As they came into the main room of the house they shared with half a dozen other families, MacAran threw off his fur jacket and went to the fire. Like most men in the colony who did not wear kilts, he wore leather breeches and a tunic of woven tartan cloth. “Is everyone else out?”
“Ewen is at the hospital; Judy is at the school; Mac went off with the herding drive,” she said, “and if you’re dying for a look at the children I think they’re all in the schoolyard but Alastair. He’s with Heather this morning.”
MacAran walked to the window, looking at the pitched roof of the school. How quickly they grew tall, he thought, and how lightly fourteen years of childbearing lay on their mother’s shoulders. The seven who had survived the terrible famine winter five years ago were growing up. Somehow they had weathered, together, the early storms of this world; and although she had had children by Ewen, by Lewis MacLeod, by another whose name he had never known and he suspected Camilla herself did not know, her two oldest children and her two youngest were his. The last, Mhari, did not live with them; Heather had lost a child three days before Mhari’s birth and Camilla, who had never cared to nurse her own children if there was a wet-nurse available, had given her to Heather to nurse; when Heather was unwilling to give her up after she was weaned, Camilla had agreed to let Heather keep her, although she visited her almost every day. Heather was one of the unlucky ones; she had borne seven children but only one had lived more than a month after birth. Ties of fosterage in the community were stronger than blood; a child’s mother was only the one who cared for it, its father the one who taught it. MacAran had children by three other women, and cared for them all equally, but he loved best Judy’s strange young Lori, taller than Judy at fourteen and yet childlike and peculiar, called a changeling by half the community, her unknown father still a secret to all but a few.
Camilla said, “Now you’re back, when are you off again?”
He slid an arm around her. “I’ll have a few days at home first, and then–we’re off to find the sea. There must be one, somewhere on this world. But first–I have something for you. We explored a cave, a few days ago and found these, in the rock. We don’t have much use for jewels, I know, it’s really a waste of time to dig them out, but Alastair and I liked the looks of these, so we brought some home to you and the girls. I had a sort of feeling about them.”
From his pocket he took a handful of blue stones, pouring them into her hands, looking at the surprise and pleasure in her eyes. Then the children came running in, and MacAran found himself swamped in childish kisses, hugs, questions, demands.
“Da, can I go to the mountains with you next time? Harry goes and he’s only fourteen!”
“Da, Alanna took my cakes, make her give them back!”
“Dada, Dada, look here, look here! See me climb!”
Camilla, as always, ignored the hullabaloo, calmly gesturing them to quiet. “One question at a time-what is it, Lori?”
The silver-haired child with grey eyes picked up one of the blue stones, looking at the starlike patterns coiled within. She said gravely, “My mother has one like this. May I have one, too? I think perhaps I can work it as she does.”
MacAran said, “You may have one,” and over her head looked at Camilla. Some day, in Lori’s own time, they would know exactly what she meant, for their strange fosterling never did anything without reason.
“You know,” Camilla said, “I think some day these are going to be very, very important to all of us.”
MacAran nodded. Her intuition had been proven right so many times that now he expected it; but he could wait. He walked to the window and looked up at the high, familiar skyline of the mountains, daydreaming beyond them to the plains, the hills, and the unknown seas. A pale blue moon, like the stone into which Lori still. stared, entranced, floated up quietly over the rim of the clouds around the mountain; and very gently, rain began to fall.