‘What happened to your father?’ asked the red-haired girl.
‘He ran away when I was a babe.’
‘Why?’
Kollarin shrugged. ‘I cannot answer for him. My mother told me he found life on the farm too dull.’
‘Did people torment you?’ asked a small boy with thick curly hair.
Kollarin nodded. ‘Aye, they did. A boy without a father becomes, for some reason, an object of scorn.’
‘Me too,’ said the boy. ‘My father ran away before I was born.’
‘He didn’t run away,’ put in another child scornfully. ‘Not even your mother could have said who he was.’
The curly-haired boy reddened and started to rise. Kollarin spoke swiftly. ‘Let us have no violence here. You are all of the clan, and the clan is in danger; it is no time to argue with another. But there is something else you could think about. How does evil grow? What makes it appear in a human heart, growing like a weed among the blooms? I tell you. It is born from anger and injustice, from resentment and jealousy. You have all witnessed the tiniest seed of it here in this hall. A boy with no father has been insulted for what may – or may not – have been the sin of his mother. That insult, and others like it, will simmer inside him as he grows. And by what right is he treated so unjustly?’ Kollarin fixed his eyes on the older boy. ‘Has his birth damaged you in some way?’
‘Everyone knows his mother is a—’
‘Do not say it!’ said Kollarin, icily. ‘For when you speak thus, you give birth to evil.’
‘It’s the truth!’
‘No, it is a perception of the truth. There is a difference. To the Outlandersyou are an untutored barbarian, worth less than a pig. You are not even human: your mother is a whore and your father is a stinking piece of filth who needs to be eradicated. That is their perception of the truth. They are wrong — and so are you. I do not say this to you in anger, boy. In fact it saddens me.’
‘I will tell my father what you said about him, Outlander!’ shouted the boy. ‘He will kill you for it!’
‘If that is true,’ said Kollarin softly, ‘there will be one less person to fight the Baron’s men. No, I do not think that he will. I think it more likely he will be saddened, as I am, thatyou should insult a brother at a time like this.’
‘He’s not my brother! He’s the son of a whore!’
‘That’s enough!’ roared Gwalchmai, surging to his feet. ‘I am the Clan Dreamer, and I know the truth. Kollarin has spoken it, though perhaps he should not. What festers inside you, young man, is that everyone can see the resemblance between you and Kellin. You are brothers, and no amount of harsh words will change that. You have a great deal of growing up to do. Start now.’
The older boy ran from the hall, leaving the door swinging on its canvas hinges. Snow blew in and another child moved to the door, pushing it shut and dropping the latch. The children gathered again around the two men, their faces fearful. ‘Sometimes,’ said Kollarin, ‘life can be needlessly cruel. You have witnessed such a time. Evil does not grow from the head of a devil with horns – if it did we would all run from it. It springs from an angry word, and settles in the ears of the hearers. It can grow almost unnoticed until it flowers in rage and envy, jealousy and greed. The next time you have an angry thought about a clan brother or sister, remember this.’
‘He will kill you, you know,’ said the curly-haired Kellin. ‘Jaren’s father has a terrible temper. You should get a sword.’
‘I will, should the need arise,’ said Kollarin sadly. ‘But now I think we should play a game, and change the mood. How many here know Catch the Bear?’
Gwalchmai quietly left the hall with the game still in progress, and the squeals and laughter of the children ringing in his ears. It was bright and cold outside, but the old man could smell the approach of distant spring upon the wind. He shivered.