, if it's possible that everyone beholden to Lord Kaelin were to come here for tending."

  "Aye, that," the old man agreed happily. Ariella gathered up what was left of her bandages and medicines and the crowd parted to let her through. She pondered what the old man had told her as she took the path to the Manor that would lead her through the forest.

  I never knew that Mother took care of our people. I wonder why Papa never told me? It couldn't have been because he didn't approve; he himself mingled with his serfs and underlings. Perhaps he had simply forgotten, or perhaps Lady Magda had taken it upon herself to pronounce that such a task was "unsuitable" to Ariella's rank, sex, and youth, and Lord Kaelin did not have the fortitude to nay- say her.

  That gave her cause to wonder if her mother had also had the gift of magic healing. Or if she'd had it, but had never known and never used it. After all, I never would have known if the dogs hadn't come to me first, and I didn't know any better and I couldn't help myself. ... If her mother had never shared that experience, by the time she had come to Swan Manor as an adult bride, she would probably have ignored the persistent proddings of the power inside her.

  She was so sunk in her own thoughts that she hardly noticed when she reached the heart of the forest. It was only when she nearly tripped over a young rabbit that she realized her goal and it was time to begin her ministrations all over again.

  Lady Magda was so taken aback by Ariella's rebellion that she did not even trouble herself to challenge Ariella the next day when the girl changed into her old linen dress and marched confidently out to what she now considered to be her duty. She simply shook her head in disbelief and took to her bed for her daily nap. Lord Kaelin said nothing to his daughter about her self- appointed position, and Ariella did not bring the subject up; even if he disapproved as much as Lady Magda did (which she privately doubted) as long as he didn't say anything, she could go right on.

  The one creature who did express his approval with a whole heart was Merod. The Kelpie made no secret of how he felt.:Everything you do to make the other mortals well and happy will make our lives better,: he declared, switching his tail vigorously.:If they are well, they will be kinder to the land and the wild things. They will keep their Cold Iron within the bounds of the fields they know. They will not come hunting us, believing that their ills come from our curses.:

  He was in a mischievous and cheerful mood today, frisking coltishly in the shallows. He splashed her, and laughing, she returned the favor, kicking water at him.

  :Would you like to see some magic?: he asked her abruptly. None of the other creatures of Faerie had ever made her such an offer, and she inhaled sharply.

  "Yes!" she exclaimed before he could change his mind. "All I've ever seen is when one of your friends vanishes—" :All you haven't seen, you mean,: he snickered, and she reached down to splash him again..:What makes you think a little water will bother me?:

  "Nothing, obviously." She laughed. "But are you really going to show me something magic?"

  :Certainly. Would you care to see what your mother looked like when she first came to Swan Manor?: Without waiting for her reply—which was just as well, since she suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe—he turned to face the river and pawed the surface of the water three times.

  A sparkling mist gathered above the river, fog mingled with streamers of thousands of tiny motes that glittered with jewel-bright, ever-changing colors. The fog thickened, obscuring the other bank; the motes danced and glimmered, dazzling her eyes. Then, all in a single moment, the colors flared and vanished, and hanging in the mist was a vision of a young woman, looking as alive and real as Ariella herself.

  The slender maiden stood in quiet attentiveness, head bare of veil, looking up at something. Her hair fell to her knees in two thick plaits, as golden and luxuriant as Ariella's own. Her wide sky-blue eyes gazed upwards with an expression of intense concentration, yet there was a merry sparkle in them, and more than a hint that she would laugh more often than she frowned. The body beneath her blue woolen gown was slender, her neck long and graceful, her hands slim and so white even Lady Magda would have approved. She was very beautiful, and Ariella gazed at her with mingled admiration and doubt.

  :You're very like her,: the Kelpie said.

  She shook her head. "No, I could never be that beautiful, that graceful. I'm as ungainly as a young calf." The maiden in the Kelpie's vision was as ethereal as an angel, and Ariella could not imagine anyone more unlike her than her daughter. Was this how Lady Magda wanted her to appear? If so, there was little wonder that Lady Magda was so disappointed in her charge.

  "I can see now why Papa never wanted to remarry," she said softly. "What other woman could ever compare with my mother?"

  :Oh, I suppose there must be some, somewhere,: the Kelpie replied lightly, and shook his head so that his mane flew. The vision of the young woman broke apart into the myriad of sparkling motes. Ariella did not entirely regret losing sight of the woman who had given birth to her. Such a vision of perfection made her all too aware of her own shortcomings.

  :You wanted to know what one of the Great Ones look like,: Merod continued.:Well, here is a gathering of some.:

  This time the motes reformed into not one but several figures, engaged in a stately dance, and Ariella gasped in purest wonder.

  They were tall, nothing like the little creatures who came to her to have their ailments tended. Even the sylphs and nixies, the most humanlike of the lot, were never bigger than a tall child of twelve or thirteen. But these be
ings, even the three females, were taller even than her Papa.

  She had thought that her mother was angelic in her perfect beauty; now she swiftly revised her opinion. Her mother had been lovely, but all six of the Faerie possessed an incandescent beauty that scorched the heart and soul and left the mind bedazzled. Their faces were alight with it, their wand-slim figures lithe with it. The men and women alike wore their ebony or silver-gilt hair long, in elaborate arrangements threaded with beads and gems, entwined with thin silver chains, arranged on crystal combs, adorned with wreaths of enormous, pale flowers and silken ribbons. Their garments were like nothing Ariella had ever seen, made of the thinnest gossamer silks, rich with needlework, fluttering with butterfly sleeves, trailing intricately embroidered trains, and embellished with ornaments of silver, gems, and delicate lace. Winglike eyebrows graced elongated emerald eyes, thin and aquiline noses complimented delicate mouths as soft as rose-petals. They moved like swans on the water, swallows in the sky, fish in the deep; like a sigh, like a song. She was obscurely glad that there was no music to accompany their dancing; it would have been too heart- breakingly beautiful for any mere mortal to have borne.

  She looked away, unable to bear with so much wonder. When she looked back, the figures were gone, the mist dispersing, and she turned to meet the Kelpie's knowing green eyes.

  :Lovely, aren't they? But they are too high for me. I prefer the beauties of the middle Earth for myself,: was all Merod said, but Ariella knew that he understood.

  The days passed, much alike, but too full of enjoyment for Ariella ever to be bored with her lot. So long as the sun shone and the weather was fine, six days out of the week her schedule was much the same. In the mornings Ariella studied what Lady Magda set her, recited yet another saint's life, and took a few stitches on her altar- cloth, feeling that she should at least make a token effort in Lady Magda's direction. As soon as she was able, she freed herself of her encumbering gowns and the formal nonsense Lady Magda thought so important and left "Lady Ariella" behind.

  She didn't see the creatures of Faerie every day; in fact she usually didn't see any of them but Merod more than once or twice in a fortnight, if one of them needed her tending. But now that she knew they were all around her, she sensed their invisible presence and often thought she heard them going about their lives in the woods around her.

  Merod, however, was a constant friend and companion, and he traded tales of life among the Faerie for her own stories gleaned from the histories and chronicles in the library of the Abbey. He had a lively curiosity about the world outside the forest and was as eager for such stories as a child.

  On the rare occasions when it rained during the day, she took her horse and rode to the Abbey to delve among the books or absorb more knowledge of herbs and physik from the Infirmarian and his helpers. When it rained, it was no use going out to the forest; the animals kept to their dens, and Merod had no place for her to take shelter. Besides, rain made the Kelpie wild and restless and not much good as a conversationalist.

  And once each week on Sunday, rain or shine, she and her father rode out together, with Lady Magda trundled along in a horse-litter, to attend holy services at the Abbey chapel.

  So the summer passed. Then, before she quite realized it, the summer was gone and the busy season of harvest was upon them. The summer had been perfect for growing, and it seemed that there was an abundance, even an overabundance, everywhere Ariella looked. And while this meant great things for the continued prosperity of Swan Manor and those that depended on the harvest, Ariella knew that until the last fruit was picked and nut gathered in, she would bid farewell to her days of relative leisure. Every hand was needed for such a rich harvest-season, and even Lady Magda would not be spared. The reapers had already been out in the first hay-field, and it was time for all the Manor-folk to set to.

  "We start haying tomorrow," she sighed to Merod after one of the swimming lessons he had insisted on. He was determined that she learn to swim, and swim well, after being taken unaware by the current and getting a fright and a lung-full of water. Now she swam, if not as well as one of the otter-maidens, at least well enough to keep herself out of trouble. She usually stripped to her short chemise to swim, having no fear that any humans would come this way without warning, and feeling no embarrassment in Merod's presence.

  Now she combed out her hair with her fingers to help it dry as she sat in a patch of sun, with Merod reclining at his ease beside her, and reluctantly broached the subject of the upcoming harvests and her inevitable absence until they were over. Would Merod be angry with her? Would he feel betrayed? She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she did have her duty to the Manor—

  :So you'll have your hands full for some time, I expect. If we need your skills, we'll find a way to let you know,: the Kelpie replied matter-of-factly. .:I'll miss your company, of course, but—: he cocked his head to the side.:Why are you looking at me so oddly?:

  "How did you know I would have to help with the harvest?" she asked, feeling her eyes widen with surprise.

  He laughed. :I have seen more than three hundred harvests come and go. Do you think I wouldn't recognize the signs of an especially good one? And of course, if the harvest is good, your father will have hired extra hands at the hiring fair and still you and every person in the Manor will need to add your labor.:

  She echoed his laughter. "Of course. I keep forgetting you are as old as the hills themselves," she replied teasingly.

  :Not quite as old as the hills, but old enough.: He gave her another of those brief, feather-light touches to the cheek with his nose, so close to a kiss that they gave her chills. :Go in good conscience and do your duty. I'll miss you, but remember what I've told you.:

  He didn't need to repeat it; anything she did to add to the peace and happiness of the lands about the Manor made a difference in the lives of the Faerie folk. So when she made her way back from the forest for what she knew would be the last time for many days, she had the comfort of knowing that though she would sacrifice a little freedom, she would still be adding to the peace of her friends.

  The hay was the first of the crops to be gathered in, and it needed a steady space of at least a week with hot sun, no rain, and little dew, for once it was cut, it had to cure before it could be brought into the barns. First the reapers made their way down the fields like an advancing army, sweeping at the succulent grasses with their scythes and leaving the green stems flat on the ground behind them like a vanquished army. Every harvest— though thankfully, never at Swan Manor—reapers lost limbs and lives to a careless swipe of the blades. A good hand with a scythe was worth any three common laborers, and Lord Kaelin rewarded his reapers well.

  It was the job of the less skilled to come along behind them and rake the hay into neat rows for the turning, while the harvesters moved across the fields with the precision of clockwork, stopping only to sharpen their instruments. In fields already harvested, where the hay had sufficiently dried, the hay-wains lumbered, with their own crews of rakers, forkers (who tossed clumps of hay up onto the wagons), loaders, and a driver. The hot, still air was full of the sounds of insects buzzing, the reapers chanting, the rakers humming, and the sweet scent of newly mown hay. All of this was thirsty work, and Ariella and Lady Magda labored up and down the rows with the old women and small children with their buckets of cool water. For once Lady Magda eschewed her heavy black and gray gowns for a simple linen chemise and apron, bundling her hair up beneath a kerchief and leaving her dignity back in the Manor.

  When the hay was in, it was time for the grain—oats, wheat, barley and rye—all three scythed and harvested in much the same manner as the hay. The weather remained perfect, hot and still, and the golden grain fell before the scythes, rich with the promise of the well-fed winter.

  From the fields, the wains went to the threshing circles, where threshers beat the sheaves to loosen the grain from the straw. Ariella worked with the winnowers, tossing basketfuls of grain into the air for the
breeze to carry away the lighter chaff while the grain dropped back to the ground.

  The harvest wasn't over yet—in fact it was just begun. Next came peas, beans, and other vegetables that would be dried for winter preservation. Ariella was out in the rows with the other women and children, filling her apron with pods and emptying it in the barrow a boy brought up. After the beans and peas came the root vegetables, turnips and mangle-wurzles, beets, onions, and leeks. Then came the hops, then the berries, apples and nuts. Nor was this the end; rushes had to be cut and dried for strewing on the floors, herbs gathered and hung to dry, honey gathered from the hives. Not even the blossoms were spared the gathering-in; lavender, roses and other flowers were stripped of their petals or preserved whole for sweet-scented sachets and potpourris or to be candied, and all of this needed people's hands, Ariella's among them. She worked from the first light of false dawn to the last hint of twilight, fell into her bed exhausted, and woke to do it all over again. Every bucket of grain, every round, white turnip, every apple and honeycomb meant a pleasant and comfortable winter for the people of Swan Manor. No one would go hungry, and there would be extra to sell for things the Manor didn't produce for itself, and still more to sell for luxuries— spices and cakes of white sugar for cooking, oranges to stick full of cloves and hang to scent the air, silks for gowns, dye-stuff—Twelfth-Night gifts. . . .

  Ariella indulged herself with imagining what she might buy from peddlers at the Harvest Fair as she worked, sweat dripping down her neck and even off the tip of her nose. And all the while, in the last field of barley to be mowed, a single uncut sheaf stood in the very middle, a sheaf that would be left untouched until the very last apple and nut of the harvest was gathered in.

  Finally, at long last, in the final honey-gold moments of an autumn afternoon, the entire population of the Manor gathered behind Lord Kaelin and the chief reaper, each of whom had tiny silver sickles in their hands. Everyone was dressed in his or her best, and even the poorest wore a bright ribbon or two and a wreath of flowers in their hair. Ariella, like the other unmarried maidens, wore her hair unbound and streaming down her back, with a wreath of flowers, wheat, and ribbons crowning her head.