The Chronicles: Three Sisters 04

THREE SISTERS Chapter 4

Moruith and Inisian asked us to stay. It would feel safer with us there, they said. They didn't put it into words, but I'm sure they also felt indebted for our assistance in ridding them of the threat of Rymvi SmallFoot - and helping Inisian to avenge his brother.

But I believe that Moruith was also moved by her ailing husband's reaction to my daughters. Miek persisted in seeing them as supernatural creatures, who had come to ease his way into the afterworld.

For our part, it was an easy decision to accept their offer. Bacho wouldn't find us here - assuming that he was still looking. We would be safe, and comfortable, for the winter.

I never imagined that we would stay there for six years.

***

Miek didn't survive the first winter. He faded away before our eyes, suffering in silence. Between Moruith and the girls, though, there was always someone there to anticipate his needs.

It was a good way to go, all things considered.

***

Moruith was a wise, capable woman. She was only in her early forties, but looked much older. Her face was lined, and her hair was a coarse steel grey. The veins in the back of her hands were prominent, and her fingers were crooked, twisted like mine. Almost all of her fingernails were cracked, or split.

She had led a hard life. Miek was her second husband. The first was a reiver, a thief and a killer. She lost her first two children, and didn't shed a tear when her man was killed.

- "He deserved it." was all she would say.

Miek was a kinder, gentler man - and a builder, rather than a destroyer. She loved him, and her two sons, without reservation.

On those dark winter nights, when it was too cold to go out, and too dark to see, but too early to go to bed, we told tales. Moruith was not shy. She had no reticence about her past, and told many stories. They weren't about bravery, or swords, or the follies of men.

She told my daughters about the strength and endurance of women, the power of the earth, and the deep roots of the mountains.

- "Three Sisters. Just as you three are sisters." she said. "You have to stand together, the same way they do."

I knew, from the first, that she told her stories for the benefit of my girls. Moruith was happy to have listeners - that's true. But she had a wealth of wisdom to share, and I was very pleased that my daughters were there to soak it up. After raising two sons, she was delighted to have my girls to talk to.

She was a veritable fountain of useful advice.

- "If you have too many flies," she said, "soak a cord in honey, and hang it. When the flies settle on it, they'll stick."

- "One fly is too many." I said.

Her knowledge benefited me as well. Moruith took a long, hard look at my right hand.

- "Let me see that." she said. After a lengthy examination, she shook her head. "They're not like mine. Your fingers were broken, but they didn't set right."

I didn't like the sound of that. "What am I supposed to do about that?"

- "We have to break them again, and set them straight."

Moruith had me drink a full jug of sushen - fermented honey - until I was almost unconscious. She instructed Inisian to hold me, firmly.

Then she broke my fingers, one after the other.

Alcohol makes you feel the pain less keenly - or not at all, if you've drunk enough. There must have been magic in that jug, because I barely felt it as the old woman snapped my fingers, then tugged and pulled at them until she was satisfied. After that, she bound them tight.

- "You're not to use that hand." she said.

- "For how long?"

- "Until I tell you."

I was not particularly happy with her, the next day. But over the ensuing months, I came to respect her judgment. My index finger remained crooked, and I never completely trusted it. My pinkie never recovered. It was still completely useless.

But by Spring, the other two fingers began to recover their flexibility, and their strength, to a degree that I found miraculous.

I was so grateful, I even considered asking Moruith to marry me. Upon reflection, though, I realized that gratitude was not a good enough reason for marriage. I hadn't buried Meonwe, yet, either - and Moruith was still mourning Miek.

- "I wish I'd met you when we were both younger." I said.

Moruith laughed. "No, you don't." she said. "Tanguiste says that your wife was beautiful. I ... I was never more than plain. I could never have given you daughters like yours."

"They'll make you proud, Veran." she said.

***

Inisian was a solid lad. I wasn't his father, and I didn't pretend to be anything other than a guest in his house. But he was at an impressionable age, and never ceased to be amazed that I had helped him eliminate the threat to his family and avenge his brother - all with one hand.

- "I'm no great warrior." I told him, but Inisian seemed to think that I was just being modest.

- "Teach me what you know." he would ask.

I did show him how to hold a long-handled axe in a fight.

- "Keep it back here - like this." I said. "Then you only have to swing forward, to strike. If you hold that weapon in front of you, you'll have to swing it backwards before you can launch an attack with any speed or power. Might as well tell an enemy 'I'm about to hit you'."

"And don't swing at his head. He can duck. Don't try to split his head in half, either. Go for his waist. Too high to jump, too low to duck. And difficult to block. His only move is to jump back. Hard for him to do you any damage while he's moving backwards."

"You just have to be careful not to overreach - to overextend yourself. Keep your feet under you."

I let Inisian swing at me with a stout branch, to get the idea. It was a bit awkward, since I could only hold the sword in my left hand. But when we reversed roles, he got the idea right quick.

In fact, though, the young man had more to teach me than I him. He was a skilled woodsman, who knew the forest the way I knew the lake. In his domain, there were many, many things he could show me.

And not just me.

While Tanguiste gravitated to Moruith, Yevna insisted on accompanying Inisian and me when we ventured out. Hunting, gathering edibles, or even just checking on Svijo and his sister - Yevna always wanted to come along.

She learned the location of all the trails, the names of the trees and the shrubs, and all of their particularities. Inisian taught her how and where to find the forest wildlife, either for hunting, or as signals as to the whereabouts of edible plants and fruits.

She also worked hard to develop her upper body strength. That's not easy, for a woman, but Yevna was frustrated that she couldn't pull a bowstring back past her chin. She was stubborn, and determined.

Yevna grew up coltish - slender, long-legged, and a little bit awkward. She was dark-haired, and dark-eyed, and in my biased opinion, quite lovely. But she was too self-conscious of her front teeth. Yevna preferred not to talk, unless it was absolutely necessary. And she rarely smiled, except occasionally, for only her sisters or me to see.

By the time she was 14 years old, Yevna took to accompanying Inisian into the woods even when I wasn't going.

By 15, she was going alone.

Yevna would ask my permission, but the look in her eye suggested that the answer had better be yes.

***

Tanguiste learned more than household craft from Moruith. She learned everything.

- "That girl is a wonder." Moruith told me.

- "How's that?" I was a pleased, as a father, to hear my daughter complimented. But I was also curious to know exactly what the old woman meant.

- "She's a great help when I'm working. She understands exactly what I'm doing, and never gets in my way. And Tan seems to have a way of knowing what I need to do next. She'll hand me ... a tool, or an ingredient - almost before I've even thought to ask for it. Like she knows what's in my mind."

"I swear that girl could take over the household and prepare meals as well as I do."

- "So she's a good cook." I said.

Moruith shook her head, exasperated. "You're not listening, Veran. I'm trying to tell you that your daughter hears everything. Not just the words - but the inflection, the deeper tones of meaning."

- "I don't understand."

- "Let me put it this way. I asked her an innocent question, about her sisters, and Tanguiste came back and asked me about my daughter."

- "You don't have a daughter." I said.

Moruith didn't answer. But tears formed in both of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." I said. "I didn't know."

- "Only Miek knew. Teph and Inisian didn't. But Tanguiste knew. I never spoke a word about my little girl ... but your daughter knew. And when I started to cry my eyes out, she comforted me." Moruith shivered, and took a deep breath.

"She's special, Veran."

That certainly sparked my curiousity. I asked Tanguiste about it.

- "Moruith's little girl? Oh, Papa, it was so sad ..."

- "But how did you know?" I asked. "She didn't say anything."

- "I ... I can't explain. I just knew."

I had to be satisfied with that. But a few years later, as Tanguiste grew up, I was struck by how much she resembled her mother. She had Meonwe's colouring, her nose, her full lips ... and her waspish waist. She almost looked more like Meonwe ... than Meonwe had.

And as I though more about my unusual daughter, I came to another realization.

When you live at close quarters, there will be minor irritations and annoyances. These things can grow, or fester, and suddenly explode into harsh words and hurt feelings. Over the years we spent with Moruith and Inisian, we had the opportunity to see virtually everyone lose their temper, or get angry with someone else.

Except Tanguiste.

No one ever grew angry with her. And she never lost her temper with any of us.

***

As Guenna grew up, I saw my parents, more and more, in her colouring and in her features. For the first few years, she was too small to take into the woods. She was curious, and wanted to go with us, but I made her a promise that if she waited, then I would take everywhere I had been with Inisian and Yevna.

Guenna was constantly asking questions - she seemed to have an endless supply of them. But she rarely interrupted. At night, she would listen to the 'grownups' talk - and then wait until her bedtime to ask me the questions she'd been saving. As a strategy to avoid going to sleep, it was quite effective. She trusted that I wasn't going to refuse to answer. So we began negotiating over how many questions she was allowed.

- "I think three is more than fair." I said.

- "Can I ask the rest tomorrow?"

- "If you remember them." I said.

She always did.

One day, when she was about nine, I returned from a day in the woods with Inisian and Yevna. Moruith met me at the door, holding Guenna by the hand.

- "Take your daughter for a walk, or something." said the old woman. "Until we call you for dinner."

Once out of sight of the house, Guenna spoke up.

- "I'm sorry." she said.

- "What did you do?"

- "I made Moruith angry at me. She says I ask too many questions."

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

- "You do." I agreed. "I've noticed, though, that you don't ask the same question twice."

Guenna looked at me as if I had two heads. "Why would I do that?"

- "Some people don't listen." I said. "They have to ask again because they didn't hear the answer the first time. Others forget, so they need to ask a second time."

- "I remember." said Guenna. "I always do."

- "I know you do. That's why I never mind answering your questions. But you have to understand, sweetheart: sometimes, Moruith is thinking of something else. She's planning our dinner, or wondering if we have enough salt."

- "So ... it's like I'm interrupting her?"

- "In a way, yes. There's a time and a place for questions - and that's not all of the time, or any place."

- "I know that." said my youngest, with the absolute certainty of a nine-year old.

- "Then you can try to limit how many questions you ask a person. So many per day, just as we do at night." I said. "And there are signs people will give you, when they're ready to answer your questions - or even eager to. Most people don't even know they're giving these signals."

"If Moruith turns towards you, that's a sign that she's interested. Watch where her toes are pointing - if they're pointed at you, you can ask another question. But if she only turns her head, and answers over her shoulder, then she's probably busy."

- "And if she comes to sit down with me, then she's very interested?"

Guenna might not grow up to be a beauty, but I had no doubts about her intelligence.

***

Svijo and his sister gave us no trouble. In fact, they went out of their way to try to show us that they were no threat.

Once, when Inisian, Yevna and I were out gathering blueberries, the girl carefully approached us, giving us plenty of warning. Svijo stayed further back - within sight, but not close enough to do us any harm.

She came closer, to within twenty yards, and placed a sack on the ground. Then she retreated.

It was a sack full of chestnuts.

- "Why would they do that?" asked Inisian.

- "It's a peace offering, of sorts." I said.

We established a live and let live relationship with them. Inisian never trusted Svijo, after his brother's death. But at least he didn't insist on exacting vengeance.

There were four more families within 3 to 4 leagues of Moruith's house. We saw them occasionally. Sometimes we came across each other in the forest, while hunting, or checking traps. Mostly, they seemed to have a 'live and let live' attitude.

One of these men, though, came to Moruith, to ask if Inisian and I could help him. He was trying to keep a young bear from moving in too close to his house. We agreed to assist him, and helped to drive the animal off.

This fellow knew my name. 'One-Eye', he called me. I was no longer Hammerfist - or even Veran. To these folk, on the northern slopes of Myeva, I was a completely different person.

Quite often, I agreed with them.

Asphodels was a long way off. I couldn't forget Meonwe, or my son, and my friends. Nor did abandon my hope that one day, I would avenge them.

But I was One-Eye now, too - the scarred man raising his daughters. Thoughts like these kept me awake late at night, more than once.

***

- "How did you met your husband, Moruith?" asked Guenna. She meant Miek, of course - Inisian's father.

- "Well, Tan already knows the story." said Moruith, with a glance at my second daughter. Inisian, obviously, had already heard the tale a dozen times. But Tanguiste's smile of encouragement was enough for Moruith to go into it again.

Even I had heard it before. Guenna must have been asleep, then - otherwise, I'm sure she would have remembered it.

It was a long story, with multiple secondary anecdotes. Moruith was feeling particularly relaxed, that night, and didn't skip a one of them.

Inisian wanted to change the subject. I couldn't blame the lad. But then he went and put his foot right in it.

- "So, Yevna - whatever happened to your mother? I've never heard you speak of her."

There was no way that my eldest was going to respond to that. She didn't even raise her head to make eye contact with Inisian.

It was Tanguiste who answered.

- "That's a difficult story, for us." she said. "But I will tell you what I can."

Tan began to relate her childhood memories of her mother, and her brother. Yevna didn't move her head, or make a sound. Guenna began to cry, softly.

I didn't want to hear a word. I wasn't sure that I could bear it. But it would have been churlish to desert my youngest at that moment.

Tanguiste remembered her grandfather, Branhucar. It warmed me, to see that she had fond memories of my father. She described Asphodels, the lake ... her brother. And then she began to relate our conflict with the Nadestis.

I was surprised. I couldn't recall ever explaining the dispute in any detail to my young daughters. Yet, here was Tan, explaining the gist of the issue to Inisian and his mother. According to her, I had acted as an honourable man should have.

Guenna had stopped crying. I, on the other hand, had a tear in my eye.

It was partly what she said. But it was also the way she said it. In that sense, Tanguiste was more gifted, even, than my father had been.

She described the battle at the Bend as if she had been there. And then she told Moruith and Inisian what had happened afterwards.

Tanguiste didn't spare any details. I had hoped - vainly - that my daughters might have been spared some of the horrors of that night. In my admittedly misty recollections, I thought that the girls might have missed some things, because they were exhausted, or horrified ... or simply unconscious.

Tan hadn't missed a thing. She told our friends about the betrayal of Povilas and Guithrit, and the vengeful cruelty of Bacho and Kestutis. She said everything in a matter of fact tone, which only made it seem more horrific.

Poor Moruith had no idea what to say. Thankfully, she didn't try to offer comfort. Inisian sat still, like a man carved from stone. Yevna hadn't moved, either.

Tanguiste described the rape and murder of her mother, the murder of her brother ... and then our escape, thanks to Yevna - including our retribution against our tormentors, and then our flight across the lake.

When she finished her tale, there was complete silence, for a time.

- "I'm sorry." said Inisian. "I didn't ..."

Tanguiste reached out, and took his hand. "It's alright." she said. Then she turned to look at me.

"I'm sorry." she whispered.

- "No." I said. "Don't be sorry."

- "You told it right." said Guenna.

***

There were few families nearby, and even fewer children. My girls may have lacked playmates, but they weren't starved of friendship. They had each other.

Yevna and Tanguiste were only two years apart; Tanguiste and Guenna less than that. Though their personalities were different, and their interests didn't always match, my daughters had sisters to rely upon. They liked and trusted each other.

Where Yevna was shy, now, when people were around, she would talk to her sisters in private. Guenna, in fact, began directing a significant number of her questions at her eldest sibling. It was a common sight to see the two of them, heads close together.

They were safe - relatively safe, at any rate - and forming a close bond with each other. It was one of the greatest blessings of the years we spent with Moruith and Inisian.

***

- "What do you think that is?" I asked Inisian. There was a plume of smoke to the east-northeast.

He frowned. "I'm not sure."

- "Someone burning, and it got out of hand?"

- "Too early in summer for that kind of burning." said Inisian. "It's not a forest fire, either - too narrow."

- "A house on fire?" I suggested.

- "Maybe. But accidental? Or on purpose?"

- "How far, would you say?"

- "Nine or ten leagues." said Inisian. "Maybe a bit less."

- "We'd better check it out - tomorrow." I said. It was too late in the day to travel that far.

- "Sounds like a good idea." he said. "We can start with Svijo, see if he knows anything."

Yevna accompanied us the next morning, as we set out. I had no premonition of danger, no idea that our lives were about to change - dramatically.

But my daughter was developing an extra sense. A few hundred yards from Svijo's house, she put her hand on my arm.

- "Wait." she said. "Listen."

It took me a moment, but then I heard it, too. Voices. Plural. Male voices. They weren't yelling, but they weren't whispering, either. Svijo and his sister lived alone.