‘When I am weary,’ he said softly, ‘there are subjects that come to my mind. Things that pain me. And when those subjects are touched upon, I become abrupt and rude, taking offense where none is meant and forgetting where courtesy is owed for hospitality shown.’
He stood before her, seeming to wait. Words struggled in Ki. Should she demand to know the meaning of the mark on his neck? The candle flickered in the cuddy, the lighting was uncertain. Was Vandien to be accused and suspected because he had a peculiarly shaped birthmark? Her logic fought with her wariness. Courtesy intervened when she realized that Vandien was still standing before her, waiting.
‘We are both tired,’ Ki said. The words were enough. He sighed as she blew out the candle. There was less awkwardness as they crawled under the covers, but more watchfulness on Ki’s part. He did not seem to notice. He stretched his body out beside hers, full-length, yet he was careful not to let any touch occur. He was still and silent except for one spell of coughing. Yet Ki could not lose her awareness of him. Anger rose in her. She was sick to death of her fears. Enough that she must watch the skies all day for death. Now must she fear that the man stretched beside her was a servant of the Harpies, an instrument of their revenge? She cautioned herself that she must wait and see. She would not let her hastiness hurt an innocent man. She would never be guilty of that again. And yet she chafed to know, to have her final encounter with the Harpy above, to know what this man beside her was. But she must wait. And waiting was the thing she was worst at. Her last few days at Harper’s Ford seemed to have been years in her life, to have aged her as years on the road with Sven had not.
Her short knife chewed slowly through the tough stem. Already it needed sharpening again. A poorly forged tool even for this job. Ki squatted, seized the large orange fruit, and lifted it. Moving carefully to avoid the plants that still bore ripening fruit, she lugged the punker over to where the beaten cart track wound through the field. She stacked it with the others. She stopped beside the pile, arching her back to stretch her aching muscles in a new direction. About her the hills were beginning to turn from greens to yellows. Leaves of birch were yellow-veined. Alder would be scarlet soon. The summer was dying. The Harp trees played a sadder song. Or was it the humming of her ears?
Ki returned to the row, stooped to saw free another large punker. So this was the life of the landed, she reflected bitterly. Now she knew what it was to belong to the dirt under her feet. With a twinge of despair, she thought of her wagon gathering dust in the barn. Her heart yearned for the road. Soon, soon, she promised herself, wondering if she lied again. Soon.
She lugged the punker to join the others in the pile. She worked alone. Time had not brought her acceptance. There were still those in the family who would not concede that ignorance had brought about that disastrous rite. There were some who would never forgive her for shattering their ideals, even though Cora often told Ki that all was not as bad as they made it out. Ki still did not know what to make of Cora.
Why did she wish to keep Ki here, and go to such lengths to try to make her happy? Ki herself was willing to admit she was a good worker. She had nearly finished harvesting the field of punkers by herself. Rufus had wanted to put three workers on the field; Ki had done it alone in a single day. There was a simpler answer: Cora loved her as she said, and wished her to stay for that reason only. Ki grunted as she lifted a large punker. She hoped that was not the reason. For, then Cora might never be willing to let her go. And she hungered for the road. Here in the fields, she could not dream of Sven and her children, she could not pretend them here beside her. They had belonged on her wagon, by her fire at the close of the evening. Ki grieved because she could not grieve for them. Cora knew it. She would come upon Ki, silent at some task, and give her a nudge or a shake as she passed.
‘Let them go,’ she would plead, a sorrowful look in her eyes. ‘We do not speak of our dead here, lest we draw them back to us from a better place. And what you are doing is worse than speaking. You clutch them to yourself. The Rite did not loose them from you, Ki. Now you must loose them on your own. Let them go, child. Begin to live your life again.’
Then Cora would leave, hurrying to some task of her own. Ki envied her that bustle of life. She looked so purposeful, so certain of the importance of what she did. And lately she looked at Ki with more speculation in her eyes than before. Ki dreaded the moment when its purpose would be revealed. She did not wish to have anyone thinking of her, making decisions that included her. She only wanted to be on her road.
Ki watched her hands sawing at the stem. They were thinner now than they had ever been, but just as strong. The calluses were in new places now. Ki felt as if she were drying up all over, hardening in spots where once she had been soft. She did not mind. She just wished the process would hurry up. Maybe when she was completely dried and hard she would accept this new life. She might stop wondering hopelessly why she lacked the force of will to leave.
A shadow fell across her hands. Lars bent and took the punker from her.
‘Must you always work so diligently?’ he asked, laughing weakly. ‘You leave me no excuse to idle!’
Ki made a smile for him as she rose. ‘I didn’t even hear the wagon come. We may have to make two trips with this field. It bore more heavily than the other.’
‘I didn’t come on the wagon,’ Lars said. For the first time Ki took note of his appearance. His blond hair was still damp and curling at the ends. His yellow shirt was of a finer weave than usual, and it bloused over clean trousers. He wore his good boots, not his rough field clogs. Ki smiled in spite of herself. He smelled like Cora’s herb water.
‘What occasion makes such demands on you, Lars?’ she asked teasingly. ‘You’d put to shame a Romni bridegroom. Will you ask Katya to bind back your hair this night?’
He gave her a long-suffering look and shook his head. ‘We’ve a guest, to arrive late this night. I don’t know how you missed hearing of it. Cora sent me to fetch you. The punkers will keep. A night or two in the fields will not harm them. She knew you would want to be cleaned and freshened for the gathering.’
Ki followed Lars as he lugged the punker over and deposited it on the top of her pile. Then she fell in beside him as they followed the cart path across the fields and back to the house. His hands swung as they strode along, once lightly brushing against Ki’s.
‘Who is this guest, so important that we must be scrubbed for him?’
‘Cora has not told you?’ Lars asked her with a sideways glance. ‘I am surprised. One that will lighten your heart a bit, I think. And, as I was the one to scold you so for your errors, I will take the happy chance of being the first to tell you good news. You took it sore-to-heart, Ki, when I told you what your Harpy emotions had taken from us. Afterwards I was disgusted with myself. What good had it served to tell you such things? And when my mother knew what I had said! She made my remorse the thicker with a number of names she had not called me since I was a thick-headed child of nine. To lay such a burden on your shoulders was not to my credit. But now we shall both be freed of guilt.’
‘What are you saying?’ Ki demanded. ‘Come to the point, Lars!’ She found her heart beating strangely faster. It had rested heavily on her that she had denied the family the comforts they took from their religion. Disgusting and morbid as she might find their Rites, she had no reason to snatch them away. When Ki had felt the most oppressed by the passing of Harpy shadows overhead, when she had longed most for her wagon and the freedom of the road, she had reminded herself of what she had stolen from these people. She felt she owed them. Was Lars hinting that the debt was nearly paid?
‘The Rite Master has come,’ he told her. ‘He has traveled far out of his road to come to us at this time of year. He makes ready the Rite of Cleansing. We shall renew our bonds with the Harpies! Do not stare at me so! I have not held back news from you. It was only a short time ago that my mother told me of his coming. No doubt you would have known also if you spoke to people instead of moping about the fields. For three days we will meditate and repent. On the fourth day he will work the Rite for us, to lift from our minds the poisons that separate