Talon wondered who he might be, but remained silent.
‘Put the basket down in the back porch,’ Lela instructed.
Talon did so and the girl smiled as she vanished through the rear door to the kitchen.
He waited a moment, unsure what to do, then turned and headed back towards the barn. Inside, he found Pasko seeing to one of the many constant repairs the old wagon required, humming a meaningless tune to himself. He glanced up for an instant, then returned his attention to the work at hand. After a few moments of silence, he said, ‘Hand me that awl there, boy.’
Talon gave him the tool and watched as Pasko worked on the new leather for the harnesses. ‘When you live in a big city, boy,’ Pasko commented, ‘you can find craftsmen aplenty to do such as this, but when you’re out on the road miles from anywhere and a harness breaks, you have to know how to do it for yourself.’ He paused for a moment, then handed the awl back to Talon. ‘Let me see you punch some holes.’
The boy had watched Pasko work on this new harness for a few days and had a fair notion of what to do. He began working the straps where he knew the tongue of the buckles would go. When he felt unsure, he’d glance up at Pasko who would either nod in approval, or shake his head indicating an error.
Finally, the strap was finished, and Pasko said, ‘Ever stitch leather?’
‘I helped my mother stitch hides …’ he let the words trail away. Any discussion of his family brought back his deep despair.
‘Good enough,’ said Pasko, handing him a length of leather with the holes already punched. ‘Take this buckle—’ he indicated a large iron buckle used to harness the horses into the traces of the wagon ‘—and sew it on the end of that strap.’
Talon studied the strap for a moment and saw that it had been fashioned from two pieces of leather sewn together for extra strength. He noticed there was a flatter side. He picked up the buckle and slid it over the long strap, the metal roller opposite the tongue he placed against the flat side. He glanced up.
Pasko nodded and smiled faintly. Talon picked up the heavy leatherworker’s needle and started sewing the buckle in place. When he had finished, Pasko said, ‘Fair enough, lad, but you made a mistake.’
Talon’s eyes widened slightly.
‘Look at that one over there,’ Pasko said, pointing to another finished strap. Talon did as Pasko instructed and saw that he had made the loop where he had sewn the end together too short; this belt had triple stitching below the buckle for added strength.
Talon nodded, picked up a heavy knife and began to cut the stitches. He pulled them loose, careful not to damage the leather and then adjusted the strap so that the holes on one side would be where the first line would be stitched and the holes on the other piece would match up with the third. He carefully stitched those two lines, then added a third halfway between.
‘That’s right,’ said Pasko when Talon was done. ‘If you need to do something for the first time and there’s an example of the work close to hand, take a moment and study what you’re attempting. It makes for less mistakes, and mistakes can cost a man his life.’
Talon nodded, though he thought the remark odd. After a while he said, ‘Pasko, may I talk with you.’
‘About what?’
‘About my life.’
‘That’s something you need to take up with Robert,’ said the servant. ‘He’ll let you know what it is he expects as things move along, I’m certain.’
‘Among my people, when a youth becomes a man, another man is always ready to guide him, to help him make wise choices.’ Talon stopped and stared into the imagined distance for a moment, as if seeing something through the walls of the barn. ‘I have …’
Pasko said nothing, merely watching him closely.
Talon remained quiet for a long time, then he went back to working on the harness leathers. After more time passed, he said, ‘I was to be wed. I was to have joined the men in the long house, and I was to have joined in the hunt, planted crops, fathered children. I know what it was I was born to be, Pasko.’ He stopped and looked at the servant. ‘A man was to guide me in those things. But none of those things matter now. I’m here, in this barn, with you, and I do not know my lot in life. What is to become of me?’
Pasko sighed and put down the leather he was working on. He looked Talon in the eyes and put a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. ‘Things change in an instant, lad. Nothing is forever. Remember that. For some reason the gods spared you among all those of your race. You were given the gift of life for a reason. I do not presume to know that reason.’ He paused as if thinking about what to say next, then he added, ‘It may be that your first task is to learn that reason. I think you should speak with Robert tonight.’ He put down the harness and started to walk out of the barn. Over his shoulder he said, ‘I’ll have a word with him and see if he’s of a mind to speak with you.’
Talon was left alone in the barn. He regarded the work before him and remembered something his grandfather had once said to him: tend to the work at hand and set aside worrying about the work to come. So he turned his mind to the leather in his hand and concentrated on making the stitches as tight and even as he possibly could.
Weeks passed and summer became autumn. Talon sensed the change in the air as might any wild creature who had lived his entire life in the mountains. The lowland meadows around Kendrick’s were different in many ways from the highlands of his home, but there were enough similarities that he felt one with the rhythm of the seasons’ changes.
When he hunted with Caleb he noticed the coats on rabbits and other creatures was thickening, anticipating winter’s approach. Many of the trees were losing leaves. Soon a cold snap would turn them red, gold, and pale yellow.
Birds were migrating south and those beasts that spawned in the autumn were in rut. One afternoon he heard the roar of a male wyvern, bellowing a challenge to any other male that might trespass on his range. With the shortening days a melancholy came upon Talon. Autumn meant the harvest, and putting up salted meats and fish for the winter, gathering nuts and mending cloaks, blankets, and getting ready for the harsh weather to follow.
Winter would bring a greater sense of loss, for while the harsh mountain snows could isolate a village until the first thaw, it was that time when the villagers drew close, huddling in the long house or round house telling stories. Families would often crowd together, two, three or even four to a house, comforted by closeness and conversations, old stories being retold and listened to with delight no matter how familiar they had become.
He recalled the songs of the women as they combed their daughters’ hair or prepared a meal, the scent of cooking, the sound of the men telling jokes in low voices. Talon knew this winter would be the harshest so far.
One day upon returning from hunting, the coach of Count Ramon DeBarges was again visible in the courtyard. Caleb took the brace of fat rabbits they had trapped while Talon deposited the carcass of a fresh-killed deer on the back porch of the kitchen.
Caleb paused for a moment, then said, ‘Good hunting, Talon.’
Talon nodded. As usual they had hardly spoken throughout the day, depending on hand gestures and a shared sense of the environment. Caleb was as good a hunter as Talon had seen among his own people, though there were a dozen or so in the village who could … who had matched his skill.
Caleb said, ‘Take the deer into the kitchen.’
Talon hesitated. He had never set foot inside the inn, and wasn’t sure if he should. But Caleb would not ask him to do something forbidden, so he reshouldered the deer and mounted the broad steps to the rear door. The door was of solid oak with iron bands, more the sort of door one might expect on a fortification than a residence. Talon was certain that Kendrick’s had been designed as much for defence as it had for comfort.
He