Chapter 3
We got up the next morning and tried to pretend that everything was just the way it always was. Callum went to pull the shutters back from the windows. Dark gray clouds made the morning dull and sunless, but at least the wind had died down. I fetched water at the pump, stirred up the fire, and began to cook the porridge for our breakfast. Madi wanted honey in hers.
"You had plenty of honey yesterday," I said. "You'll end up a great big fat honey-bear!"
"I'm not fat," she said. "I'm a fine and pretty girl!" Actually, that was true. There was something soft and fine and shiny about Madi's plumpness, like the feathers on a pigeon or a kitten's fur. Her hair was smooth and shinily brown like mom's and Callum's, only perhaps a bit darker. I was the only one in the family who had unappealing, blonde hair, coarse and gruff like a horse's.
"That may be," I said. "But this honey needs to last us the whole winter."
"Mama always lets me have a spoonful!"
"That's not true—" I began, but Callum cut me short.
"Let her have the honey." He was standing by the window, squinting at the sky.
"Callum..."
"Don't be so hard on her, Clarke."
"That's not what I meant..." I looked at his tired face and the way he held his arms, hugging himself, as if he was freezing. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. But I'm hungry. Is the porridge ready?"
I knew that he was worried about mom. But I didn't let on. I just ladled out the porridge and gave Madi a large spoonful of honey in her portion.
"The rain stopped during the night," I said to Callum quietly.
"Yes," he said. "And the wind has died down." Our eyes met across the kitchen table, but we did not say what was on our minds: that the weather alone would not have prevented mom from coming back.
"Here," I said, handing Callum the honey spoon. "We could all do with something sweet."
•••
Shortly after noon, the sun broke through the clouds, and mom still hadn't made it home. We had fed the goats, the chickens, the pigeons, and the rabbits and collected all the windfall apples and pears. My green cape was nearly dry and had only a slight whiff of whey about it.
"Where's mama?" asked Madi. "Why is it taking so long?"
"I don't know, Madi."
Madi started whimpering. "I'm scared," she said. "Where's mama?"
"You know what?" I took her hand. "Callum will take you down to the smithy to visit Cece and Marcus. You can play with Kai and Frida till mom comes back."
Madi brightened. "Do you think Cece will make a cake?"
"She often does, doesn't she?" The smith's wife had a weakness for Madi and her big blue eyes.
"Won't you come?" Callum asked, but I shook my head.
"It's better that one of us stays here. And better for you if I'm not with you."
"Marcus isn't afraid of you," my brother protested.
"Maybe not. But he never looks me in the eye, either. And... after what happened yesterday, I think I had better stay away for a while."
"That's no solution," he objected, looking cross and a bit worried.
"Maybe not. But I'm staying here all the same."
Once Callum and Madi had set off toward the village, I fetched the fruit basket and sat down on the bench by the woodshed to peel apples. The sunshine and the apple scent made hungry hornets swarm around me, yellow-black and savage. I had to be careful every time I reached for a new apple. Most of the chickens came rushing, to peck and squawk and fight over the peelings. Ernie hunched down in a sunny spot, sighed heavily, and let his big head drop onto his front paws. As a puppy, he used to chase wasps and bees, but he had been stung often enough to leave them alone now.
I dropped another peeled apple into the pot. Suddenly Ernie's head came up, and he made his guarded little woof. I shaded my eyes, searching the village road. Surely Callum could not be returning already? Then I heard hoofbeats from the other direction, from the Polis road. Relief washed through me; mom was back... except now Ernie had leaped to his feet and was barking, loudly and furiously, so that startled chickens scattered all over the yard.
Relief died. Ernie was not what you might call a barkative dog. And under no circumstances would he bark at mom and Ariel. It had to be a stranger's hoofbeats. Perhaps some passerby with business in Ton DC, or someone on his way to the highlands beyond.
A tall black horse appeared round the corner of the goatpen. Its rider, too, looked tall and dark, clad in dark gray leathers and a dark blue cloak. She reined in her horse and cast a glance at Ernie, who was still barking madly. Then she caught sight of me.
"Is this the Soul Seer's house?" She asked. The black horse snorted, and pawed the ground with one hoof, striking sparks with its iron shoe.
"Yes." I got up, using my apron to wipe the worst of the apple juice from my hands. "But the Soul Seer isn't in right now."
"No. I know that," she said, and gave a short jerk on the reins. The horse stopped pawing, but I caught hold of Ernie's collar just to be on the safe side. "You, however, are her daughter, I think?"
"Yes. Clarke Griffin."
She dismounted and took a few steps toward me. Ernie showed his teeth and jerked at the collar, nearly tearing it from my grasp. "Easy," I commanded. "Sit!" He sat reluctantly. His long gray body was so tense that I could feel him trembling against my thigh. Why was he in such a rage? Was it simply because mom wasn't here and he felt that he had been left in charge?
The stranger stopped and took notice of the set of fangs that Ernie was showing. Then she turned to me again. And although she was now quite close, she looked me straight in the eye.
A curious sort of shock went through me. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, like a massive black hole. A cold and deep one. And her gaze met mine without faltering. Anyone who can meet a Soul Seer's gaze openly is a very special human being, mom had said. And the best friend you could ever hope for. Did this mean that the stranger was a friend? Or might become one?
I suddenly looked at her with increased interest. She had a weird, rhombus-shaped scar on her forehead, right between her eyebrows. Otherwise, her face was smooth, almost like a child's. Everything about it was round, the nose, the lips, and the chin. It was hard to tell her age, for despite the smoothness and soft features, there was something about her expression and the look in her eyes that made her seem eons older than, for instance, Callum or Javin, the miller's eldest.
"I have a message from your mother, Clarke," she said. "She needs your help."
The cold sensation I had had when Callum and I looked at each other across the breakfast table was suddenly back, stronger than before.
"Why?" My voice sounded small and lost and frightened.
"She will have to tell you that herself," she said. "But if you are not afraid to ride a big horse, we can be there before nightfall. And you're not afraid, are you?"
"No," I said, though to be frank the black stallion was bigger than any horse I had ever sat on. "But I have to leave a message for my brother."
"Your brother? Where is he?"
"At the smithy. It will be a while before he's back."
I did not even think of hesitating or refusing to come, despite the fact that she was a stranger and Ernie had barked at her. I trusted her. How could I do otherwise, when she stood there, looking me straight in the eye, the way only my family ever could? Perhaps mom had decided that my apprenticeship would start with whatever had happened in Polis after all.
I shut Ernie up in the kitchen. As soon as I let go of his collar, he started barking again, jumping up to place his front paws on the edge of the lower door. Hushing him did no good. I washed my hands at the pump. Then I went inside to write the message for Callum. I write neatly. So neatly that mom often lets me write out the labels for some of the jars and bottles in her pantry- and it certainly makes a difference if the label reads "Belladonna" or "Valerian." Some of the remedies my mother uses are dangerous if given in the wrong dose or to the wrong patient.
"Where are we going?" I shouted to the woman waiting patiently outside, still holding the reins of her black horse. "Polis?"
"Yes," she answered. "Polis."
So I wrote my note to Callum, saying that a message had come from Polis that mom was still there and needed me. Maybe it was better for him and Madi to stay at the smithy tonight. Love, Clarke.
I folded the note, addressed it to Callum, and placed it on the kitchen table where he was sure not to miss it. Then I put on my newly washed cape, ordered Ernie into his basket, and returned to the yard.
The black horse looked very big, but the stranger boosted me up as if I weighed nothing at all and settled me with my legs to one side like the grand ladies riding sidesaddle in their long gowns. Of course it looked better than hiking up my skirts and riding astride, the way I usually did, but it was also a lot more difficult. I felt as if I was about to slide off the whole time.
The stranger mounted behind me, put her arm around my waist in a firm grip, and still managed to control the horse one-handedly and with total ease.
"I still don't know your name," I said nervously.
"Ontari," she replied, not deigning to tell me whether that was a first or a last name. Then she prodded the horse into a canter, and I had my hands full just staying on. But as the black stallion's long strides brought us farther and farther down the road to Polis, I could hear Ernie still, barking and barking as if he would never stop.