Silver May Tarnish Read online

  “I understand. To know something is no reason to speak of it. But I would know the name of that man and his dale.” My mother whispered it. Then added more. “He was of the line of Paltendale. His father was lord, but the evil one was a younger son. Their arms are shown as a heart pierced by a dagger and a deer with one antler broken short.”

  After that we spent some hours in simple gossip. I heard of the small doings of the village. Amongst these I learned that Welwyn was courting Annet, Hann the Baker’s daughter. They had come with the refugees. My mother seemed pleased with that and I also. It would be pleasant to have a new kinswoman and I had liked what little I saw of the girl.

  My mother left with a parting hug and murmured affection. I watched her pass over the ridge and it was as if of a sudden a chill wind blew through me. I wished to run after her, cling, and swear that I loved her. But I held myself back. This was some Spring breeze and—my mother knew well I loved her.

  V

  I returned to my cave and tidied it slowly. Then I went to sit with the bees and reach out to touch their minds. I shared their busy lives the remainder of that day, and after I had slept I was myself again. But when the next time for my mother to visit came, she did not And again that chill wind crawled over my skin. Even sharing hive-life could not distract me. I walked again and again part-way along the path. I climbed higher above my cave and stared far out across the lower hills, straining to see if any approached. None did. To and fro I wandered in an agony of indecision. Ithia had said I was to wait three days. But what if my family needed me?

  Yet—the village needed the winged-ones more than any aid I could render. If I deserted the hives and aught happened, how would I face Ithia? I waited the three days and then a fourth. None could say I had not obeyed spirit as well as the letter of my orders. But on the fifth morning I went forth and bespoke the hive queens and their small fierce warriors.

  “Wing-kin, I fear danger has overtaken my hive. I must journey to seek out if this be so. Be safe until I may return.” A soft humming arose stretching out to encompass me. I did rightly. One’s hive was life. I should learn the fate of mine. But even as I had cared for them and been accepted as hive-kin, so they should care for me. Let me go but return once I knew. Then whatever I did I should have guards of their providing for the path I walked.

  I bowed and spoke words of thanks, smiling a little in the midst of my worry. What guards could the bees afford? But I would not have insulted my friends by saying so. I lifted my carrysack, took up the staff I had carved in imitation of the one Ithia carried, and set out upon the path to Honeycoombe. It was less than a half day’s brisk tramp but I recalled Ithia’s warnings. I circled from the path, taking my rest that night two miles short of the village. I lit no fire but ate cold food and drank chill clear water from a stream.

  At dawn I moved unwillingly towards Honeycoombe. I think I already knew death had come there. My nose told me first with the stench of smoke. I lay in the heather looking down upon what had been my home. Two of the cottages had burned. The lord’s stone house sent up still a wisp of smoke. Stone will not burn but wooden paneling and furniture burn very well. My eyes turned to my own home. Near the door bundles lay motionless while flies buzzed about them.

  I felt sickness rise in my throat and vomited it up. I could recognize the dress one wore; the jacket on another. Below me my parents and brother lay still, abandoned to the feasting flies. I vomited again and again before I forced my gaze to turn elsewhere. Ithia? What of her whom I also loved? It took me the whole day to circle the village, staying from known paths. At last I was sure whoever had done this thing had gone from my dale. At least for now. Then I went down.

  My family were dead. Welwyn and my father had died fighting. My sisters lay dead upon their beds, stabbed to the heart. By my mother I think, before she went out to fight. She, too, was dead, the dagger hilt still with her hand clasped about it. But by her other hand lay a pitchfork where it had fallen as she released it to snatch out her dagger. The pitchfork tines were red their whole length. And in front of her there was a great puddle of dried blood. More blood before my da and brother showed they, too, had fought well. I felt a bitter pride. Whoever had come here had gone away lessened in numbers by the meeting.

  There was nothing I could do but give them burial, and that could wait a little. I started running towards the small stone cottage up-slope from the other houses. Ithia, could she have survived? She was wise. Surely, oh surely, Ithia, of them all … I reached the door and spoke her name very softly. A low croak answered. My heart leaped. She lived! I entered peering about, seeking her familiar lean figure. Why did she not come to greet me? The croak came again and I saw. My body gave me no warning this time. I simply leaned to one side and spewed up all that was in me. Over and over until blood taste filled my throat. Then I wiped my mouth and moved forward numbly.

  They had—but no. I will not recall what they had done. Man of all creatures is the only one which does such things and I do not wish to remember what was done to Ithia. She lived only another hour. She had held on to life waiting for my return. There was no time to tell me how this had happened, nor any need once she said the name of he who had brought the killers here. Neeco! Thrice cursed, thrice damned. Kin-slayer, betrayer.

  I listened to that weak thread of voice. From here and there I was to take food and drink. In the lord’s house I should open a certain place in a wall. There I would find wealth. That, too, I was to take. Those who had come were gone but for a while only. They hunted the hills but would return. They must not know any had survived. It was for that also Ithia had denied my aid. Let them find her dead where they had left her.

  But here in her home she would give me one last gift. I obeyed her directions and stood holding the treasure. A great treasure to be sure, ten small bone phials of the honey-cordial, each laid in a pocket within a small padded bag with a strap for carrying. A treasure for which any dale’s lord would give gold. I would have traded them all for Ithia’s life. She saw that and gave a tiny broken smile.

  “I am not worth so much, craft-daughter. Do as I say, then flee.”

  “My mother, da?” I could not leave my family unburied.

  “Must stay as they are, I have told you what to do. Take what you find and leave. Do not look back.” Still I hesitated. Ithia visibly gathered the last of her power and I felt her will bear down on me, blurring my grief and giving me strength.

  “Go, my blessing on you all the days of your life. Follow the path but first go back to the winged-ones and tell them of my death. It is fitting they are told by the one who will be their wise woman hereafter. Go, now.” She fell back and I saw her spirit flicker low like a spent candle. Cordial pack in hand, tears filling my eyes, I fled towards the door.

  From Ithia’s body I heard a strange soft humming begin, but I did not pause. Her final order and the demand in her eyes held me from turning back. I reached the lord’s house and entered, averting my eyes from those who lay within. Portions of some of the walls and a heap of broken furniture had burned, but not all. At the wall behind the High Seat I pressed the carved pattern. Little enough was there of wealth by the standard of the richer dales, but for me it was a fortune. A little gold, more of silver, and a handful of small uncut gems such as are sometimes washed from streams.

  I stowed these items within Ithia’s cordial bag. Then I moved towards the kitchen. My mother had worked for Lord Lanson whenever he had guests. I knew the kitchen secrets. The cheese press door had no handle and seemed part of the wall. It was opened by a thrust at one side after which it revolved on a center spindle. Within lay rounds of cheese, hard of rind and rich from the goat’s milk and added herbs. To one side was a large stack of journey-bread. Hard-crusted disks baked perhaps a day or so before death came hunting. They would last weeks yet. I took all of both I could carry.

  The cupboard was not yet emptied and I stood in thought. I was alone now. Ithia had been sure those who had done this would retu
rn, but not yet. I would risk a little extra time. I loaded cheese and bread into a bag I made from a discarded shirt. That I carried part-way to cover. I returned to forage. A short sword and dagger laid away in a chest. A warm woolen cloak. A length of cloth with needles and thread. Nothing too bulky or heavy save the food. But I would be more likely to survive with these articles to aid me.

  I got the bundles to cover, left them lying under bracken, and returned to my own home. If I was to do naught else I could bid my family farewell. Tell them I loved them one last time. I knelt by the bodies, my throat choked with tears. Oh, my sisters and I had argued now and again. But never in malice. They had rejoiced with me when I had been chosen by the bees. I spoke the words of farewell and kissed their cold cheeks. From each I took an unobtrusive scrap of their clothing. Once I was safe I would sew these into a memory quilt. It would be an heirloom for my house.

  I found a wry grin twisting my face. An heirloom for my house? What house? I was alone. But still I added the tatters of cloth to my bag. Then I went down to do the same for da, mother, and Welwyn. I completed the task, weeping again until my eyes were sore and my nose blocked so that I snuffled the last words over them rather than spoke. I rose at last from my knees. There was no more I could do if I was not to bury them. As I left the village I would pass Ithia’s house. I had to see her one last time. To speak the words of farewell over my craft-mother also.

  I hesitated at the door. I could not see her body in the dimness. Then as my eyes adjusted I saw the outline and something moved. Alive! She was still … she could not be. I had seen her die. It must be a rat, some filthy scavenger come to feed. It appeared to be about that size. I sprang forward with a cry of rage, my staff upheld to strike. Then I saw what lay on Ithia’s breast A slow feeling of awe crept over me. My staff lowered as I met great faceted eyes. Love, warm and sweet as honey flowed over me, healing, smoothing out the jagged edges of memory.

  Liquid sweet, a voice sounded in my mind. “Craft-daughter. Do as I bade you. Blessed be.” I stepped back, permitting the light-haloed queen free passage. Golden wings fanned as she rose. For a moment she hovered, one wing brushing my cheek in a gentle caress. Then she was gone, rising into the fading sunlight, the color of it glinting bright on her wings. I watched as she vanished towards the hills. Quietly, I took up a piece of Ithia’s torn clothing. That, too, should go into the quilt I would sew. But I would have no need of it to remember her.

  Over the next two days I returned to my cave and the hives. It took time to transport my plunder and that I did not wish to leave behind. I kept a good lookout both before and behind me as I walked but there was no sign as yet of anyone returning. With everything stowed safe I walked to stand in the midst of the hives. With the winged-ones I shared my loss, my sorrow, and the manner of Ithia’s going. Both how she had died and what I had seen thereafter. I felt their anger and sorrow merge with mine. The loss of a sister hive grieved them. The loss of their fellow queen, Ithia, still more. But, they assured me, now I was chosen queen in her place. It was for me to begin a new hive.

  I protested aloud. “I cannot. I have no one, nothing. I am alone.” Events crashed in on me as I knew that for the truth. Everything was gone. My home, my family, Ithia. The comfort she had given me faded as I faced the truth. Sooner or later raiders would find me and I would die. Slowly and miserably if I could not contrive a quicker death of my own. I did not wish to die. I sat up slowly from the earth hummock where I had flung myself to weep.

  “I don’t want to die. I want to live.” My voice deepened to a hoarse snarl. “I want those who came to Honeycoombe punished. I want them dead.”

  The hives hummed agreement. In the sound there was an anger and savagery to equal mine. A command reached me. I was to eat, drink, sleep in my place, and wait. I did not wish to wait. I wanted to act now. What would they do? The queens’ thin honey-sweet voices were a needle boring into my mind. I was young, with no hive to command as yet. I should obey. I should wait. I waited as I was bid and waiting was worth the aggravation it cost me. From the hives of the two new queens came forth bees the like of which I had never seen.

  Warriors many times the size of a normal bee. They were completely black and their buzzing was a low dangerous sound which held menace even to me who did not fear them. Behind they bore stingers over an inch long. One came to settle on my shoulder. His wings touched my lips as I turned to study him. I reached up to stroke the black fur with a fingertip.

  “You are strange to me, winged-warrior. But very beautiful.” I allowed my mind to hold the same thought so that the winged-one might understand. In reply the buzzing came with a pleased note, as the queens hummed approval from their hives.

  Then they pulled me deeper into communion. I swam in gold, in thoughts of honey and brood cells, of a hive reborn and what must be done. What could be done. When I came to myself again I was lying between the hives. The new warriors came flying to circle me. From them I received pictures that made me gasp. I saw men, back in Honeycoombe. From the warriors came a rising tide of anger. These were the killers. The despoilers of the hive. Soon they would venture in search of me. I must be ready.

  “What must I do?” Approval from the queens. It was right and proper that a new young queen should seek wisdom from her elders.

  “Wait.”

  I groaned. “What, again?”

  Dark amusement from the warriors and the queens. “Ah, sister queen. This waiting will end to your liking. Go. Sleep. Prepare. Be ready to do as we ask when the time comes.”

  I staggered to my feet and went to my cave. The fire was only coals but I woke it to flames. I ate heartily of the plundered bread and cheese, drank water from my tiny stream, and when exhaustion swept over me, I lay down and slept the night through in dreamless slumber. I woke in the morning, more calm in my mind, and with an idea.

  Ithia had bought the new queens from the shrine she visited. If I survived I would go there, taking the hives. Within it the winged-ones would be safe. I would likely be safer there also should such entrance be permitted me. My decision made, I ate and drank again, banked my fire, and determined to spy on the invaders of Honeycoombe. I talked to the queens before I set off. They did not say me nay, but about me when I walked along the trail lined with beelove my warriors flew scout, a full half hundred of them now.

  I came to the edge of Landale and lay on my stomach to look quietly through the bushes and dry grass. It was not yet full Spring and the ground struck chill into my body. I remained motionless, watching. I had been cold before, and those whom I loved lay colder still. I saw below through a sudden mist of tears. Then my gaze sharpened. I felt rage flush my face, fury race through my veins. Below Neeco strutted, walking at the right hand of the older man who gave orders to the ravagers of my home.

  Neeco, come home to murder those who had sent him forth. I remembered his threats on that day. He had been assistant kennel-boy in Merrowdale. Here he clearly had power and status somehow. Perhaps because he knew many secrets in both Merrowdale and Honeycoombe? Maybe the man at whose side he walked had some special fondness for him? I did not know—or care. Neeco had brought death to all I had loved. He should die in turn. How I should bring home that death to him I did not know. But it should be so. I swore it in my heart, then moved to watch from a better vantage point. Know thine enemy.

  The cheeky lad I recalled was gone. In his place a man of eighteen strutted. I could see the arrogance in his manner as he spoke to those with him. I thought they did not like or trust him, but something kept them from him. Whatever that was it would not keep me from my vengeance when the time came.

  It took two days before those below were done looting. It had been completed with method and with less destruction than I feared. The leader had sent his men from house to house. Everything portable of value had been placed in a farm wagon. It was the largest wheeled thing ever brought through our narrow entrance, I believe. But they had maneuvered it past the entrance stones and down the steep
slope.

  Six of the big, slow, powerful farm horses came with it. I watched them covetously. If Honeycoombe had such we could have produced more food. There are some things a small pony cannot do, sturdy and willing as ours were. I wondered if I could set the beasts loose in the night, but the leader had them taken to a barn and guarded. As well he might. Each of them was worth a handful of silver to any lord. A team of six was almost beyond price, though all six were geldings and so could not breed.

  I waited, and then it became clear Neeco had seen the bees were gone. He came walking with the Leader not far below where I lay hidden. Their talk floated upwards and I listened fiercely.

  “No bees. That means they moved them early to the uplands.”

  “We’ve done well enough, dear lad. We have no need of bees.” There was a caressing laugh to the leader’s voice as the boy leaned into his shoulder. So that was Neeco’s protection.

  “It isn’t the bees.”

  “Then what?”

  “The cordial. I tell you, Garlen, lords paid in gold for one small phial, when the old witch would share it.”

  “The men searched her house. They found nothing.”

  “Of course not.” Neeco’s tone was patronizing and I saw sudden annoyance flash across Garlen’s face. Neeco should be wary.

  “Why, of course not?”

  “Because she had an apprentice. The girl will be in the high pastures with the hives. The cordial was probably sent with her for safe-keeping. She’ll have the village ponies as well. Three of them, all good hill stock. Maybe other things we can use as well.”

  “Apart from her, you mean.” Their laughter was evil and I shivered. Little enough of mercy would I get if these found me.

  “Well, you were saying only last night that the men needed a diversion. These peasants fight more ferociously than they expected.”

  Garlen chuckled. “So I did say. True enough. In the morning we’ll hunt out this girl. She can’t know what’s happened here. Had she been back she would have buried her kin. Unless she’s cleverer than I’d give credit to?”