Kaelin recalled that Chara’s mother had recently been sick with yellow-blight, a fever that caused the skin to pale. Yellow-blight was rarely fatal, but sufferers lost great amounts of weight and were liable to bouts of weakness that might last for some months. ‘Is she better now?’ he asked.
‘She is still a little weak, but she is improving. Thank you for asking. Will you come in and sit with us for a while?’
‘I would like to,’ he told her, ‘but I must be getting home. I have medicine for Banny and his mother.’
‘I heard about the attack,’ said Chara. ‘It was shameful. I sometimes think Morain has a streak of wickedness in her. Will Shula be all right?’
‘I don’t know. She is very ill.’
For a few moments they stood together in comfortable silence. Then Chara spoke again. ‘Will you be attending the feast come Sacrifice Day?’
‘I thought that I might,’ he said.
‘Would you like to walk there together?’ she asked.
‘You know I would. But it might be best if we did not.’
‘I don’t care what people say, Kaelin.’
‘It is not about what they say.’
‘I’m not frightened of them either. You are my friend, Kaelin. I value that friendship, and I’ll not hide it to please bigots.’
An older woman called out: ‘There is work still to be done, child.’
Chara laughed. ‘I must be going. Will I see you at midday then, or will you want to be walking there sooner?’
‘Midday is good,’ he said. She smiled and swung away.
Kaelin watched her, and found himself imagining her without the skirt and blue blouse. Then he caught the older woman staring at him. It was as if she could read his thoughts. He blushed and continued on his way along the lane.
Cutting across the fields he was within sight of his home when he saw the Wyrd sitting at the edge of the trees. He had not seen her in some months, and waved at her. She gestured for him to join her. Kaelin strolled over, laid down his bag and sat beside her on a fallen tree.
‘My, but you have been busy today, Ravenheart,’ she said. ‘So much of import in so little time.’
‘I have merely been to town and had a scrap,’ he told her.
‘You have seen the Stag and set in motion events that will shape the future of the Rigante.’
He shook his head and looked into her green eyes. ‘I have seen no stag.’
‘What did you think of Gaise Macon?’
‘What was there to think? He is a Varlish nobleman.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘Come, come, Ravenheart, I have no time for word games -unless of course they are mine. Did you like him?’
‘Aye, sadly I did.’
‘Nothing sad about it,’ she told him. ‘Gaise Macon is a fine young man – doomed but fine. I’m glad you took to him, and I am delighted he took up for you.’
‘Why do you say he is doomed?’
‘He lives to ride the storm horse. No man can ride it for long. Those that do are bonny and brave – aye, and doomed.’
Kaelin chuckled. ‘Every time we meet you add a little riddle to the conversation. Stags and storm horses.’
‘You enjoy it, though?’
‘Aye, I do. Will you come home with me and share a meal?’
‘No, though it is kind of you to ask. I have a long journey ahead. I am going back to the Wishing Tree woods. I need to rest awhile and seek the wisdom of the Seidh.’
‘I thought they had gone from the world?’
‘Not from the world, Kaelin. Only from Caer Druagh. There are still places where they walk the wild woods, and leave their magic in every footstep.’
‘Why did you say I had seen a stag?’
‘Not a stag, Kaelin. The Stag.’
‘You have lost me.’
‘Of course I have.’ She smiled at him, and he wondered anew just how old she was. When she smiled her face seemed suddenly youthful. ‘I am as old as I choose to be,’ she said.
Kaelin jerked as if stung. ‘You can read my thoughts?’