On Wings of Magic (Witch World: The Turning) Read online

  When the Falcon Goddess laid an egg in the center of the village square!

  They had wrangled happily for hours and hours over many of the myths and legends of the village. It was a good thing Egil was never going to be the recorder! He was shocked, for instance, that Myrrha Foxlady, whose tale Arona had told in the caves, was a hero of her people. All he could see was treacherous death-dealing and some sort of oath-breaking Arona never had understood, since nowhere in the tale did it say the Foxlady had ever sworn an oath to her conquerors. Egil—when and if he took the office from Mistress Maris and her apprentice—planned to alter the tale beyond recognition, and keep the old version away from any but the elders. Did he count himself among those elders? Even so, Arona shuddered at the implications of a would-be recorder altering the records. If only Mistress Maris could have heard all his boasts, Arona thought. But Mistress Maris was forever away, closeted with the elders on the goddess only knew what business, and Arona felt very much alone.

  Now hunger, cold, and cabin fever had brought village matters to a head once again, one cold day in Snow Melt Moon. The early spring sky was cloudy and the air was wet and cold, even at midmorning. It was foul weather for a village meeting. Arona, her shawl damp and her boots muddy, trudged through slowly melting slush to the new Mulehouse. There were too many people here for even the village hall, and this dispute bid fair to last all day. Unheard of this early in the year!

  She carried a couple of apples in her skirt pocket and a large pack of clay tablets on which to record the latest confrontation between villagers and strangers.

  Mistress Maris, walking beside her, nodded her head in the direction of the heavily-laden Egil following them. “He's coming along very well,” Maris commended him.

  Now Egil caught up with Arona, saying, “Let me relieve you of that load, beautiful one.”

  The small hairs on Arona's arms stood on end again, for no reason she could understand. Yet, it would be shockingly rude not to accept such a kind offer! “Thank you, Egil,” she said reluctantly.

  As she gave him part of the load, she saw he also carried tablets. For her? Or for himself to practice on?

  The wind from the mountains drove into Arona's face as she followed the people through the gate to the Mulehouse, the only place in the village large enough for such an assembly indoors. Several young girls were on the roof, laying down heavy rocks to fasten blankets across the top of the stable courtyard as shelter from the coming rain. Firepots stood around and outside the Mulehouse, carefully guarded against an accidental spill. They gave more smoke than heat.

  Five elders, with the Witch called The Dissident as the now-compulsory translator, sat wrapped in blankets on a bench under the stable roof overhang at the back of the building. The Witch looked haggard and old. So did Mistress Maris. Arona dragged a bale of hay from the pile and spread out her blanket to sit on. Maris would be on the other side of the assembly, so that nothing would be missed. Egil sat beside Arona and set down the tablets to his left; handy for him but not for her. Inconsiderate, she thought, angry beyond reason.

  Huana Guntirsdaughter and her family filed in, without Noriel. Huana looked triumphantly angry; Oseberg looked miserable. He followed his mother, but looked into the throng. He caught Brithis's eye and looked away. Brithis, starting to show the child she carried, gave him a cold stare and deliberately put her arm around Nidoris Esthensdaughter. Huana looked at Brithis and curled her lip as if she'd seen a bug in her stew.

  The eldest, Raula Mylenesdaughter, waited until all were inside the shelter or as close to it as they could reach. Then she held up a bare spindle, age-old symbol of speaker's authority, and called the village rolls. Almost everyone was present; every woman absent had a kinswoman to answer for her. Then the eldest began to speak.

  “I worried about taking in the strangers,” she began, “because of the he-children. I was wrong. What have we seen? Childish fighting; our daughters complaining of stranger rudeness and strangers complaining of ours; maidens choosing sisterfriends and quarrelling and breaking up, and such matters.” Her tone dismissed this as unimportant.

  Arona glanced at Brithis and Oseberg. No matter? Maybe an elder could take that view. What had parted such fast friends? She glanced at Mistress Huana and scowled.

  “But!” the eldest said severely. “In the past season, seven cases concerning the stranger women have been brought before us. Now we must look at whether the strangers should stay with us, and if so, who?”

  Arona's mouth dropped. Exile these women, with winter still upon them? And what of the children? Oh, some had, at first, been louder and noisier and rougher than most, like Oseberg. Then, some were very shy and timid, terrified of disarranging their clothes or coming home covered with sweat, or swimming in the river, and had been natural prey for bullies like Roldeen Lennisdaughter, who now stood before the elders with Yelen Andersdaughter and three of her children.

  Roldeen was now complaining that Mistress Yelen's daughter Karmont had offered her violence. Karmont Yelensdaughter faced the accusation boldly. “This girl," she said in scorn, “is as big and mean as any he-woman, and she's been picking on our little sister Betza. Just ask her!”

  Betza Yelensdaughter was one of the timid ones, and would take no part in village fun. The first time Roldeen had bullied her, Mistress Yelen had said, “We'll see about that,” and stalked off to the mill to have it out with Lennis. She had come back in tears, crying, “Who do you go to in this Godforsaken place to see that justice is done and the decencies observed?”

  Lennis and her nasty daughters had a complaint or two coming. “The elders!” their neighbors cried enthusiastically. “Take it to the elders!” And so it seemed she had.

  The elders conferred briefly. “Roldeen Lennisdaughter to stay away from the daughters of Yelen Andersdaughter, and they from her, until they all can get along. Nidoris Esthensdaughter, would you be willing to teach Betza Yelensdaughter something of self-defense? Since she has not learned it of her sisters.”

  The chief herder rose. “I will, since it seems to me the two eldest daughters of Yelen Andersdaughter have been playing the bully themselves. I have a question for the elders concerning Rannulf Yelensdaughter.”

  The tale she told was utterly unheard of. One of her herders, a child not yet Initiate, had confided to her that she did not like the secret game Rannulf Yelensdaughter was playing with her. “They were playing at Falconer visit,” she said shortly. “Now, where did that child learn this? Must we treat it as a young Falconer?”

  The elders were talking to each other, the Witch, and the sheepherder. An errand-girl ran to summon Rannulf; Arona caught the age-old little-girl's excuse, “She started it!” The recorder's apprentice laid her used tablet down and reached for another. Her pile was empty. “Egil?” she asked. He gave her a black look. “Could you hand me one of my tablets?” she asked politely.

  “You don't need one for this,” he answered curtly.

  “Yes, I do,” she argued, and when he refused to budge, she reached across him to get one. Losing her balance, she fell over into his lap. He grabbed her and held her, nuzzling her ear. “Egil!” she said sharply. “Let me go and give me a tablet!”

  “Recorder!” The voice of the eldest cut through the crowd like an icy wind from Falcon Crag. “Do you have something to say at this meeting?”

  Humiliated beyond words, Arona answered, “Egil Elyshabetsdaughter is keeping my recording tablets from me and is playing games with me. Tell it this is no time for childish pranks!”

  Egil loosened his grip and politely handed her three tablets, saying in a soft but carrying voice, “You had only to ask, my dear.”

  “And I am not your dear,” she whispered viciously as she regained her seat, close to tears from rage and shame. She barely managed to catch the verdict of the elders, that Rannulf Yelensdaughter should cease these games on pain of Shunning—as a young Falconer—and Dame Birka should talk to Mistress Yelen about teaching him what he was still to
o young to know.

  The next question was, “Should the strangers be allowed to meet the traders from the outside?” That caused a storm of commentary loud enough that the eldest had to leave her seat to silence them. “No, never! We have enough to deal with!”

  “What if the Falconers learn of this?”

  “What if we're invaded by more strangers?”

  Asta Lennisdaughter raised her hand at a village meeting for the first time anyone could remember. “I think,” her voice quavered, “we have a lot to gain from welcoming traders and strangers. Look how kind they were after the Turning! They know things we don't.”

  “That's not the point,” Natha Lorinschild argued.

  “When I get you home, young lady,” Lennis growled, for she had always led the isolationist faction.

  Egil Elyshabetsdaughter then raised his hand. “Suppose some of us have families who miss us,” he suggested. “Wouldn't it be a kindness to let them know we live and are safe here?”

  “Good point!” someone shouted, and the debate was on. It raged for over an hour, while Arona ate an apple and noted the high points from time to time. Egil leaned over to whisper, “Sounds like a flock of hens with a fox in the coop.”

  “Do you have anything more to say at this meeting, Master Recorder?” Arona asked frigidly.

  “You sound like one of these small-minded, vindictive girls forever pulling each others’ hair,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I thought you were better than the rest of them.” He fell silent as Huana Guntirsdaughter now came before them. Noriel Auricasdaughter stood across from her, head down, her huge red hands twisting her head scarf. The eldest raised her spindle.

  Dame Noriel was alone, her head held stiffly high. She looked as if she'd been crying. Had Mistress Huana quarreled with her, too? Now what?

  The elders took their seats, and little girls fed the firepots, stirring the coals.

  Huana glared at Noriel. “I charge the women of this village with foul, unnatural practices. You don't marry like decent women; you have no idea who fathers your children; you rut like wild beasts in season. Well, now I know what else you do!” she cried vindictively. Since most of the insults were in her own tongue, only a few raised their eyebrows. “And now this she-male, who looks like a man and acts like a man, has made an unspeakable suggestion to me!”

  The big blacksmith wiped her eyes and stammered, “I thought you liked me. We seemed to get on well together.” She turned to the elders. “I asked if she wanted to be sisterfriends. I never dreamed she disliked me so as to take offense.”

  Gently The Dissident asked in Huana's own tongue, “And what did you understand this to mean?”

  Huana bridled. “To be her wife! Why, even that recorder's wench told my son she was known to be a lover of women!”

  Nortel's face brightened as if this were high praise, and several voices immediately cried out agreement. “She fed me and my daughters the time I was so sick,” one woman shouted, “and only asked that we do the same for the next woman in need.”

  “She defended my little Jommy against that big bully Lennis,” Dame Lorin added, “and has never failed in kindness to anyone.”

  “She was the first to offer food and shelter to the strangers when they came to us homeless,” a third put in. And look how they repaid her, hung in the air.

  A youthful, but large and hairy, hand went up from where Lisha's family sat, and a smooth, too-familiar voice stated with almost insulting kindness, “Apparently we have another mistranslation here, my good ladies, for it seems the word she used would mean, in our own tongue, philanthropist.”

  The eldest nodded in gratitude. “Thank you, Mistress Egil. I may call on you to translate again this day.” Now it was Arona who ground her teeth in anger. The eldest pointed her spindle at Huana and then asked “If you were so offended, why did you remain with Noriel Auricasdaughter?”

  Huana ducked her head and admitted, “She made Oseberg her apprentice. I would give anything but my honor for that.”

  Noriel shook her head. “I needed an apprentice. You had no need to feign friendship for this.” She blew her nose vigorously. “And I'm no Loyse Annetsdaughter, to bind anyone to live with me against her will.” Her eyes started running again, and she turned away.

  The eldest said, “This matter seems plain. Huana Guntirsdaughter may leave the home of Noriel Auricasdaughter and go where she will; you did not need to bring such a simple thing before us. Is there more?”

  “Yes!” the stranger cried passionately. “You ordered my daughter to be taught things no decent maiden should ever know!”

  The eldest frowned. “I think we have another difference in customs here. I must hear what is taught in your village about maidenhood and womanhood.” Huana's mouth fell open. She blushed scarlet and pulled her shawl up to shield her face from view. Gently the eldest offered, “Those not Initiate need not hear this. Maidens, will you take the children out?”

  “And the boys,” Huana said in a strangled tone. Arona was vindictively gratified to see Egil led out with a pack of small girls. Once that was done, the eldest prompted, “What were you told about your moon-blood time?”

  Huana blinked back tears of shame. “My mother slapped my face, to bring the blood back to my cheeks. She warned me that now I could bring shame to our name, so I must always conduct myself modestly from now on. So I have taught Leatrice, though Morgath allowed her to be far too hoydenish for a virtuous maid.”

  “But how daughters are made, what did you learn of that?”

  “That children are gifts from the gods to married women,” Huana said promptly, “But to unmarried women, they are the fruit of wickedness. This is why a maid must guard herself so carefully.”

  The priestess said then, “But Leatrice knew nothing of how this was caused. It was the first thing she asked me.”

  Huana beamed. “I have kept her as innocent as a babe, for when maidens know such things, they may be tempted to try them; at any rate, these things are not to be spoken of before decent people.”

  The eldest frowned. “It is cruel to send a maid to get a child without knowing what will happen to her. And if she does not want one? She may still find one forced upon her.”

  Huana sniffed. “If this is done to her by force, she is disgraced, and that is why her best defense is to stay home and mind her mother! My mother reared me most straitly to never incur even the slightest shadow of disgrace, as her mother reared her. Her mother was a lady's maid in a lord's castle, and knew the ways of the better sort of people. She was widowed before she came to Cedar Crest, but Oseberg is named for her dear late husband.”

  The witch drew in her breath and looked at Huana compassionately, but said nothing.

  The eldest said then, “Explain this matter of ‘wedding’ to us, Huana Guntirsdaughter.”

  Huana looked at her, puzzled. “It means that a maid is given to a man to keep his house and to bear and rear his children, to,” she blushed, “submit to his will. He keeps her and makes her mistress of the house, and she obeys him all her days, or his.”

  The eldest raised her eyebrows and then asked, “And are you happy with such a life?”

  Huana purpled. “No decent married woman ever answers that question, nor asks it! A decent woman does her duty, which is to be a modest maid, and obedient wife, and a watchful mother, all of which I have done no matter what! Men, even your own husband, will try to shake your virtue; children will defy you and run around like hoydens, or fall into the clutches of a slut who got herself with child by your son and then have the gall to claim him the father; others will laugh and sneer, but I have never failed in my duty!”

  Mistress Yelen leaned over and whispered to Brithis's mother apologetically, “She's always been a rigid stickler for propriety.”

  Natha Lorinsdaughter answered sourly, “Does that mean ‘as full of spite as a hen of eggs'? She hates everything and everybody; haven't we all seen it? But now she's cut off her skirts to spite her petticoa
t, you wait and see.” She nodded in the direction of a mask-faced Noriel Auricasdaughter.

  The eldest held up her spindle again. “Huana Guntirsdaughter,” she said gently, “our customs have served us well for generations, and it seems, better than yours have you. Just as Leatrice Huanasdaughter—”

  “Morgathschild!” Huana howled.

  “—has been Initiated, so shall all the stranger maidens be taught the same lessons as our own. Those who are male will be taught the same lessons given our Jommy years ago.” She nodded at Huana. “You may go back to your place now.”

  The eldest looked up at the sky and decreed a halt, so people could eat a hot meal. Huana looked around in the watery noonish light. A gust of wind tugged at her shawl. She thought of the warm, cozy forge house and its friendly hearth, with everything arranged exactly as she liked it. Noriel had given her a free hand, almost as if she were mistress and not maid. She could make them a nice cup of herb tea, and a bowl of hot soup for their midday meal. She could—then, like a blow to the belly, it struck her. She was not going back to the forge house. She was going—where could she go? She had no kin to take her in. The faces of the other strangers were closed against her. Some of the villagers were positively gloating. She seized on Oseberg, who looked at her helplessly. Brithis grinned nastily at her, the little slut.

  She found a bale of hay in a sheltered spot, and began to cry.

  Arona gathered up her tablets and edged her way towards the exit. Maris joined her on the path to Records House. The old recorder's face was as icy as the wind, as icy as the Eldest Mother's voice. “That was a sorry spectacle you made of yourself this morning,” she told the girl.

  “Me?” Arona blurted out, angered beyond endurance. “Egil was the one who… .”

  “Childish scuffles at a village meeting are unworthy of a girl your age, Arona, especially of my apprentice.”

  “But, Mistress,” Arona pleaded.

  “Say no more about it, Arona Bethiahsdaughter,” the recorder ordered, then stopped. “And I have wanted to discuss with you for some time the errors you have been making in records dealing with the strangers.”