Chapter 2
The wind was stronger now, and the gusts tore at the shutters, making them rattle. Mom had fetched down the big tub and placed it in front of the fireplace in the kitchen, so that I was finally able to get both clean and warm. Washing my sticky hair, I wondered whether we would ever be able to rid my cape of the sickly smell of whey. I had no way of knowing that I would soon have far greater problems.
We ate dinner, and mom let us roast apples for dessert. Soon a wonderful sweet and savory scent filled the kitchen, and I was starting to feel a lot better. Everything was almost back to normal
—almost, but not quite. My new pendant hung heavy and strange against my chest, reminding me of my apprenticeship, and of the gift that I would rather not have.
"What happened in the village today?" asked Callum.
"Tell you tomorrow," I mumbled, drawing mom's old blue shawl closer around my shoulders, and Callum didn't pester me. He just nodded. One of the good things about Callum - sometimes he actually knows when to be quiet at the right time.
Ernie, our big gray wolfhound, was snoring quietly in front of the fire, flat on his side, and Madi had settled herself on mom's lap.
"Tell the Winter Dragon story," she begged.
"Not now, Madi."
"When? Mama, when?"
"Perhaps before you sleep. If you behave!"
Mom was carefully penning the labels for the bottles and jars she had filled that day. Apple and pear juice, elderberry wine, and rosehip jelly sat in long rows on the kitchen table.
Suddenly Ernie raised his head and gave a short woof. There was a knock on the front door. We all sat quite still for a moment except for Ernie, who rolled to his feet and walked stiff-legged toward our small entrance hall. Sighing, mom put down her pen.
"Easy, Ernie. Callum, get the door." Callum handed me his apple stick and got up.
"Why can't they leave us alone at night, at least?" he muttered in annoyance.
"Callum!"
"All right, I'm getting it!"
I sat tensely, half expecting our visitor to be Josephine's dad. But the man entering the hallway was a stranger. Nothing new there - strangers came to see my mother all the time, either to get help for someone who was ill, or, fortunately less often, because they had need of a Soul Seer.
"Peace to the house," said the man and cast a wary eye on Ernie, whose head was almost level with his midriff.
"And to you," my mother replied politely. "Come on in. He won't hurt you. Here, sit by the fire and let your clothes dry."
"I thank you," he said, throwing back the hood of his dripping wet cloak. "But there is no time to waste. If you are Abigail Griffin, that is."
We could see his face now, pale and tense. Strands of his long, brown hair were plastered wetly to his cheeks and forehead, and he looked like he had had a hard ride.
"I am," said my mother briefly. "And your name?"
"I come not in my own name," he said, avoiding her gaze. "I bring you word from the Lawmaster of Polis."
I don't think the messenger noticed, but I could see how my mother's narrow shoulders stiffened Polis is clear out on the coast, a long ride from Ton DC, and the Lawmaster would hardly send for her merely for her healing skills. No, they needed a Soul Seer, and this meant that a crime had been committed.
"Show me, then," she said quietly.
The man from Polis loosened a long leather case from his belt and handed it to mom. I could see Polis' signet, a raven and a wave, impressed into the bright red wax that sealed the case. Mom broke the seal and drew out a rolled-up scroll.
Smoothing it carefully, she placed it close to the lamp so that she would be able to read it. The soft glow of the oil lamp fell on her smooth, shiny caramel hair and on her slim, long hands holding the paper flat. Only her face was left in shadow.
"I see," she finally said. Her voice had hardened, as it sometimes did when she was trying not to show her feelings. "Well, I suppose I had better come, then."
"No!" Madi cried out, and clutched at mom's sleeve. "You promised... you promised to tell me the Winter Dragon story." She began to cry, and I knew it was not just the dragon story. Madi gets scared when mom isn't here to tuck her in at night. Especially on a windy night like this one, with all the creaking and the rattling and the cracks of snapping branches in the orchard.
"Hush, baby, hush." Mom put her arms around Madi and rocked her, much as she had done with me earlier on. "Callum will tell you the story. And when you wake up tomorrow, I will probably already be home again."
"He doesn't tell it the way you do!"
"He tells it even better. Come on, sweetie, be a big girl now. Look at Clarke. Do you see her crying?"
No, I wasn't crying, but after the day I had had, I felt like clinging to my mother and bawling until she promised not to leave us. I didn't, though. I knew mom had to go; I knew she hated it and would have done almost anything to stay with us, to tuck Madi in and tell her about the Winter Dragon who could not sleep the summer through.
"Come on, Madi," I said. "I think your apple is done now. Do you want honey on it?"
Fortunately, Madi has a sweet tooth. "Lots of honey," she demanded. "And jam in the middle!"
I looked at mom, and she nodded. "Jam in the middle," she said. "But don't forget to clean your teeth afterward."
"Can Ernie sleep in my bed?"
"If Clarke gives him a good brushing first." Mom rose, collected her best black shawl from the hook by the stove, and tied it around her shoulders. Callum already had her winter cloak ready.
"It's cold," he said. "Stay the night if the weather is bad. We can manage."
"Thanks, my love," she said. "I know you can. But I would much rather be home quickly." She gave him a hug. They were almost the same height now. Same warm, light brown hair. Same slim shape with narrow hands and feet, almost faylike in their slenderness. Madi and I had more of a square-and-clumsy look, I thought. Mama called it "robust" and said that there was a strength in us, and a nearness to the earth. But I would really much rather look like a wood-fay just like her. And who had decided that my hair had to be dull, ash blonde and coarse, like a horse's tail? If I was to inherit her damned gift, why could I not have some of her prettiness, too? It didn't seem fair.
"Good night, my love," said mom, kissing Madi's cheek. Madi hugged mom's neck with a sticky honey paw. She didn't want to let go, but even Madi knew that it was useless to keep complaining. "Come home right away," she demanded. "As quick as you can."
"As quickly as Ariel can run," mom promised, smiling. "Good night, Clarke." She hugged me, too, and I could feel a slight trembling in her body. I looked at the scroll she was still holding.
"Is it bad?" I asked, softly enough that Madi wouldn't hear.
"It looks bad. But we shall see."
"Do you want me to come with you? I mean... being your apprentice now?"
She shook her head. "No. You've had enough of a day already. And I want you to start with something less... serious." She touched her lips to my hair. "Take good care of each other."
Ernie was already whining and whimpering, begging to be allowed to come, but she seized his long muzzle and looked into his yellow eyes.
"Stay," she commanded. "Watch my children for me."
Our big dog sighed, and his tail hung low, no longer wagging. But he made no attempt to rush after her when the man from Polis held the door open for my mother and then followed her into the rain and the darkness.
•••
I used a flannel on Madi's honey-sticky hands and face and helped her clean the raspberry seeds from her teeth. Ernie let himself be brushed while Callum told the Winter Dragon story, and after Madi had fallen asleep with Ernie across the foot of the alcove, Callum and I stayed up late, talking. I finally told him the whole stupid story about Josephine.
"Josephine is a selfish little goose," he said firmly. "If you shamed her a bit, I'm sure she had it coming. Even her brothers are starting to wise up to some of her tricks."
Most of the time I am happy to have Callum for an older brother. Not when he is teasing me or bossing me around, of course, but on a night like this, with mom gone and the wind and the rain and everything, it feels really good to know that he is there and nineteen and almost an adult. The fire had died to embers in the fireplace, and we finally banked it and went to bed, both of us in the same alcove as Madi and Ernie, for company and for warmth.
I lay in the darkness listening to the wind as it gradually died down. After a while the rain stopped drumming on the roof and against the shutters, and I thought that if only it would keep dry, mom might well make the ride back that night.
But when we woke the next morning, there was still no sign of her.