The Chronicles: Three Sisters 09

- "It's a good place, your Hill." Giedra said to me. "I like it."

- "Oh? Why's that?"

- "Everybody works."

***

It was another hard winter. The river froze again, and our new warriors had to take turns on watch with the youngsters. It was Guenna who pointed out that the ice on the river was thick enough to a support a man - or several men.

- "If we can see it, then so can Bacho or Kestutis." she said.

- "They wouldn't come in winter." said Seva, but she didn't sound too sure of that. She was just being contrary - as usual.

- "We can't afford to take chances." said Vingoldas. "Is there anyone here who thinks they aren't coming back?"

We all took a turn or two on watch. The only exceptions were three of our most elderly folk, Mother Nadesti, and Moruith, who had fallen ill, with a wet cough. She choked, and spat up phlegm. Tanguiste made her a tea that seemed to help, but Inisian's mother was weak, and feverish.

She got better, though - just about the time that Mother Nadesti fell ill. It was quickly apparent to all that she was suffering from the same ailment as Moruith, but the old woman wasn't as strong.

Sulcen nursed her, and Tanguiste spent hours keeping watch over her while my wife rested or slept. Sulcen didn't want to talk about her mother's illness - or the prospect of losing her. It was too hard, so soon after coming home. Sulcen might have felt that she'd already lost her mother once before. Now she had to go through it all over again.

After a few days, the old woman sent for me.

Guen looked weak, and wasted. Her eyes were still alive, though, and fever-bright. I sat next to her, and covered her little hand with my own. She squeezed two of my fingers.

- "I'm glad you came." she said, her voice a whisper.

- "Of course I came."

- "No." She squeezed my fingers again. "I mean ... to the Hill."

- "Ah." I understood what Guen meant. Given the history between our families, she couldn't have been too happy to see me here, when we first arrived.

She squeezed my fingers a third time, to make sure that I was paying attention.

- "Take care of my girl, Veran."

- "You know I will, Guen."

- "Good."

- "But you'll be here to see it. You're going to get better." I said, trying to sound more cheerful and confident than I felt.

- "Hah!" she said - but that led to a coughing fit. It was a wet, hacking cough, and I was afraid that she was going to choke. I pulled her into a sitting position, and called for help.

Sulcen and Tanguiste appeared immediately - they had only stepped outside to give us some privacy. They took over, and shooed me out the door.

***

Guen Nadesti was a tough old bird. She recovered.

It was Moruith who suffered a relapse, and died.

***

Inisian went quiet. He had Yevna, of course, but Tanguiste told me that he was blaming himself for being away so long - for leaving her alone.

- "She wasn't alone." I said. "She had everyone here on the Hill."

- "I know." said my daughter. "And he knows it, too. They'd have died years ago, if they hadn't come here. But his mother was all the family he had left."

When I had the chance, I put my hand on Inisian's shoulder, just as I had when he was younger.

- "She was a good woman." I said.

- "Thank you." he got out. "I didn't ... I don't want to be the only one who remembers her."

- "My daughters and I will never forget her, Inisian. She saved our lives."

He seemed to be comforted by that thought.

Mother Nadesti survived, but she seemed to have shrunk - to have diminished, somehow. There was little left of her but skin and bones, and wrinkles. Her nose and chin still jutted forth, but that only further emphasized how her face seemed to have sunk in on itself.

Her eyes, though, were still sharp, and bright. There was nothing wrong with her mind. She called for me again, when she felt better.

Tanguiste and Vingoldas were sitting with her when I arrived. They excused themselves, to leave us alone.

- "You'll have to watch those two." said Mother Nadesti.

- "Will I?" I glanced over my shoulder, but they had already gone.

- "So - you were right." she said. "I didn't believe you, at the time, when you said I wasn't going to die."

- "I didn't believe me, either." I admitted.

She smiled at that.

- "Things have to change, though." she said. "I can't get around like I used to, and I tire too easily."

- "You'll get better." I said.

- "I am better. But I'm not going to get any younger." She shrugged. "It's time for someone to take over the leadership here. Time for someone else."

- "I disagree."

- "Too bad. Face facts, Veran. You can lead the fighters, and you can lead in council. Everyone looks to you already. And your daughters ... Yevna is indispensable. Tanguiste is ... a blessing. And your youngest - I think she's smarter than you are."

- "That's no great achievement." I said.

- "You've done a wonderful job with those girls." said Mother Nadesti. "I wish I knew your secret. My children ..."

- "Sulcen is a gem beyond price. I love her, Mother."

- "She was an innocent. And I sent her away, to ..." I knew what she couldn't say: to be abused by one of the most wicked, most evil men in the Uplands.

- "How could you have known?" I said, trying to console her.

- "We knew." said Guen Nadesti. "And we did it anyway. Out of fear, and stupidity. And ambition. No wonder none of my children came out as I would have wished."

- "Dengel was an honourable man. I liked him." Strange words, to describe a man I had killed - but true nonetheless.

- "He was thick-headed, and stubborn. Lanko was a liar, and a thief. Somehow, my husband and I mangled everything that we touched."

- "You didn't mangle them, Guen." I said. "You gave birth to them, but you didn't make them - no more than my girls are somehow my creation. They're only part me - and part Meonwe. The rest is them - and what they've been through."

- "You don't have to try to cheer me up, Veran." she said. "I made peace with who I am - with what I am - long ago."

"I was the chieftain, after my husband died. And I remained the chieftain, when Dengel died. But it's time for you to take over."

- "I disagree." I said. "Hear me out. Your folk accepted us here - my daughters and me, Inisian and Moruith - because you did. You told them to, even if you didn't put it into words."

- "You're a leader, Veran. So are your daughters - each in their own way."

- "I agree with you Guen. We're leaders - but not the leader."

- "What are you babbling about now?"

- "You're the leader, Guen. Your folk - the Nadesti folk, and everyone else who came here before us - they look to you. In their eyes, I'll always be a latecomer - next thing to a guest."

- "There's no one -" Mother Nadesti was about to say 'No one else'. But she stopped herself.

"Vingoldas." she said.

I nodded. "I think so. Your people respect him. He's a good fighter - better than me, with my ... limitations. And he has a good head on his shoulders."

Guen Nadesti was no fool. She heard me out, and then thought about what I was saying. I knew that I was right - and eventually, she saw it too.

"Besides, if we both stand behind him ... if we accept him as the leader - don't you think others will, too?"

- "You may be right, Veran. Especially if he marries your daughter."

- "What? Wait - what?"

***

I don't know if Guen Nadesti said anything to him, but Vingoldas found a way to speak to me alone, less than a week later. We went to the edge of the hill, to look out over the river. The ice was breaking up, and the water was flowing fast.

- "Mother Nadesti told me what you discussed." he said.

- "Did she, now?"

- "Thank you, Veran. For suggesting me - as leader. It means a lot to me, that you think I'm capable."

- "Of course you are." I took a good look at the young man. He was no taller than me, and lighter in build - a bit slimmer, less broad in the shoulder. But Vingoldas was a warrior.

"You're a fighter, and you've proved it. There's no doubt of your courage. You've worked harder than anyone to make this place go. Everyone respects you. More important, they trust you. And rightly so."

"Some of the older Nadestis remember me as the man who killed Guen's sons, and brought all their miseries upon them. But they've always trusted you."

- "They respect you, Veran. Everyone does."

- "Respect's not the same thing as trust. You have both. I'll back you - and so will Guen Nadesti."

Vingoldas bowed his head. "I know." he said. "And I'm grateful."

- "Nothing more than you deserve." I told him.

- "It may be presumptuous of me ..." he began, and then faltered.

- "Yes?"

- "Umm ... you see - I wanted to ..."

- "Spit it out, Vin." There was a growing tightness in my stomach, as I suspected that I knew what he was about to say. What he was about to ask. Had Guen Nadesti been right?

The young man had courage. He looked me in the eye.

- "I want to marry your daughter." he said. "I mean ... I'm asking for your permission ..."

Mother Nadesti was a wise woman. I'd had time to think about the idea, and discovered that I was quite comfortable with the idea of Vingoldas as a son-in-law.

For one thing, I liked him. Respected him, too. And Prospal Hill wasn't exactly overflowing with prospective husbands. There was Weyl, I suppose - the redheaded weed, Seva's brother. I didn't relish the thought of being closely related to her, though.

For another, it wasn't my decision. I had told my girls that they could marry whoever they liked. My permission wasn't an issue.

- "You've spoken to her?"

- "Yes." said Vingoldas. "I asked her not to say anything to you, until I had a chance to ask."

- "I told my daughters, long ago, that they could choose their own husbands. If she wants you, then I have to say ... that's fine with me."

Vingoldas smiled. "That's ... that's wonderful."

- "If you want my blessing, you have it. I think that you and Tanguiste will be very happy together."

- "I will treasure her, Veran - for as long as we live."

- "I know you will."

I just had to hope that their lives together wouldn't be measured in weeks, or months.

*****

[1] A Hand was a combination bodyguard, lieutenant, and right-hand man.

[2] Gavelkind was a system of inheritance, probably of Germanic origin, used in parts of the British Isles. By this law, the father's land was divided more or less equally among his sons or heirs.