fallen oak and lifted a pack he had stowed there. Opening it he pulled clear some clothing; then he sat upon the vine-covered trunk, waiting for the boy to catch up.
Caswallon watched him closely as he approached. The boy was tall for his age, showing the promise of the man he would become. His hair was the red of a dying fire, though the slanted sunlight highlighted traces of gold, and there was a streak of silver above the wound on his brow. The scar on his cheek still looked angry and swollen, and the eye itself was a nightmare. But Caswallon liked the look of the lad, the set of his jaw, the straight-backed walk, and the fact that the boy looked him in the eye at all times.
‘I have some clothes for you.’
‘My own are fine, thank you.’
‘Indeed they are, Gaelen, but a grey, threadbare tunic will not suit you, and bare legs will be cut by the brambles and gorse, as naked feet will be slashed by sharp or jagged stones. And you’ve no belt to carry a knife. Without a blade you’ll be hard-pressed to survive.’
Thank you then. But I will pay you for them when I can.’
‘As you will. Try them.’ Caswallon threw him a green woollen shirt edged with brown leather and reinforced at the elbows and shoulders with hide. Gaelen slipped off his own dirty grey tunic and pulled on the garment. It fitted snugly, and his heart swelled; it was, in truth, the finest thing he had ever worn. The green woollen leggings were baggy but he tied them at the waist and joined Caswallon at the tree to learn how to lace them. Lastly a pair of moccasins were produced from Caswallon’s sack, along with a wide black belt bearing a bone-handled knife in a long sheath. The moccasins were a little too tight, but Caswallon promised him they would stretch into comfort. Gaelen drew the knife from its scabbard; it was double-edged, one side ending in a half-moon.
‘The first side is for cutting wood, shaving or cleaning skins; the second edge is for skinning. It is a useful weapon also. Keep it sharp at all times. Every night before you sleep, apply yourself to maintaining it.’
Reluctantly the boy returned the blade to its sheath and strapped the belt to his waist.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’
‘A good question, Gaelen, and I’m glad you asked it early. But I’ve no answer to give you. I watched you crawl and I admired you for the way you overcame your pain and your weakness. Also you made it to the timberline, and became a child of the mountains. As I interpreted clan law, that made you clan responsibility. I took it one stage further, that is all, and invited you into my home.’
‘I don’t want a father. I never did.’
‘And I already have a son of my blood. But that is neither here nor there. In clan law I am called your father, because you are my responsibility. In terms of lowland law – such as the Aenir will not obliterate – ‘ suppose I would be called your guardian. All this means is that I must teach you to live like a man. After that you are alone -should you so desire to be.’
‘What would you teach me?’
To teach you to hunt, and to plant, to read signs; I’d teach you to read the seasons and read men; I’d teach you to fight and, more importantly, when to fight. Most vital of all, though, I’d teach you how to think.’
‘I know how to think,’ said Gaelen.
‘You know how to think like an Ateris thief, like a lowland orphan. Look around and tell me what you see.’
‘Mountains and trees,’ answered the boy without looking round.
‘No. Each mountain has a name and reputation, but together they combine to be only one thing. Home.’
‘It’s not my home,’ said Gaelen, feeling suddenly ill-at-ease in his new finery. ‘I’m a lowlander. I don’t know if I can learn to be a clansman. I’m not even sure I want to try.’