Heartseeker Page 7

  Tears that felt muddy as the river pricked my eyes. One of Bula’s calloused hands stole round my wrist.

  “Ain’t none of this is your doing, child, you hear?” The Ordish man’s voice was thick with sorrow and his eyes rimmed with red. “No one bears the blame for this but that skunkspawn Pawlin, or whatever his true name is.”

  The tent flap opened once again. Maura’s face was flushed and urgent. “The meet’s ready. Ma and Barrow are just rounding up the last folk now.” She reached in to grasp her clansman’s shoulder. “A few of the runners are back,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Bula, they didn’t find anything but a few spent lanterns.”

  The man’s long, dark hair fell before his face. “Didn’t expect they’d find much. We never do, do we?”

  Maura and my brother exchanged pained glances over Bula’s head. “Only shouldn’t be put through no more tonight, but since you were there, Jon, you wouldn’t mind speaking, would you?” she asked.

  “Of course not. But if it’s all the same, I’m going to take her and Ether home. The Maiden’s nearly overhead anyhow.”

  Bula sat back on his heels. “He didn’t do you no harm, did he?”

  “No, sir,” I said, and sniffled.

  “I’m sorry you were caught up in this. I know it’s much to ask in one day, but—”

  “Our father would want to know,” Jon interrupted. “Maybe he could help. I’m sure if we—”

  Bula cut him off. “We like to keep our business our own, you understand? We don’t want to make trouble.”

  Make trouble? Fire burned hot in my belly. It wasn’t fair the Ordish had no one to share their troubles with. No one to stand up when their children went missing. No one to speak for them. While I sat comfortable at supper with my family, they knew that, at any moment, there might be an empty seat at their table.

  Jonquin opened his mouth to protest, but Maura laid a hand on his arm in quiet counsel. The girl pushed aside the tent flap and he reluctantly ducked out, holding it open for me.

  “Master Bula?” I said.

  The man’s eyes were fixed in the corner, on nothing in particular. “Aye?”

  “She told me, before she pushed me out of the runner”—I swallowed hard—“she told me to tell you that they’d be fine.”

  Bula laughed—more of a bark with no mirth in it. “Fine. Aye, or whatever passes for it in that blasted city.” An expression of pain, sharp enough to cut yourself on, gnarled his face. “Go on now, child. Back to your bed.”

  Not able to spend another moment drowning in the man’s despair, I stepped out into the night, where Jonquin and Mauralee were close in conference. Jon kissed her on the cheek and took hold of my hand. The two of us began the walk toward the big oak where we knew Ether would be waiting. Sure enough, as we came close, he and his moon-shadow leapt up to join us, taking in our soaking wet clothes with a look of surprise.

  “Great All, are you two all right? The lads just said there was a kingsman in the camp and . . .”

  I waved him off. “We’re fine.”

  “It don’t need going over right now, Eth,” Jon added sternly.

  Ether’s face dropped—he was being deprived of a second good story in one day. He kicked a stone on the path through the field. “I was just asking.”

  “You two’ve known all this time. What the king does.”

  My brothers looked at each other and then back to me. “They don’t like to speak on it,” Ether said.

  “The woes of the river belong to the river. The woes of the land belong to the land,” quoted Jon. “S’what Maura’s pa says, anyway.”

  “That’s just what Lark said, before she . . .” The river threatened to rise up in my eyes again. “Don’t the Mother teach that we should take up our neighbor’s troubles on our own backs? Ain’t the Ordish our neighbors?”

  “It ain’t as simple as all that,” Ether answered.

  Jon had fallen behind us a bit and he muttered something under his breath. Ether’s head swung round to hear him better. “What’d you say, Jon?”

  “I said, it should be.”

  The way he said it meant the end of the conversation, so the three of us threaded through the rows of fragrant blossoms in silence. Taking care not to let the hinges on the gate squeak, we slipped back into the garden and Ether made for their open window.

  Jon wrapped me in a hard, unexpected embrace. “I thought I’d lost you, Pip, when Toly pushed that boat away.”

  “Will he get them back?” I whispered.

  My brother rested his chin on the top of my head. “A few years of hard work, then maybe he’ll be able to scrape together the ransom for both of them.”

  Years. Lark and Rowan would spend a few years in Bellskeep. As prisoners. No, worse, as slaves.

  Jon released me, our wet clothes peeling apart. “I’ve got to go back. Are you well enough?”

  “He didn’t hurt me, Jon.” It was the best I could do without telling a lie. I pointed in the direction of the herbery. “I’m going to speak with Non. She’ll want to know I’m home safe.”

  My brother nodded and stole off into the darkness, back toward the camp.

  The herbery was attached to the house, but had its own entrance for those from the town who came looking for Non’s advice or remedies. She kept a small set of rooms off the main workspace—a library and a place for her simple cot, which she claimed she preferred over the fancy feather mattresses that we got after the warrant.

  I lifted the latch and let myself in. The smell of crushed herbs wrapped me up, green and familiar. Despite the wee hour of the morning, Non sat at her workbench, a book open, spectacles balanced on the end of her nose, blinking in the light of a single, flickering candle. She turned, a wide grin on her face that died as she took me in.

  “So, did you . . . Sweet Mother, child, what happened?”

  Every tear I’d held in during the night finally got its chance to escape. A sob tore out of my throat as I ran to my grandmother and let her wrap her strong arms around me while I cried and cried.

  The woes of the river belonged to the river. The woes of the land belonged to the land. But my woes were all my own.

  * * *

  EVEN THE BLACKBIRD had stopped its nighttime symphony by the time I’d managed to tell my whole tale. Wrapped in a warm quilt, wearing one of Non’s old nightdresses and sipping on another cup of goldleaf tea, some of the fear had drained away, but the sadness remained.

  “That rotten, stinking kingsman’ll have the Mother to answer to one day.” Non shook her head. “Those poor folk, having to fret for their children like that. Maven’ll be frantic, I reckon, her niece and nephew gone like that.”

  In all the furor of the evening, I’d near forgot about Non’s visits. “Why didn’t you tell me you spent time with the Ordish?”

  My grandmother had the courtesy to look guilty. “Found out about that, did you? Well, like I said, they’re interesting folk. I’ve had to be a little slippery about it, though. You know how people round here are.”

  The small, pesky flea of Toly’s strange interest in me still gnawed on the edge of my thoughts, daring me to scratch at it. I knew if I said it plainly, Non might look for a way to dance round my questions—she’d got good at it, knowing all about my wile. I’d have to go round the long way to get any answers.

  “Lark and Rowan called you a cunning woman.”

  Non settled back in her chair. “Well, now, that’s a bit of flattery.”

  “They said you were the same as their auntie. She does medicine, birthing, lore, things like that.”

  “Aye, that’s about the way of it. I ain’t got the first notion about reading the heavens, mind you.”

  I stared at the dregs of my tea. “This morning, when I asked you if they might know about . . .” I took a deep, steadying breath. “In all the years you bee
n jawing with the cunning woman of the Fairweather clan, you ain’t never thought to ask about my magic?”

  Non took a gulp of tea and sloshed it round in her cheek. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted mournfully. She was looking to decide something and I couldn’t tell what.

  “You have asked!” I burst out. “Why in All’s name haven’t you told me?”

  “A few seasons back,” she answered finally. “It weren’t the most comforting tale, I’ll tell you that. Maybe it’s best left for morning.”

  I grabbed her hand, spilling some tea out of her cup. “No! If you know what this is, I want to know, too. I want to know now!”

  “All right, child!” spluttered Non, wiping the small puddle of tea off her worktable with the edge of her sleeve. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in it, mind. It’s an old bit of lore, passed down through too many mouths to count.”

  “Oh, Non, just come to the matter of it!”

  “I’m gettin’ there, whelp,” she said with a sigh. “The river folk call it the ‘Tale of the Heartseeker.’ So, before the Great Weir, there was an Ordish girl that got left behind in Bellskeep. Name of Makeen.”

  “Like the waterbird?” Flocks of makeen wintered on the river below the fields. Their black feathers and bright red beaks always looked fine against the snow.

  “Aye, like the waterbird. Any rate, she went begging to the palace kitchens for work, and an old cook took her in as a scullery girl. Called her Mayquin, as the folks in the capital like to pronounce it. Mayquin turned out to be pretty handy round the kitchens, but it wasn’t ’cause she was quick at peeling potatoes. Can you guess what else she could do?”

  I knew the answer though I hardly dared say it, even in a small voice. “She could see lies?”

  “She could,” replied Non grimly. “But couldn’t tell ’em to save her life—the pain it caused was too great. The cook soon cottoned on and would always have the girl by her side when she haggled with merchants. Folk wondered how the old bat never got cheated, but the two of ’em kept it real quiet. Course, a palace is a bit like Presston. You can’t sneeze in the cellar without having someone in the attic knowing about it. Word got upstairs about the girl in the kitchen, and she was brought before the queen who ruled in them days and made to stand beside the throne while three of the royal advisors came forward to be questioned. The man in the middle had a fearful darkness round him and Mayquin said as much. As you can imagine, the fella was hauled away hollering and vowing his innocence. Turns out he was plotting against the queen’s life.”

  “What happened to Mayquin?”

  “She’d hoped to return to her clan when they came back to Bellskeep, but the queen didn’t really want to give up her prize, so Mayquin never did get to go back to the river. She spent her life in service to the crown—to the queen, her son that came after her, and her granddaughter after that.”

  A part of me felt hollowed out. “So, she was a slave. Just like all the Ordish whelps in Bellskeep.”

  “I told you it weren’t terrible comforting.”

  “Do you think . . . do you think it’s a tale a lot of river folk know?” I asked, trying not to sound as afeared as I felt.

  “I couldn’t say, Pip. Maven knows hundreds of tales. I can’t imagine anyone asks to hear that one very often.” The lines on her face deepened as she leaned closer to me in the candlelight. “You ain’t wrong, though. I should have told you sooner. I just didn’t want to put that kind of worry in your head. Like I told you, it’s an old tale—might not even be true. But it’s all the more reason to stay canny, you hear?”

  I shrunk farther in the cocoon of the quilt.

  “You look half dead, Pip,” Non declared, shooing me from the table. “Go on, you bed down on the cot. I ain’t tired just yet.”

  Non’s cot smelled of her—lavender, mint, and a hint of the charcoal she used in some of her compounds. I knew I should feel safe as I settled my small, weary weight, still swaddled in her best quilt, but even the quiet of the herbery and Non’s faint humming couldn’t steal away the shivers underneath. I thought of Lark and Rowan, wondering if they were laying their sorry heads down in a jostling ransomer’s cart and hurting for home. I thought of Bula and the empty bunks in the Fairweather barge. I thought of Jonquin and his place among the Ordish.

  But worst and most darkly, I thought of Toly’s hungry eyes and the glint of moonlight on his blade.

  8

  It’s a long way down the Baltway

  It’s green all down the Blue

  But I’ll sail right through the summer

  If it brings me back to you.

  Oh, the tides may rise and fall, my love,

  But Mama Deep runs true,

  I’ll see you down in the winter bay

  When she brings me back to you.

  —“The River Reel,” Ordish folk song

  It would have been easy to lose myself in the bustle of the harvest. I wanted to lose myself—in the sharp vinegar of the pressing barn. In the dusty purple haze of scythes in the lavender fields. In the cool, dim fermenting cellars. In the floury-sweet warmth of the kitchens, where I spent most of my time peeling fruit and pinching crusts. But none of those places offered me a place to hide from the kingsman and his black cloud of lies.

  I jumped at the slightest sound, convinced I could see Toly’s wild mop of curls round every corner. I broke dishes, dropped pots, and tripped over my own feet. Exasperated at picking up the shards of one of her serving dishes after a long day spent in the kitchens, Mama huffed and puffed. “Honestly, child, what’s got into you? You’d think we had a spook in the house for all your blundering!”

  My heart only grew heavier when the sun sank behind the hills and I could hear the Ordish round their evening fires, not so free or merry as before. Jon and Ether both tried to coax me back. Even Non tried to get me to sit with her and Maven Fairweather for a spell, but I wasn’t to be moved. I didn’t want to remind everyone of their loss. Every time I was even tempted to the river, the memory of Toly was always waiting for me. Well, ain’t that just a gold coin at the bottom of my ale.

  On the day after the harvest ended, I sat with Ether at the edge of the field, watching the now-familiar tents collapsed, rolled into bundles, and stowed neatly on the roofs of the barges. He pointed them all out to me, even listing off the families that called them home—The Red Darling belonged to the Dells, the Fair Man’s Folly to the Reeves, King’s Sorrow and The Raven’s Roost to the Cutteryjoys. As far as I could see round the bend in the river, the Ordish were preparing to move on, two less than they’d been when they’d come.

  Ether lounged on the ground beside me, knotting stems of autumn grass together. “Wouldn’t it be grand to go with them? To see the south where they winter?”

  If I squinted, I could almost see Lark and Rowan peering round the side of the big oak where we met. “S’pose it would,” I muttered.

  “And the sea, of course. Fen Piven says if you throw a pebble in at high tide during the full moon and make a wish, it’ll come true.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the sea. I’d seen drawings, in the books at halls, of the white-headed waves throwing themselves against the sand. Maybe it would be worth it to dig my toes into the sand of the southern shore. I could make a thousand wishes to bring my friends back—enough wishes to build a seawall. After all, what had I got to look forward to? Another year of halls and the familiar, cold glances of my hallsmates.

  But, I thought, at least I ain’t Jon, having to watch Maura’s barge sailing away down the cut. As melancholy as I felt, I couldn’t imagine how my brother felt every season, peering after The South Wind until it was just a speck in the distance.

  A shrill whistle sounded from up the hill and the steady clip-clop of hooves began to close in. It was time. Ether and I scrambled to our feet and raced to join our family.

  Papa ha
d gone to the lenders the day before to collect the coin. When I asked why the Ordish preferred them to the markers the orchard workers got, Papa looked sheepish. “Lending houses often don’t trust the river folk—won’t give them the coin the markers are worth.”

  I fell in line beside Non as we all made our way down through the now-bare lavender fields, the two chests containing the wages swaying on the back of Mama’s horse, Waymer. When I was small, I’d always looked forward to the parting—partly for the song and partly for the spectacle of dozens of barges at full sail downstream. But this year, I had only a lump of sadness in me. Even though it gave me heartache, I wished the riverbank crowded and lively a little while longer.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Jonquin turn to make upstream to where The South Wind was moored. Papa was jawing to Mama over some bit of business or another, but I saw their eyes flick toward my brother’s retreat. I wondered for a second if Papa was going to call to him, but Mama spoke to him quiet like.

  “Let him go, Ellis. Let him say what needs to be said.”

  I tugged on Non’s sleeve. “Jon’s just going to say good-bye to Mauralee, ain’t he?” I whispered.

  “Your pap and mam . . . they found out about Maura. They ain’t keen on their oldest boy courtin’ an Ordish girl.”

  My mouth fell open. “What? Why?”

  “I tried to talk some sense to ’em, but Jon’s almost a man now and he’s gonna have more responsibilities. Only a year or two before he’ll think about taking a wife.”

  “But . . . you said Papa was helping them by giving them work. He doesn’t believe all the nonsense that folk say of them!”

  “There’s a difference between not believing the nonsense and having an Ordish daughter-in-law, Pip. The warrant—”

  “All take the warrant!”

  Papa pulled Waymer’s harness and the old horse came to a stop. Both he and Mama twisted round.