Heartseeker Page 2

  I folded my arms. “I just know!”

  “Ah, but if you didn’t know, how could you tell?”

  I jumped off the bench and marched over to the wall. Jamming my feet into the uneven stones, I climbed to the top. The fields of sweet purple blossoms stretched down to the edge of the river in the distance. “I can see, Non!”

  My grandmother rose slowly from the bench and joined me by the side of the wall, lifted me down, and covered my eyes with her hands. “What if you couldn’t see over the wall? How would you know then?”

  “Non!”

  She took her hands from my eyes and grasped my shoulders. “Child, you mind me, do you hear? I’ve heard more odd complaints from folk over the years than you can imagine. Usually more’n once. But one thing I’ve never heard of is someone who can do what you said you could do, so I need you to answer me.”

  I never knew there was such a thing as something Non didn’t know. What did that make me? I shouldn’t have opened my mouth to Jon! A few fearful tears spilled down my cheeks, but Non wiped them away with her thumbs. “See here, no tears, no tears, Pip. You’re a Fallow of the orchard. You’re as tough as a green apple in summer. Now, once again, if you didn’t know what was on the other side of the wall, how could you go about finding out?”

  For a moment, I thought and breathed deep, trying to put aside the worry in my heart. Then it came to me.

  “I can smell the lavender!”

  I looked at Non eagerly, hoping for praise at my cleverness. She was smiling, but there was a sadness in it. Though I was heavy, she picked me up and rested me on her hip. We stared out over the darkening fields together.

  “A lie,” she began quietly, “is just a wall round the truth. Could be that it’s built strong like your papa’s wall, or it could be built out of something that’ll collapse the minute you shake it. But no matter what it’s made of, the truth is always going to want to get out, whether it has to climb over, break through, or leak out the cracks.”

  “What does that mean, Non?”

  She didn’t meet my eye, but her lined face looked more serious than I’d ever seen it. “The Ordish have got their auguries. Some can work the wind in the sails or the water beneath their keels. I heard tell of some who can even read the heavens, but those things ain’t too common among landwalkers. You hear stories sometimes, down south where there’s been more folk that marry into river clans or out of ’em. There’ll be a whelp come up that can do some little magics—glamours and the like. Nothin’ of particular use. But you . . .” She trailed off, her eyebrows making a worried V on her forehead.

  Just the mention of magics put the fear of All up my spine. It never occurred to me that my little talent might be an augury. The words made me think terrible thoughts. Would Mama and Papa put me out of the house if they found out? Would my brothers hate me? Would I even be allowed to attend halls if someone found out my secret?

  The cry of the fiddle drifted into the garden again, clear as a night heron.

  “Mam! Only! Come to table!”

  Non started at Mama’s voice from the house. She looked at me as if she’d forgotten I was there and smiled a sad smile. “Psht! Look at us, mooning over the fields like a couple of daydreamers when there’s a good stew on the go. Come on, you heard your mam.”

  “But, Non . . .”

  Non held up her finger. “We’ll have no more tonight. Let me sit with it for a while. But let’s keep this between us for now, eh?”

  She stood and offered me her hand to make our way back to the house, which looked warm and welcoming with light spilling out the windows. The halo it made round her stirred something in me.

  “Ain’t we forgetting something, Non?”

  She cocked her head, puzzled. “What’s that, Pip?”

  “Rosemary.”

  Non chuckled. “I plum near forgot.” She stooped to tear a few sprigs from the earth and put a warm arm round my shoulders.

  “You’ll keep me right, Pip. You’ll keep me right.”

  2

  Winter brings the frost

  Summer brings the rose

  Sure and fast as Mother’s love

  Your inmost heart she knows.

  —Children’s sanctuary rhyme

  Lies are beautiful, but it sure as sugar wasn’t something I was planning to share with anyone else—Rector Wither in particular.

  Truth is, I paid far more attention to Non’s sermonizing than I ever did to the white-haired man who stood behind the lectern every Matins. Her word on my little “wile,” as she called it, was more absolute than the testaments. As I grew to understand that folk sometimes had more than one reason for acting the way they do, more colors appeared round the liars for me to puzzle out. But one commandment remained above all—silence is golden. And by the Mother, I kept that one close to my heart, but it never bothered me more than when I was sat in the solemn quiet of sanctuary.

  In summer, contemplation of Her love and mercy was done while staring at the backs of other folk’s heads and sweating like a pig, sandwiched on the hard bench between Mama and Jon. The sun hadn’t even broke the sky, but it was already hotter than six of the seven hells and Rector Wither’s homily was as flat as the buzz of the locusts outside. Even the flames in the sanctuary lanterns seemed listless. My skirts were ruched up in the back, and my legs stuck to the bench. I snuck a look at Daisy Loler, Liss Tunnock, and Bete Markey, whose parents let them sit together by one of the big, open windows. No doubt, if I asked Mama and Papa, I’d be allowed to join them, but Bete and Daisy made it clear long ago at halls with their cold backs and poisonous whispers that they didn’t want anything to do with me. I shifted on the bench, trying to chase away the old hurt, but I only succeeded in doing myself a new one when my legs came away with a sweaty rip.

  “Be still, Only,” whispered Mama.

  I puffed some air up into the hair matted to my forehead. I didn’t know how she managed to look so unrumpled, every strand of her sandy hair in place and her long neck untroubled by beads of sweat. The air around us was soupy enough for frog spawn. Jon gave me a gentle poke in the ribs. In his hand, he had one of the orchard’s wooden markers—head of the king on one side and an apple on the other. Flexing his knuckles, the marker began a tidy roll over each of his fingers before disappearing into his palm and then reappearing at his pinky to start the journey again. It was an old trick—one he’d used at my bedside when I was small and frighted of the dark. Though I wasn’t so small anymore, watching the slow roll of the marker still made me feel as calm and dopey as the hens Papa stroked between the eyes before they went to the stump. Over and over it rolled, and lower and lower drooped my eyelids. I forgot about my discomfort and watched till my head dropped against Jon’s shoulder, starting awake when the whole sanctuary murmured, “Thanks for All.”

  Jon smirked at me. His little bit of token trickery had let me miss the rest of the homily, which I didn’t mind one bit. After eleven harvest seasons, I could practically recite the Tale of the Five Seeds right along with him. The rest of the sanctuary was stirring, too, eager to get on with the morning’s chores before Matins luncheon. The rector reached down to pick up the pile of tithe baskets at his feet. The sounds of folk freeing purses from belts and pockets filled the sanctuary.

  “Now is the time when we tithe to give thanks for all that we have by the work of our own hands,” droned Rector Wither. “And as you give, so shall you receive the Mother’s blessings upon you. Your tithe shall work among those in need and in the service of Mother All. And while we reach into our purses, let us also reach out to our neighbors to pass the Mother’s Peace.”

  I wish I could’ve slept through the Peace, too.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people have got a lie for almost every occasion. Big lies, small lies, lies told from shame or envy, lies meant to hurt and lies meant in kindness—I sa
w them all. Thanks to Non’s good counsel, I’d come to know a dishonest lie wasn’t always the mark of a bad character, but it still didn’t feel any good when they were told me by my neighbors. The Peace was meant as a time of goodwill, but I, better than anyone, knew it wasn’t always the case.

  As Mama and Papa reached for their purses, Jon and me turned to greet the folk on the bench behind and found ourselves face-to-face with the Bonniways.

  The years since Lutha and Mandrake showed their faces in our orchard hadn’t done much to improve their dispositions. Those years had made them bigger and meaner than a bear with a toothache. Jon, slim and strong as he was, would no doubt come off much worse in a tussle with the burly twins than he’d done as a boy. But we were sat in sanctuary with the Mother’s watchful eye on us, so there wasn’t much chance of fisticuffs.

  Jon did the neighborly thing and put out his hand to Drake. “Peace of the Mother be with you.”

  The big fellow blinked his heavily lidded eyes and returned the handshake. “I hope it’ll be with you, too, Master Fallow.”

  Jon’s face went purple as the wreath of ill will that ringed Mandrake as he squeezed my brother’s hand so hard, I could almost hear the bones crunch. Jon clenched his teeth in the shape of a smile and bore it best he could, but no sooner had Drake released his iron grip than Lutha took over.

  “I hope your harvest is bountiful this week,” he said, grinning, the same ugly bruise color spreading round him.

  “Kind of you to say,” gritted Jon, false politeness spreading over him the color of the sky before a funnel cloud.

  All round me the sanctuary was lighting up with colors that had become as familiar to me as my own face. Mistress Ward was exaggerating in light pinks to Mama about the size of the shortwolf she’d seen in her garden. Master Fullham was covered in kindly sparks complimenting the cut of Master Roth’s coat, which he clearly did not care for. Old Mistress Moor was nodding as Ether lied in shameful blues about his good marks in halls.

  Maybe if I were sat with Liss, Bete, and Daisy, I wouldn’t notice so much.

  It was a relief when the baskets made their way to the front and everyone ceased their chatter for the sending-out.

  “Go forth into this harvest week grateful. Grateful for the small seeds that multiply to feed many. Grateful for the trees that blossom and produce fruit—enough for our own needs and to share with those who are less fortunate. May the Mother make seeds of us all, so we may grow, nourished by Her love and the love of one another. Thanks be to All. Go in peace.”

  In cooler weather, folks like to linger and jaw inside; but today the benches cleared quickly, everyone anxious for the fresher air outdoors. Usually, I would be the first through the threshold into the sanctuary yard, but I found myself staring at the three girls on the other side of the sanctuary.

  “Move, you lump!” Ether’s voice cut in on my thinking.

  “Mind your mouth, Ether,” Mama snapped. She gave me a gentle shove toward the end of the bench. “Come on, sweetling, let’s not dawdle.”

  We shuffled out, Ether giving me a sharp pinch as he shoved by. Mama was quickly waylaid by Rora Blessed, who wanted advice about a new filly, when I caught sight of Liss walking down the aisle toward us. From my desk at halls, I admired her shining yellow hair and often thought how pleasant it would be to sit in the orchard, braiding butterweed into it and whispering secrets to each other. Her family had taken over the mill only six months before, and she seemed better disposed to me than most. With Daisy and Bete nowhere to be seen, I thought to put on a brave face.

  “Good Matins, Liss,” I said as she passed by.

  A shy smile touched her lips. “Good Matins, Only.”

  I hadn’t thought much beyond hello, so I stumbled over my tongue a bit. “Is . . . is your family beginning the harvest tomorrow?”

  “We are. I hope it’s not as hot as it is today or I might melt clean away in the field!”

  Boldened, I leapt. “Well, if your mama’s agreeable, maybe you could come for a swim in the river after supper?”

  There was an ugly, barking laugh. “Only if you don’t mind a watering hole full of river rats!”

  Bete appeared behind us, her pointed face in a sneer. “Everyone knows Master Fallow would rather keep company with the Ordish than honest folk.”

  A flush of shame burned my ears. “Our estate’s a big one,” I said. “We need help with the harvest.”

  Daisy sidled up between us and took Liss’s arm. “Your estate’s as big as your head, Only Fallow. Everyone knows about your royal warrant. You don’t have to keep bringing it up.”

  “I didn’t bring it up!” I half shouted, causing a number of folk to turn heads our way.

  “Come on, Liss,” declared Bete, taking her other arm. “There’s enough hot air in here without her adding more.”

  Liss looked at me, helpless. “Maybe . . . maybe another day?”

  Blinking back tears, I looked down at the creaky wood floor so I didn’t need to see the kind and regretful shower of sparks above her head that meant she’d not be swimming with me anytime soon.

  * * *

  OUT IN THE sanctuary yard, the sun was just beginning to peak over the valley to burn off the morning dew. Ether was playing some rough-and-tumble game with the elder boys in the broad sunlight while Papa and Jon stood under the big oak with a good many other folk who wanted to get away from the early heat of the day. I tried hard not to see Daisy, Liss, and Bete laughing and weaving poppy chains in the grass.

  “They ain’t worth your worry, Pip,” Jon said as I joined them under the tree.

  “Who says I’m worried?” I replied, trying to blink the red out of my eyes.

  Jon leaned back against the tree, wiping the sweat from his neck that was dripping into the collar of his best blue tunic. “Some folk are just looking for an excuse to boost their notion of themselves by setting others apart. If it weren’t the warrant, they’d find something else to harp on.”

  “Bete was on about the Ordish,” I grumbled. “Said we don’t keep company with decent folk.”

  Jon’s face got thunderous. “‘Decent folk’? That’s rich, coming from a hopped-up little whelp like her. I didn’t see her papa helping rebuild old Master Gabe’s barn after the fire. Or her mama taking dinner to Mistress Lorey after she lost her son. It’s funny how some folk define decent.”

  I leaned my head against the rough bark of the tree. “Mama always said folks would come round. Why haven’t they come round?”

  A bellow interrupted us from across the yard. “Good Matins to you, Master Fallow!”

  My brother and I groaned softly, as we both knew all too well who was coming our way. Even Papa’s eyes fluttered shut for wishing himself anywhere but there, but he turned with a friendly countenance.

  “And to you, Master Anslo.” Not many folk cared for the shopkeeper with his big mouth and loud notions on everything, from the state of the sanctuary walk to the color of Mistress Halefont’s new frock. But Papa was a powerful gracious person, so he shook Anslo’s thick hand all the same.

  The big man drew a forearm across his sweaty forehead, flattening the few strands of hair he’d left against his scalp. “I’d give just about All to be sat on one of our northern neighbors’ ice floes this morning!”

  “It’s certain shaping up to be a scorcher,” Papa answered.

  Anslo hooked his fat thumbs through the buttonholes in his coat. “Speaking of Thorvald, Mistress Buch was telling me her cousin was just back from Bellskeep, and the talk’s all about the match between the crown princess and that great walrus Eydisson. Can you believe it? A Thorvald on the throne? Can’t abide ’em, myself. That growling tongue of theirs makes ’em sound more beast than man. At least they ain’t Ordish, though.” A mean look crept into his beady eyes as he gave a disdainful sniff. “Suppose you’ve got them in for harvest again thi
s year?”

  There was a quiet rumble in Jonquin’s throat, but Papa smiled mildly at Anslo.

  “You know there ain’t enough help in this valley to bring in our harvest, master. The Ordish are good workers. And they’ve always done right by me.”

  “They certainly ain’t interested in doing right by the king,” the shopkeeper grumbled. “Ain’t a one of ’em pay a single coin in tax. You’d think with all their whelps being took to the capital by His Majesty’s ransomers, they’d change their tune. They don’t even value their own issue like proper folk!”

  I tugged at Jon’s sleeve. “What’s he on about?”

  But I got no answer. Jon’s face was a-twist with temper, all of it directed at Anslo.

  Papa’s back stiffened, but he schooled his face polite and careful. “I believe they feel those losses deeply, master, though I’m not one to question the king.”

  Anslo raised a bushy brow and folded his arms. “Oh, come now. They ain’t like us. And surely you heard about all the grain stores being set alight up north. Their work, no doubt. Not to mention all them savage auguries!”

  Though I was still trying to puzzle out what Anslo meant with the talk of ransomers, I willed myself to be still at the mention of augury. I was all too mindful what the shopkeeper would say of me if he knew what I could see.

  Anslo wasn’t finished. “I don’t know why you croppers give those folk a stopping place in the valley every harvest. I’ll tell you one thing—those dirty river rats better not come round my shop!”

  “They don’t need anything you’re selling!”

  Papa and Anslo turned to Jon, who suddenly looked very dangerous—his eyes hooded beneath his brows, casting a shadow on his face.

  “I don’t need lip from a lad without a hair on his chin,” Anslo said, puffing out his chest so that it strained against the buttons of his waistcoat.

  Papa laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “What my boy is trying to say, master, is that the Ordish get most of their sustenance from the river. They’ll have no need to trouble you.”